Reid swallowed.
Eleanor’s voice slid uninvited into his mind.
I’m representing David Mercer.
Her eyes on the patio. The way her mouth had firmed when she’d said she was taking the case.
“Fantastic,” Reid said finally, the word flat. “So the man my office might need to treat as a murder suspect is the same man Eleanor Harper planted her flag on.”
“Yeah,” Burke said. “I figured you’d get there.”
A muscle jumped in Reid’s cheek.
“She know you’re reopening?” he asked.
“Not yet. I’m calling her after this.”
“Good,” Reid said, his prosecutor brain automatically clocking the procedural necessity. Then his heart caught up. “Actually, no. It’s a disaster. Forget I said good.”
The courthouse came into view ahead, brick and stone solid against the blue sky.
“She’s not going to like it,” Burke said.
“She’s a defense attorney,” Reid said. “She’s not supposed to like it.”
He turned into the lot, the Jag’s engine dropping to a purr as he eased into his usual space.
“But she’ll understand why,” he added, more to himself than to Burke. “She’d expect you to follow the evidence. Even if she hates where it points.”
Silence hummed on the line for a second.
“You okay?” Burke asked.
Reid let the question sit.
Was he okay?
He was walking into a week where he might have to stand up behind the state’s table and argue that the man Eleanor believed in had murdered Caroline Simms.
He was also still carrying the feel of her in his arms, the taste of her in his mouth, the echo of her sayingI came because I wanted you.
“Define ‘okay,’” Reid said lightly.
Burke snorted once.
“Remember whose side you’re on in court,” he said. “The rest of it… you and Eleanor can sort out.”
Reid’s mouth tipped in a humorless half-smile.
“Trust me,” he said. “I’m very clear on which table is mine.”
“That’s all I needed to hear,” Burke said. “I’ll set up a meeting. You’ll have the file by noon.”
“Got it.”
The call clicked off.
Reid sat there a moment, engine idling, the courthouse steps reflected in the Jag’s windshield.
