I bring the cup to my lips, pretending to sip as my cell pings in my pocket. Izzie’s gaze snaps back to mine and I give her an appeasing smile while ignoring my cell.
Once she knows I won’t answer it right away, she goes back to her other guests as my gaze roves around her room.
The first thing it lands on is the painting of her and Natalia hanging on the wall. It’s been three days since Izzie’s party, and I can categorically say this is the worst Tris has ever been. He’s completely cut himself off emotionally and I know it’s only a matter of time before everything comes to a head and he explodes. I only hope the kids don’t see it when it happens.
I catch Izzie looking over at it several times over the next hour, her eyes lighting up with happiness each time she sees it. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like for her having no memories of her mother. She relies solely on the stories people tell, but that only happens with Charlotte and Nate when Tris isn’t around.
It’s times like this I wish I would have pushed Tris more to talk about her with Izzie, because it doesn’t matter how many female role models she has in her life; none of them can take the place of her mother.
A loud crash has both Izzie and me standing up, our gazes swinging toward her door. The clock on her bedside table tells me it’s about time for Tristan to be home; not that he’s done anything but disappear into his office when he’s walked through the door this week anyway.
There’s another bang, but this time it’s followed by Clay’s voice.
“It’s only Clay,” I tell Izzie. She sits back down, getting back to her duties as I place my cup and saucer down. “I’ll be back.”
I leave Izzie, walking out of her room and across the hallway into Clay’s room. Taking one step inside, I halt, staring with wide eyes.
Clay has all of his books from his nook laid out in piles on the floor with him sitting in the middle, sorting through them all.
His brows draw down as he stares at one book in his hand, his eyes flicking between two piles.
“Clay?” I ask tentatively, causing his head to swing up. “What are you doing?”
“I’m organizing,” he answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
I walk farther inside, sitting on the edge of his bed. “I can see that, but why?”
He finally places the book on top of the pile to the left. “I want it to look like Leonie’s.”
I tilt my head to the side as I recall him telling me about the bookcases in his counsellor’s main office.
He continues to sort through his books while I stare at him, wondering if there’s more to it than wanting it to look like Leonie’s.
Clay’s always been particular in the way he wants things, but recently it’s become a little more than just being tidy. I feel like he’s bordering on obsessive. Had this been any other day I’d tell Tris when he comes home, but it isn’t any other day. Things in this house are getting worse, and I feel like I can’t talk to Tris about anything—not even the kids.
After this last weekend, I can see why Clay would want order and to control things he can influence.
Instead of continuing to psychoanalyze him, I drop down to the floor on the edge of his piles and give him a small smile when he looks back up at me.
“Do you need any help?”
He shakes his head then abruptly stops, thinking better of it. “You can help put these on the top shelf.” He stands up so I follow him, coming to a stop in front of the bookcase on the right. “Start left to right,” he orders, handing me a book. “Spines need to be the right way up.” He continues to pass me books, and when the shelf is full, we start on the next one down in the same order.
“So…” I put the next book on the shelf. “How have you organized them?”
“Genre, dates of publishing, and then alphabetical.” He pauses. “And of course by size and whether they’re paperback or hardback.”
I stare at the two top shelves when we’ve finished them, waiting for the next book to place on the third shelf down. To anyone else—like me—I can’t tell what kind of system this is by looking at them, but to Clay, it’s how he wants them and it makes sense to him.
If it’s going to help him work through whatever it is he’s going through right now, then that’s all that matters.
We continue to place the books on the shelves, and when we get to the last shelf, the front door bangs shut.
“Dad’s home,” Clay announces, his shoulders drawing up to his ears when he hears his footsteps on the stairs.
We both wait with baited breath as they come closer, first stopping in Izzie’s room before stepping inside Clay’s.
His gray eyes connect with mine and then Clay’s. “I’m home,” he says, his voice gruff. “I’ve got some work to finish up.” I nod when he looks back at me, knowing what he’s about to— “Can you give the kids their dinner?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be back at bedtime.”
He raps his knuckles on the door before disappearing again, his footsteps echoing as he walks away.
Clay spins around, finishing up the last shelf, acting like his dad being like that doesn’t affect him.
“I’ll go start dinner.”
“Okay,” Clay answers, his voice small.
I hesitate briefly before walking out and telling Izzie the same thing. She’s sitting at her little table, her eyes latched onto the painting, but she acknowledges me with a nod of her head and I head downstairs.
Pulling my cell out of my pocket when I get into the kitchen, I click open the message app, seeing a new message from Nate telling me he’s swamped at work with a new case so he won’t be able to call me tonight. I send off a quick reply before pulling up the contact information for Leonie’s office.
I haven’t been to her office, but we had a long phone call not long after Clay started seeing her. She wanted to get all perspectives, and she said I gave her some real insight into things; it helped being a relative outsider.
She said it was important that communication be kept open and if I ever had any concerns I could call her.
Clay organizing his books may be nothing, but added to the other things that have been building up, I know I won’t feel right if I don’t at least tell Leonie.
The line beeps, bringing me to her answering machine.
“Hi, Leonie, this is Amelia Rivers—Clay Carter’s erm…” I don’t want to use the word nanny. “I help out at the Carter house. You said if I had any concerns about Clay I could call. I’d really appreciate if you could give me a call back on this number at your earliest convenience.”
Pulling the cell away from my ear, I click the end call button and lean my back against the counter, blowing out a breath.
Something in this house needs to change, and soon, because the people Tris’s moods are affecting are the two little humans who need to be sheltered from it.
I wish I had the answers to it all. If only.
“Come in.” I look up from the file I’m looking through, my gaze landing on the door as it opens.
“Mr. Cole, you may want to turn on the news,” Stacey says as she walks in and closes the door behind her.
I stand and move over to the sofa, turning on the TV on the wall opposite where I’m sitting. As soon as I have, our firm’s biggest client graces the screen being taken to a police car in handcuffs with the headline “Joe Kent arrested over domestic abuse charges.”
A knock on the door gains my attention and Marina comes walking in. “Sorry for barging in but we have—”
“I’ve seen.” I stand up, facing her. “What are we doing about it and why haven’t we been called?”
She hands me a file. “I went to the station, I knew you were busy with the Marco case so I took this on.”
I nod gratefully and press my intercom. “Tara, clear my schedule for today.”
“Already on it, Mr. Cole.”
“You keep me sane,” I reply before picking up my jacket and heading
toward the conference room closest to my office with Marina and Stacey on either side of me. “Stacey, get Holland and Nina and meet us in there.” She nods and walks off in the opposite direction. “What do we know?”
Marina turns on the TV in the conference room as we sit down, the news coming on. “Classic domestic abuse case. Mrs. Kent is insisting they’ve had a toxic relationship for a while now. She was admitted to Victoria State for treatment of injuries similar to those of a domestic case last night.”
“Why wait until this morning to arrest him?”
She shrugs as Holland and Nina—our in-house investigators—enter the room with Stacey following behind. I have little to no information to go on but the cogs are already turning, putting together a case.
I nod along to my own thoughts, standing up in front of everyone. “Holland, contact every close friend of the Kents. I want character witness statements for both Mr. and Mrs. Kent.” I turn toward the brunette pouring herself a coffee. “Nina, I need you to dig up anything we could use as testimony to Mr. Kent being a humanitarian or an advocate for women. I know he donates to a lot of women’s charities: get me records.”
“On it,” they both say as they walk out of the room.
“Holland, how are you?” I hear a deep voice ask from the hallway.
I stand up and walk out of the conference room seeing Holland shaking my client’s hand. “Mr. Kent. I’d say it’s a pleasure but under the circumstances I’ll refrain.”
He chuckles and turns around. “Ahh, Nathan Cole. If there’s anything I need right now, it’s a little humor.”
He shakes my hand warmly. “Well you can always expect a little from me.” I motion toward the conference room. “Shall we?”
“Of course.”
Marina stands and greets him with her signature sickly sweet two kisses.
“How long were you in there for?” I ask.
He swats the air like it’s a fly. “Not important. It kept me out of the press’s eye for a few hours that’s for sure.”
“Mr. Kent—”
“Nathan, you and your father have been long-time family friends; I’ve known you since you were in diapers. Please call me Joe.”
“Okay, Joe. This is one of our most capable associates, Stacey Wainwright.”
They shake hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kent.”
He points at her. “Weren’t you the lead attorney for the Nimko trial?”
“Yes, sir, I was.”
He undoes his button on his ruffled suit jacket and sits down in the chair opposite her. “You argued one hell of a case. I was following that and rooting for you.”
I lean back in my seat, watching their exchange. He’s right, if it wasn’t for her hard work and dedication to the case we wouldn’t have stood a chance with all the evidence stacked up against us. She was the one that pulled the tiniest bit of evidence out of the bag, exonerating our client.
“Before we get started on your testimony, I’d like to propose something.” All three look at me with curious eyes. “As you’ve already stated: Stacey is a formidable lawyer. I’d like her to take lead on this.”
“Nate, I—”
“No, hear me out, Marina.” I look at Joe. “Having a female attorney on your case will work in your favor and she’s already proven herself.”
“You want me as first chair?” Stacey asks, her eyes wide.
I smile. “Absolutely. I’ll be second chair so I’ll still be working the case with you.”
“I’d be honored. But it’s not up to me.” Everyone’s head swivels toward Joe who hasn’t spoken a word.
He leans forward in his chair seriously. “I have never in all my life… excuse me, apart from swatting at my sisters when I was a child, hit a woman, Miss Wainwright.”
“That’s what we like to hear, Mr. Kent. But the evidence isn’t looking good right now,” Stacey answers placing the photos on the table in front of him of his wife’s injuries. “These injuries are consistent with abuse victims. Do you have any idea how she got them?”
He stares down at the photos blankly before shaking his head. “I haven’t seen my wife for two days, but that’s not unusual. She’s not known for being a homebody as you well know.” He looks over at me. “She takes spontaneous spa vacations and the likes with her country club friends so when she didn’t come home the first night, I had no reason to expect anything more.”
“And you have someone that can attest to the fact she hasn’t been home in over forty-eight hours?” I ask.
“Housekeepers, I guess.”
“It still doesn’t make you innocent, Mr. Kent.” My eyes widen at Stacey’s outburst. “What? I want to make sure we cover all the bases; the prosecution won’t go easy on him.”
“She’s hired,” Joe says.
“Then it’s settled. I already have my guys looking into anything to go toward a character testimonial, but Stacey will take it from here while I work on the background things. I want to go and talk to your wife’s attorney considering she’s dropped us.”
“I’ll come with you,” Marina says, standing up.
“Are you sure you’re okay to take things from here?” I ask Stacey.
“How many cases have I won?” She smirks at me and I shake my head, starting to follow Marina out. “Mr. Cole?”
I turn toward Stacey who has a grateful smile on her face. “Yeah?”
“Thank you,” she mouths.
Joe shoots me a wink. “Go and harass the bottom feeders over at Bond Co.”
I chuckle. “Oh you can count on it.”
Marina is waiting for me outside my office when I get there. “Do you really think this is your best idea giving a high-client case like Mr. Kent’s to a junior associate?”
I lock up my office before walking toward the elevator with her. “Do you remember how good it felt when we got our first win?”
She smiles. “The Jodi Harris case. I remember it well.”
“Off the back of that we were put onto defending the grand theft auto and DUI of the state’s attorney.”
“And we lost miserably.”
I chuckle. “We did, but do you also remember the feeling of being given such a high-profile case? The feeling of being entrusted like that? My father knew we weren’t going to win, the evidence was clear against him, he even admitted it when he was intoxicated.”
“It doesn’t matter, as lawyers we were supposed to pick apart the evidence and make him seem innocent even if he was as guilty as sin.”
“Yeah, we really weren’t on our best form for that one. But my point is if we were never entrusted with that case, we wouldn’t have had the initiative to ask for more and to get down and dirty in the thick of things.”
“You make it sound so sinister.” Her laugh reverberates around the elevator.
“Stacey is an incredible lawyer, but what most law graduates lack is a sense of initiative. They like to play things by the book but we didn’t learn the things we now know by always doing things by the book.” The doors to the elevator ping open and we walk into the parking garage. “Joe is innocent, I know for a fact without checking into anything, so we’ll get our win.” I stop outside the doors. “Trust me on this, she’ll learn a lot more putting together her own cases instead of sitting in second chair and observing.”
“I do trust you, I wouldn’t have left your father’s company and started our own from scratch if I didn’t.”
“Good.” I start walking toward my car. “And you know what this means?”
“What?”
“A free weekend,” I exaggerate with a desperate voice.
She chuckles. “I can’t remember the last time I had a whole weekend to do whatever the hell I wanted. Any plans?”
I click the fob of my car keys, my Mercedes lighting up the lot. “I’ve got something in mind.”
I duck my head as Tris drives past me as I turn onto his street, popping back up when he turns the corner. I hope he didn’t recognize my SUV, bu
t there’s a lot of people around here with the same model as me so hopefully he won’t realize.
I turn onto his driveway and park outside the house, hopping out while grabbing the boots I’ve bought for Amelia and walking to the back gate. I check it’s open this time, sighing in relief when it is and walking through it toward the pool house.
All the curtains are closed so I can’t see inside. I press on the door handle but it doesn’t budge so I knock a beat on the glass.
I hear a thump then a curse making me chuckle as footsteps get closer to the door and Amelia’s sleepy, confused face appears when the curtain is pulled back.
“Wakey wakey!” I shout happily, my breath fogging up the glass of the door.
She shields her eyes against the bright sunlight, grimacing at me. “What are you doing here?” she asks, not making a move to unlock the door as she stares at me.
“Let me in and you’ll find out,” I retort, hiding the boots behind my back.
She huffs audibly before unlocking the door and pulling it open. Spinning around, she walks into the kitchen. “Too early,” she mutters, dragging her feet.
“Not a morning person?” My gaze falls on the crumpled-up duvet on her bed before I follow her into the kitchen and lean against the counter, the boots still behind my back. “Were you still sleeping? It’s nearly nine thirty.”
She swings her head around, narrowing her eyes at me. “Yes, I was still sleeping.” She pauses as she reaches into the cupboard and pulls a cup down. “I was up until three this morning.”
I’m not ashamed to say my eyes drift down to her ass in the tiny pajama shorts she’s wearing, checking her out. If my hands weren’t behind my back, I don’t think I could keep them to myself. She clears her throat and my head snaps up. “Sorry, what?”
She leans against the counter, crossing her arms. “I said: I thought you had work this weekend.”
Pulling my arms from behind my back, I dangle the boots off my fingers by their laces. “Change of plans. I thought I could take you on one of my favorite hiking trails. You in?” The expression on her face turns amused as she pushes the boots with her finger so they swing. “You don’t like them?”
Fighting Our Way (Broken Tracks Series Book 2) Page 18
