In case you haven’t heard me shouting from the rafters, my new novel, the second in the Fischer at Law series, Devil’s Hand, is now available wherever you buy books. here’s the official propoganda: For fans of the new Matlock reboot, a legal thriller featuring an idealistic young lawyer who believes her bruised and abused client . . . even after discovering that client is keeping secrets that are beyond belief.

Attorney Jessica Fischer is back, and this time she feels good about helping her client. Susan Wolan is the wife of a county commissioner and the victim of domestic violence. Jessica knows the abuse happened—she’s seen the handprints on Susan’s body. But she also suspects her client is holding something back from her. What is it—and can she help save Susan from her powerful and connected abuser without damaging her own career?

As if all this weren’t enough, Jessica is simultaneously forced to deal with her estranged father, who has just come back into her life with secrets of his own. After a fall lands him in the emergency room, Jessica realizes that he and her paralegal, Diane—a person she depends on to keep her sane—might be falling for each other. She wonders if she’ll be able to stop herself from falling . . . apart.

If you haven’t read the first book (Devil’s Defense) (and if not, why not?) Devil’s Hand works as a standalone, even though there are many of the same characters who have the lived experience of the first book.

Anyway, as a tease, here’s the first chapter:

Chapter 1

Susan Wolan clutched the handle of her purse so tightly that Jessica wondered if the woman thought someone was going to snatch it from her. The nondescript, middle-aged woman sat stiff and upright in Jessica’s client chair. “I need a lawyer.”

That’s refreshing, Jessica thought. What with this being a law office. She hoped her smile looked warm and friendly. She hoped it masked her inner thoughts. “How can I help you?”

Susan looked down at her hands, then back up at Jessica. It seemed to Jessica this woman was having a conversation in her head and had just agreed to something. Susan nodded slightly. “I think I might need a divorce.”

Jessica noted the word need instead of want. “Why is that?”

Susan stared at her. Something about Susan Wolan made Jessica feel like she was being scanned by some kind of medical equipment. Finally, Susan said, “Everything I say in here is confidential?”

“Everything. So long as it’s just you and me, I can’t say anything you tell me that isn’t already public or that you don’t give me permission to tell. Unless you tell me it’s okay, I can’t even say you were here.”

As Susan appeared to share the information with the friends in her head, Jessica took in her new client. Susan wasn’t short, but everything about her was small, maybe even to the point of fragile. Jessica guessed that if she had a bone density scan, they’d rush her to the ER for a calcium infusion. Her face was instantly forgettable. Jessica doubted she could describe her well enough to a police sketch artist to get a decent portrait, but she took a silent run at it anyway. Average height, Caucasian, dust-colored hair, mouse-colored eyes, nose not big or small. Mouth? Well, she has one, but . . . her lips kinda blend into her face. It wouldn’t kill her to wear a little lipstick. Jessica suppressed a giggle as she pictured the sketch artist’s result looking like the work of an eight-year-old who was short on crayons.

Susan appeared to agree with her internal committee and took one hand off her purse strap. “Okay,” she said.

Jessica waited for more, and when nothing followed, she looked over Susan’s shoulder to the shelf that displayed her collection of Wonder Woman figurines and wished she could take Wonder Woman’s Lasso of Truth and wrap it around Susan so they could get to the point. Then, she looked at the basket of stress balls on her desk and pulled out the wrench-shaped toy she’d gotten from a plumbing company. She squeezed it several quick times before saying, “And you’d like me to help you get divorced?”

Susan took a couple of deep breaths. “My husband is Ray Wolan.”

“Why do I know that name?”

“He’s the county commissioner from District Two.”

“Okay.” Jessica did a quick internal check. Ray Wolan might be a relatively big fish in Ashton, Georgia’s tiny pond, but she’d represented an even bigger fish not long ago and lived to tell the tale. Whatever Ray was up to, she could deal with it.

“And he’s not always a nice man.”

Susan wasn’t going to make this easy. But then, Jessica figured, it probably wasn’t easy for Susan to say whatever it was she came here to say. Jessica did have sympathy. Now she just had to make that clear using her vocal chords. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Susan only nodded.

This was starting to look like a long day. “In what way is he not a nice man?”

“He’s a good man,” Susan readjusted her fingers on the purse strap. “He does his job well. He loves his children. He’s a godly man. A good provider. Just not always nice.”

Jessica kept her eyes on Susan. She wanted the whole story right now, but she knew not to push. It would be better if Susan told her story in her own way and in her own time. What could this “not nice” business be about? Why did Susan need a divorce? Was it something dramatic like involvement in a drug cartel? Or something legally mild but regionally spicy, like a porn addiction? Jessica tried to listen to the conversation in Susan’s head but heard crickets.

Silence was usually the best way to get people to talk, but at this rate, they’d both end up living out their lives in these chairs. Jessica broke the silence. “If it helps, it’s really hard to shock or surprise a lawyer.”

More silence.

Jessica leaned forward and looked into Susan’s nothing-colored eyes. “In what way is Ray not a nice man?”

Susan closed her eyes and tapped her fingers on her purse handle. “I have bruises.”

Now, they were getting somewhere. Jessica purposely relaxed her facial muscles, so she’d look unfazed. “I’m sorry.”

Susan opened her eyes and rolled up the sleeve of her shirt to reveal the purple shadow of a hand gripping her bicep. Then she pulled her sleeve back down, stood, and dropped her purse on the chair next to her. She stood and pulled up the hem of her shirt, where a lighter-colored bruise, faded to green, peeked out from her waistband.

“You’re right,” said Jessica. “He’s not a nice man.”

Then Susan was back in the chair, purse on lap, straps in hand. “He’s not all bad. He does good work for the county and our church. He loves our children and tries to set a godly example. He just gets mad, and the devil takes over.”

Jessica pointed a finger at Susan. “Oh no. We’re going to have none of that in here.”

Susan’s jaw and eyes sprung open.

Drawing circles with her finger, Jessica said, “This is a no-excuse zone. Bad things are bad things, and they’re not justified by other things. Twice already you’ve said he’s a good dad, but I’d like to know on which planet a good dad abuses Mom.”

“They love him.”

“As they should,” Jessica squeezed the foam wrench. “He’s their father. How old are they?”

“Twelve and fourteen. Girl and a boy.”

“If they’re twelve and fourteen, I promise they know what’s happening. He’s their model of manhood, and he’s modeling to your son that it’s okay to hurt women if he’s mad. And he’s modeling to your daughter it’s okay to be hurt by a man and stay. Does that sound like a good father?”

Susan shook her head, the movement only perceptible because Jessica was paying attention.

Jessica thumped the wrench on the desk. “He may not be all bad. People are complicated, but we won’t start this story with his good qualities. Got it?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Susan’s face for the first time since entering Jessica’s office. She nodded.

Jessica sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “Now, how can I help you?”

Susan set her purse on the floor and rolled her eyes so far upward Jessica could see only the white part. Involuntarily, Jessica rolled her own eyes upward to see if she could get them that far in her skull, then caught herself and returned them to their regular position. She wondered if Susan’s bland exterior masked an exciting interior life and wished she could shine a light into one of Susan’s ears and see what was going on behind that blank canvas of a face.

Susan’s irises reappeared, making Jessica think of the wheels of an old-fashioned slot machine, the cherries bouncing to a stop. “I need to get Jackson and Madison out. I don’t have my own money, I don’t have anywhere to go, and I’m afraid.”

Now they were getting somewhere. Jessica pulled out her legal pad and began taking notes.

If you like it, you can find it in paperback or ebook form wherever you buy books, or click here.

Thanks for your support!

XOXO, Lori