We ordered too much Thai food and ate straight from the containers while half-watching a movie neither of us would be able to name later. Harper kept stealing bites of my curry even though she’d ordered her own dish.
“Hey! Thief!”
“Food tastes better when it’s not mine.”
“Got FOMO, huh? You should have ordered the curry.” I shooed her fork away, frowning. “Get out my plate, woman!”
Later, after the food was gone and the sun had set and the movie had ended, Harper shifted to lay her head in my lap. She’d taken off the bonnet to let her hair air dry. I played with the soft curls that were still a little damp and enjoyed the view of the city winding down beyond her window.
“Today was so nice,” she said.
I hummed my agreement. “Necessary, as a wise woman once said.”
“We should play hooky more often.”
I chuckled, thinking I might have all the time in the world soon.
Harper was quiet for a moment. I knew what she was going to say before she said it. “I don’t want tomorrow to come.”
I felt that. Tomorrow meant going back to the hospital, back to the investigation, back to pretending we weren’t doing…this.
“Me either,” I said. “But we gotta. Face forward, code switch on.”
Chapter Fourteen
HARPER
The following Tuesday, I arrived at the conference room early. The air conditioning was running too cold, raising goosebumps on my arms beneath my navy suit jacket. My leather portfolio felt heavier than usual as I set it on the polished walnut table.
Dr. Rice stood at the window with her phone pressed to her ear. She ended her call and crossed the room. “The Hart family should be here at nine. Dr. Vaughn confirmed he’s attending.”
I nodded but didn’t respond. What I wanted to say was that we shouldn’t be feeding Cole to them, but I’d already lost that fight.
Adrienne and Gerald entered the room, followed by Dr. Webb, his tie already loosened at the collar though it wasn’t yet nine in the morning.
Behind him came Diane Hart and Rachel Gaines.
Diane looked worse than she had at our first meeting. Her eyes were swollen, the skin beneath them dark and papery, her black dress hanging loose on her frame. Rachel, on the otherhand, looked like she’d sharpened her teeth on the drive over. Her suit was cream with thin black pinstripes, her blouse the hue of dried blood.
“Mrs. Hart, Ms. Gaines.” Dr. Rice gestured to the chairs across from us. “Dr. Vaughn should be here any moment.”
They sat. Rachel opened her folio, pulled out a legal pad, clicked her pen. The sound was loud in the quiet room. The silence—the lack of small talk and polite conversation—was deafening.
I was sure Dr. Rice wanted me to play the nice hostess, stir up some chitchat. I refused. Let them be uncomfortable.
The door swung open and Cole walked in. I fought back a gasp at the sight of him, but damn. He cleaned up nice.
He wore a dark suit. Not black, the safe choice, but a deep midnight blue that made his brown skin look regal under the fluorescent lights. His shirt was crisp white, his tie a burgundy silk.
But it was the man behind him who made everyone sit up straighter.
Vincent Cross was a tall, broad dark-skinned man. He strode into the room with the energy of a man twenty years younger than his sixty-odd years. His hair was close-cropped, his deep olive three-piece suit impeccable, gold cufflinks catching every beam of light. Even his caramel-colored briefcase, worn at the edges, boasted of courtroom victories.
I could not be more excited for this moment.
Dr. Rice shot to her feet so quickly her chair rolled backward and nearly hit the wall. Rachel stood as well, a deep V forming between her brows. I was amused at the observation that her bob was slightly askew.
“Oh…uh, Cole,” Dr. Rice choked out. “We weren’t advised you’d be bringing counsel. We have legal representation in the room.”
