She saw a man who would rather take the hit himself than let it reach her.
“Rain check?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.
He huffed softly.
“Count on it.”
She slid into the car.
Reid closed the door.
The cameras flashed again as she pulled away, white bursts reflecting in her rearview mirror like fading sparks.
In the rearview, Reid was a dark shape cut out against the white-hot glare of the flashbulbs. He didn’t move. Didn’t step back. He stood there between her and them as if that was where he intended to stay.
He looked like he was waiting.
As the van faded behind her, the silence of the mountain night slowly reclaimed the street.
By the time she pulled into her driveway, the tight knot beneath her ribs had loosened a fraction.
Home.
Eleanor killed the engine and sat for a moment, fingers still wrapped around the steering wheel. The porch light cast its familiar circle across the steps. No cameras. No microphones. Just the soft thrum of crickets and the low hiss of the creek down the hill.
Inside, her phone waited on the kitchen counter where she’d left it.
It buzzed before she reached it.
A new notification lit the screen.
Fading Away Podcast
Someone had tagged her.
She unlocked the phone, already bracing.
A photo filled the screen—grainy but unmistakable. Her and Reid on the narrow street outside the bistro, his hand at her waist, his head bent toward hers in the second before that last kiss. The camera angle had caught more of her face than his.
Beneath the photo, the caption:
ELEANOR HARPER: DEFENSE ATTORNEY OR DISTRACTION?
The comments were already coming in beneath it.
Did anybody else notice Eleanor Harper suddenly showing up everywhere right when this case started?
I’m sorry, but she looks way too invested in David Mercer for this to be just professional.
Funny how everybody wanted Caroline’s case solved until Eleanor Harper started poking holes in the story.
People in Sylva have known David Mercer for years. Eleanor Harper’s been here five minutes and suddenly she knows better than everybody else?
Maybe Caroline Simms finally gets justice if Eleanor Harper stops turning this into a publicity tour.
Her stomach dipped.
Every time she refreshed, the number climbed higher. Comments stacked beneath the photo, strangers dissecting her expression, her dress, the way Reid’s fingers curved at her waist, as if the angle of his hand could prove a theory.
