The door closed, and she felt drained. Emptied of caring. She wanted to sink onto her bed, pull the covers over her head, and never come out. She wasn’t an eight-year-old anymore. She didn’t have to ask for permission to speak and just pray someone would hear.
She was speaking. She would be heard.
Her gaze landed on the pan of brownies, untouched. An offering ignored.
CHAPTER 12
MONDAY, OCTOBER 8
Monday morning Jaime arrived at work later than usual. Her sleep had been interrupted by her parents’ doubts and disbelief, making her ignore her alarm. Then Caroline had jumped in front of her for the bathroom, and Jaime had let her.
Shouldn’t she feel better after the long conversation with her parents, that the barrier between them had been exposed? She had tried hard not to blame her mother in her retelling, but the woman had left the apartment looking like she’d been gutted.
The work was piled up on her desk, another three cases added over the weekend and more coming. Looked like the police had been busy.
Her intercom buzzed, and she jerked from the file she was reviewing. “Yes?”
“The boss wants to see you. I’d hurry.” The urgency in Gina the receptionist’s voice caught her attention.
“All right. I’ll be there as soon as I’m done with this file.”
“He said immediately.” Gina’s voice lowered. “I think he’s serious, Jaime.”
“Okay. On my way.” She clicked the intercom off and collected a notepad and pen. A minute later she rapped on Grant Joshua’s door. “You wanted to see me?”
He looked up from a document he was holding. “We have a problem. Take a seat.”
“All right.” In her job a problem could be any of a dozen things. “What happened?”
“Read for yourself.” He handed her the papers.
She took them and scanned the letter on top, and her hands began to tremble as she absorbed the heading. “An ethics complaint? Really?”
Why would the Virginia State Bar threaten to steal what mattered most to her, what she had worked so hard to create? She could sense her legal career teetering on the brink.
Grant spoke. “This leaves me no choice.”
She jerked her gaze from the form to her boss. “What do you mean?”
He leaned back, hands clasped over his trim middle. The man managed to run mini-marathons while operating the Alexandria County Public Defender’s office on a shoestring budget. The caseload alone should have him reaching for a Krispy Kreme every chance he got, but he directed all his energy into his work and his running.
“This ethics complaint forces me to put you on leave. It’ll be paid for two weeks while we wait to see what direction it goes.”
“Two weeks? That’s not even time for them to decide what kind of investigation this will get.”
“It’s that or resign.”
Jaime opened and closed her mouth, but no sound escaped. She swallowed and forced back the fog gathering in her mind. She had worked too hard to get where she was. She wasn’t walking away without a fight. “I have a trial next week. In fact, I should be preparing for it right now.” She thrust the paper back at him, but Grant stayed infuriatingly distant behind his desk.
“I’ll give the trial to Evan Reagan. He can get a continuance.”
“But it’s my case. I’ve spent six months wrangling with the prosecutor and preparing witnesses.”
“Give your notes to Evan. He’ll be fine.”
Evan was so wet behind the ears; she didn’t know how he afforded this job with the years of student loans he must have. “But . . .” She sputtered to a stop as Grant raised a hand.
“Grab what you need for two weeks. Consider it a paid vacation. Get a good attorney, fight the disciplinary action, and we’ll talk when it’s settled.”
“That’ll take more than two weeks.” Her shoulders slumped as she read the hard determination along his jaw. He wasn’t budging.
“We’ll reevaluate later.” He finally leaned forward, as if engaged in the conversation for the first time. “Jaime, you’re one of my best defenders. The fire you have is something I wish I could give all my attorneys, but you can’t do your job while you’re distracted by this. Take care of the charge, then come back ready to protect the innocent and provide a fair trial for the guilty.”
She studied him another minute, then pushed to her feet. Nothing she said would matter, so she might as well get started with a plan to salvage her career. “Yes, sir.”
She turned toward the door. If she was really going on this “sabbatical,” then she needed to get the Parron file ready to hand to Evan. All six banker boxes of it.
“Jaime?”
She sighed and turned back. “Yes, sir.”
“Better take this with you.” He fluttered the stupid packet in his fingers.
She snatched it from him, trying to hide the darkness that wanted to snarl out of her. Why had he seen it before her anyway? It had been addressed to her and should have landed on her desk.
“Jaime.” There was warning in his tone.
“This wasn’t addressed to you.”
“Take a break.” The words were a hard order.
“Yes, sir.”
Whipping around before he could see the moisture edging into her eyes, she gritted her teeth and strode toward her office, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. When she reached the safety of her office, she slammed the door behind her. Let them hear.
She leaned against the closed door, all the fight leaching away. Her battered desk was ancient gray metal of some sort that had surely seen service during World War II, but it was hers. Or had been. She sank into her chair, fingers stroking the arms where the fake leather had rubbed away to soft nubs.
Her mind felt as blank as her computer monitor, dark in sleep mode. She should pull up her trial notes on the Parron matter for Evan, but she didn’t want to. This was her case. She reread the letter from the Virginia State Bar. Disciplinary proceedings? Her?
She was careful, meticulous, committed to giving her clients the best defense possible. She stared at the figurine of Michelangelo’s David where it sat next to her phone. Few people realized that the seemingly perfect statue came from an unfinished, marred block of Carrara marble. Even fewer realized there was a fault in one of David’s feet that could cause the entire statue to crumble, one reason he had been placed precisely in position at the Academia in Florence—to minimize vibrations.
That’s how her life felt: one fault line away from fracturing into a million pieces that could never be recreated into a shadow of who she’d become.
A rap at her door pulled her head from her study of the replica.
Evan Reagan stood there, looking lanky and untried in his off-the-rack suit that hung on his frame. “Grant told me to see you about Parron.”
She gave him the first of the boxes and promised to email him anything else he might need. As he walked away, her gaze landed on the ethics letter again. She needed help, so she called the person she could rely on. “Savannah, do you have a minute?”
“I was getting ready to call you. I need your perspective on a potential client.”
“You’ve already got a team of good attorneys there.” Some of the best Jaime knew.
“Yes, but if what I’ve heard is correct, this case needs you. Can you get away?”
There was the tone that communicated Savannah needed her and knew she’d respond. What else could she do for the woman who had helped her survive law school and find a practice she enjoyed?
“This client is one you won’t want to miss. We meet in twenty minutes.”
Jaime sighed, but it was worthless to argue. And besides, she suddenly had a completely free schedule. “Actually, I can come, but I don’t know about twenty minutes.”
But Savannah had already hung up in that abrupt yet endearing way of hers.
She knew Jaime would come because Jaime understood Savannah wouldn’t ask if she didn’t mea
n it. Savannah didn’t waste anyone’s time, least of all her own.
The heavy box Jaime carried as she left the office was filled with the things she thought she might need, but its weight was nothing compared to the heaviness of heart. The elevator took her down to the lobby. She needed to step out, carry the box to her car, and drive away from the only job that mattered to her. Despite assurances, she knew the paid leave wouldn’t last. Her days at the public defender’s office could end if the ethics charge stuck.
The elevator doors began to slide shut, but she didn’t move.
Why not ride back up?
Then down.
She had no reason to stay.
No reason to leave.
The doors opened again and a man in a suit, someone she vaguely recognized from some meet and greet, entered. “Which floor?”
“First.” She refused to make eye contact. This wasn’t a day in which she could hoist her shield and keep people from seeing how shattered she was. A stranger could take one look at her and read her soul.
And today that would not be a pretty sight.
Then she inhaled, and her breath froze as the man’s cologne tickled her nose. That scent. She was instantly back in her uncle’s apartment and felt the pressure of blackness. She tried to tell herself that the man in the elevator wasn’t her uncle, even if he wore the same cologne.
The doors opened, and she couldn’t move.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded because she couldn’t find a drop of saliva in her throat to lubricate words.
The man held the door for her, and Jaime reluctantly exited. She placed one foot in front of the other, her heels clicking against the fake marble as she made her way across the lobby, through the door that led to the parking garage, and then down the second elevator to where her old sedan was parked. She opened the trunk and set the box inside. Then she scurried to the driver’s side, climbed in, and locked the door. Her breath gushed in and out, and she tried to slow down.
This wasn’t the way her life was going to play out. In a broken-down car leaving a broken-down career. She had a vision and purpose.
It didn’t matter that the ethics claim was fabricated. Her boss had no tolerance for anything that might undercut his authority in the courtroom. Today that “anything” was her. Tomorrow it could be some other unsuspecting attorney who was faithfully doing the job.
She tossed her purse into the passenger seat and then lowered her head until it hit the steering wheel.
The scent of the stranger’s cologne still lingered in her nose.
She wanted to be brave, to pretend her world wasn’t crashing around her head, but she couldn’t. She stayed where she was, wishing she could cry. Instead, she gulped huge lungfuls of air and tried to calm her thoughts and pretend she was in control.
The problem was she wasn’t.
She hadn’t been this out of control since she was eight years old.
She’d vowed to never place herself in a vulnerable position again. Well, she wouldn’t. Her jaw tightened and her fingers clenched. There had to be a way to make this whole mess disappear.
CHAPTER 13
MONDAY, OCTOBER 8
Traffic was stop-and-go along the Jefferson Davis highway, but eventually she pulled into the small parking lot behind Savannah’s storefront office. What was Caroline’s car doing there? Jaime double-checked her phone for the time. It was barely after noon, so Caroline should be slogging through a pile of motions and briefs for at least four more hours.
A sneaking suspicion made Jaime sit in the car a minute.
This wouldn’t be another one of Savannah’s interventions, would it?
That woman could be worse than a den mother at times. The last thing Jaime needed or wanted was a bunch of her friends holding her hand and asking questions, especially under the guise of helping a client.
She. Was. Fine.
She turned the car back on but couldn’t put it in reverse. What if it wasn’t what she expected and Savannah really needed her help? She moaned and collapsed against the steering wheel.
Could she do it?
Could she walk in there and pretend she didn’t understand what was happening?
Could she give that to her friends?
She wanted to, oh, how she wanted to. They’d given her so much. But all she felt was the churning and the warning that if she let them past her wall, they’d decide she was too much work. She kept a safe distance, so no one saw the depth of her pain and the ugliness of her scars. They thought they knew, but they didn’t understand a shadow.
Something knocked at her window, and she yelped.
“You okay, ma’am?” The words were muffled through the closed window, but she barely noticed as she looked up into the bluest eyes she’d seen . . . in several days. They were the kind of eyes that begged you to sink into their depths, something she would never do. A small quirk to the man’s lips communicated he recognized her too.
Jaime pressed the button to lower the car window inches to answer without letting the cold air in. “Can I help you?” She tried to insert the right note of back off buddy into her words.
He held up his hands. “Just making sure you’re okay. I’ll take the snark as a yes.”
What was he doing here? Chandler Bolton had been a nonentity in her life until his dog chased her cat a week ago. Now she saw him everywhere? Really?
Maybe he wasn’t human. Maybe he’d been sent to keep her safe in some twisted It’s a Wonderful Life remake. Each time she saw him, a piece of her was drawn to the dream. Yeah, more like an illusion. The reality was he’d turn into a toad that only gave you warts when you kissed him.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” She rolled up the window and gathered her things. After she turned off the car, she slid from it.
He was still watching her, and she was tempted to say, “Nothing to see here.” Instead, she lifted her chin and walked by without a word.
What was she doing here?
The princess tipped her chin and closed her eyes as if walling herself off. He couldn’t figure her out. She refused to look at him in such a determined way he wanted to laugh. He shrugged. Whatever made her life better. Yet he caught an edge of a cloak of sadness. Maybe she was intimidated by him. It wouldn’t be the first time his height did that, though she was taller than most women . . . with the look of an Amazon warrior princess. Would she be a perfect fit under his chin?
He knew better than to give more than someone was willing to take. When Rianna left, she’d taken his heart with her. It had taken a while to repair it, and he didn’t need to hand it over to another dark-haired beauty to mangle what remained.
He’d slipped outside the law offices of Daniels, McCarthy & Associates to grab his tablet from his car and check on Aslan. The law firm’s interior was too perfect for a big mutt like Aslan, no matter how well the dog was trained.
He wasn’t convinced he should even be here, but his childhood friend Angela Thrasher had promised that her colleagues could help Madeline Ange navigate the legal environment she found herself in.
When the woman had followed him out of the interview at the county building, he hadn’t wanted to get involved, but he couldn’t abandon a child who needed help. He’d had too many experiences where he couldn’t help.
He blinked back the image of convoys that didn’t make it back. Of innocents harmed in explosions.
Today would be different even if it made him uncomfortable.
He slipped back into the building and paused in the reception area. The TV playing in the background displayed some news program focused on Capitol Hill. Looked like another hearing. Those were a dime a dozen unless Congress was recessed, and even then the agencies kept busy. The next recess would be the week of Thanksgiving. A little over a month until the members left town.
The headline indicated that the talking heads were focused on new military appointments. There’d been a time he would have cared, but with his position at the Vet Center, other deci
sions had more bearing on his day-to-day than who gave the orders to troops on the ground.
Madeline’s daughter, Tiffany, sat at a small table under the watchful eye of the receptionist. The lady was prepared; she’d pulled out a tub of crayons and coloring books, followed by a bucket of Legos and a stack of books for kids of all ages.
Angela entered the reception area and spoke to him. “Thanks for referring Ms. Ange.”
“She needs an advocate.”
“This is the right place.” Angela glanced at the receptionist, who smiled warmly at her, then pointed her chin at Tiffany, as if in warning. Angela nodded, then gestured to the door. “Chandler, I’d like your take on something, if you have a minute.”
Tiffany was absorbed in building some sort of colorful eclectic structure with the Duplos, her tongue between her teeth. Chandler felt protective of her in a way he hadn’t since the little girl in Afghanistan, the one he’d sheltered with his body.
“Shouldn’t I stay with her?” He didn’t know who had hurt the child, but it wouldn’t happen again while he stood watch.
“She’ll be fine.” The receptionist gave him a calm look. “I won’t leave her. We’ll have a good time, won’t we, Tiffany?”
The little girl nodded, then added a bright green block to her tower. “I have to make a castle for Winnie-the-Pooh.” She held up a smallish character that stood on a Duplo.
“He’ll like that very much.” The woman shooed Chandler toward the door. “It’s not a good idea to leave those women waiting. No telling what they’ll generate in their whirlwind.”
Angela waited for him to open the door, then led him down the hallway. While not as public a space as the lobby, it still had professional warmth. The walls were painted a light shade of gray, and colorful modern paintings were spaced along one wall at shoulder level. On the opposite wall, framed images of the attorneys with a list of their accomplishments felt like invitations to know them rather than braggy bios, but Angela’s pace didn’t allow more than a glance.
She paused in front of a door, then squared her shoulders and opened it.
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