Despite the cold knot in her stomach, her mouth twitched. “Is that right?”
“Highly official,” he murmured, and kissed her—brief, firm, and defiant.
By the time they reached the car, Eleanor had slid the phone back into her bag. She wanted to believe his power could shield them both.
But as the Jaguar’s engine came to life, she couldn’t shake the sense that they weren’t just driving back to Sylva.
They were driving straight into a target.
Down the street, beneath the dark canopy of a sycamore tree, Deck sat behind the wheel of his truck with the engine off.
He watched the man with the long camera lens and the woman standing beside him—Lila Grant, though to him she would always be Lila Allen.
Micah shifted, angling for a better shot as Reid pulled Eleanor closer.
Click.
Another shot.
Deck’s jaw tightened.
He knew exactly what they were doing. They weren’t documenting a story. They were building a weapon.
And sooner or later, they were going to use it against his Nell.
42
Eleanor’s Porch — Three Weeks Later
The past twenty-one days had passed in a blur of careful boundaries and stolen moments. By day, they were the District Attorney and the lead Defense for a man accused of murder. But after five o'clock, they had crafted a silent treaty: no Mercer, no Simms, no Riverbend. In that vacuum, something else had grown—something loud, bright, and increasingly impossible to ignore.
Eleanor’s front porch had started to feel less like a quiet place to drink coffee and more like neutral ground in an ongoing negotiation she was rapidly losing.
What began as one perfect night by the river had turned into a steady rhythm—late-night calls that stretched past midnight, shared lunches grabbed between meetings, Reid showing up at the Cotton Exchange with coffee under the pretense of “needing to talk through a scheduling issue.” Once or twice, she’d even come home from the office to find him waiting on these very steps, takeout in hand, acting like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Tonight was no different.
The porch lights glowed softly, gold spilling across the steps and the night-blooming jasmine. Reid leaned back against the railing, arms crossed, watching Eleanor with that grin that could win over any jury.
She narrowed her eyes, already fighting a smile.
“What?” she demanded.
He shrugged, looking insufferably pleased with himself.
“I was thinking.”
She arched a brow. “Dangerous for a man in your position.”
He laughed, straightened, and closed the distance between them in two unhurried steps.
“You know, Counselor, I think you should be worried.”
“About what?”
He rested his palm lightly on her hip, the touch warm, familiar, and a little bit cocky.
“About how in the world you’re going to keep yourself from falling head over heels for me.”
