She let out an unsteady breath. “It’s a big step.”

“And you don’t do things on impulse.” He lowered his lips to brush hers. “Think about it. Think about this,” he whispered, and took the kiss deep, deep, fathoms deep, until thinking was impossible.

“Zack, I need to—” Nick burst into the office, and froze. He saw Rachel pressed against his brother, her hands fisted in his hair, her eyes soft and clouded.

They cleared quickly enough, and now there was alarm there, and apology. But as Nick stared at them, all he could see was the red mist of betrayal.

She shouted his name as Nick leaped. Zack saw the blow coming, and he let it connect. It rocked him back on his heels. He tasted blood. Instinct had him gripping Nick’s wrists to prevent another punch, but Nick twisted away, agile as a snake, and braced for the next round.

“Stop it!” Heedless that the next fist could fly any second, Rachel stepped furiously between them, shoving them apart. “This isn’t the way.”

Clamping down on his own temper, Zack merely lifted her up and set her aside. “Stay clear. You want to go a round in here?” he said to Nick. “Or take it outside?”

“Of all the—”

“Anywhere you say,” Nick snapped, cutting Rachel off. “You son of a bitch. It was always you.” He shoved, but the bright hurt in his eyes kept Zack from striking back. “You always had to come out on top, didn’t you?” His breathing was labored as he rammed Zack back against the wall. “All this crap about family. Well, you know where you can stick it, bro.”

“Nick, please.” Rachel lifted a hand, but let it drop when he turned those furious eyes on her.

“Just shut up. That whole line of bull you handed me upstairs. You’ve got real talent, lady, because I was buying it. You knew how I felt, and all the time you’re making it with him behind my back.”

“Nick, it wasn’t like that.”

“You lying bitch.”

His head snapped back when Zack clipped him with a backhand. There was blood on both sides now. “You want to take a swing at me, go ahead. But you don’t talk to her like that.”

Teeth gritted, Nick wiped the blood from his lip. He wanted to hate. Needed to. “The hell with you. The hell with both of you.”

He swung on his heel and darted out.

“Oh, God.” Rachel covered her face, but it did nothing to erase the image of the hurt she’d seen in Nick’s eyes. The damage, she thought miserably, that she had done. “What a mess. I’m going after him.”

“Leave him alone.”

“It’s my fault,” she said, dropping her arms to her sides. “I have to try.”

“I said leave him alone.”

“Damn it, Zack—”

“Excuse me.” There was a rap on the door, which Nick had left hanging open. Rachel turned and bit back a groan.

“Judge Beckett.”

“Good evening, Ms. Stanislaski. Mr. Muldoon, I dropped in for one of your famous manhattans. Perhaps you could mix one for me while I have a conference with your brother’s attorney.”

“Your Honor,” Rachel began, “my client…”

“I saw your client as he roared out of here. Your mouth’s bleeding, Mr. Muldoon.” She turned and shot a look at Rachel. “Counselor?”

“Perfect timing,” Rachel said under her breath. “I’ll handle this,” she said to Zack. “Don’t worry. And once Nick works off a little steam—”

“He’ll come back smiling?” Zack finished. His temper was fading, but guilt was moving full steam ahead. “I don’t think so. And it’s not your fault.” He wished he had more than his own empty sense of failure to give her. “He’s my brother. I’m responsible.” He shook his head before she could speak. “Let me go fix the judge her drink.”

He brushed by her. Rachel reached out to stop him, then let her hand fall away. There was nothing she could say to ease the hurt. But she had a chance to minimize the damage with Judge Beckett.

She found the judge looking attractive and relaxed at a table on the far side of the bar. Yet the aura of power the woman had when wearing black robes on the bench wasn’t diminished in the least by the trim blue slacks and white sweater she wore tonight.

“Have a seat, Counselor.”

“Thank you.”

Beckett smiled, tapping rose-tipped nails on the edge of the table. “I can see the wheels turning. How much do I tell her, how much do I evade? I always enjoy having you in my courtroom, Ms. Stanislaski. You have style.”

“Thank you,” Rachel said again. Their drinks arrived, and she took the time while they were served to gather her thoughts. “I’m afraid you might, understandably, misinterpret what you saw tonight, Your Honor.”

“Are you?” With a smile, Beckett sampled her drink. She shifted her gaze to meet Zack’s and sent him an approving smile. “And what would you consider my interpretation?”

“Obviously, Nick and his brother were arguing.”

“Fighting,” Beckett corrected, stirring the cherry around in her drink before biting it from its stem. “Arguing involves words. And, while words may leave scars, they don’t draw blood.”

“You don’t have brothers, do you, Your Honor?”

“No, I don’t.”

“I do.”

With a lift of a brow, Beckett sipped again. “All right, I’ll sustain that. What were they arguing about?”

Rachel eased around the boggy ground. “It was just a misunderstanding. I won’t deny both of them are hotheaded, and that with their type of temperament a misunderstanding can sometimes evolve into…”

“An argument?” Beckett suggested.

“Yes.” Needing to make her point, Rachel leaned forward. “Judge Beckett, Nick has been making such incredible progress. When I was first assigned to his case, I very nearly dismissed him as just another street punk. But there was something that made me reevaluate him.”

“Haunted eyes do that to a woman.”

Surprised, Rachel blinked. “Yes.”

“Go on.”

“He was so young, and yet he’d already started to give up on himself, and everyone else. After I met Zack, and found out about Nick’s background, it was easy to understand. There’s never been anyone permanent in his life, anyone he felt he could count on and trust. But with Zack…he wanted to. No matter how tough and disinterested he tried to act, the longer he was with Zack, the more you could see that they needed each other.”