“Mr. Calloway, did you share confidential information?”
Flashbulbs exploded—white, jagged heat against the cool marble. In the front of the pack stood Lila Grant. She wasn’t shouting. She was watching, a small, clinical smile playing on her lips.
“Is this why you came to Sylva, Eleanor?” she asked, her voice cutting through the din like a razor. “To find a prosecutor you could handle more easily than the ones in Charleston?”
Eleanor went white. The world tilted, the hallway narrowing into a tunnel of noise and light.
Then a wall of tan wool stepped between them.
Burke was there, radiating the hard, immovable authority of a man who owned the air around him.
“Back up,” he said.
Nobody moved.
Burke didn’t repeat himself; he lowered his voice a dangerous octave.
“I said back up.”
The crowd parted, reluctant but obedient.
Reid appeared beside Eleanor, his hand finding the small of her back—a reflex that, an hour ago, had been a comfort.
Now, it was an indictment.
Burke saw the touch. He saw the wreckage on Eleanor’s face and jerked his head toward the side corridor.
“Back way. Now.”
They didn’t go far. Just around the side of the building, where the roar of the crowd hit the brick and died.The alley smelled of rain and exhaust.
Burke slowed at the mouth of the alley.
“I’ll give you a minute,” he said, his voice unusually gruff.
He didn’t look at them as he walked toward the street to run interference.
Eleanor dropped her briefcase onto a concrete ledge. The dull thud echoed too loudly.
Reid stood three feet away.
It felt like a canyon.
“That was a hit piece,” he said, his teeth clenched so tight the words barely escaped. “Lila Grant weaponized a private moment to drive her analytics. It’s noise, Eleanor. Just noise.”
“It’s a verdict, Reid. In the court of public opinion, the trial is already over.”
He stepped toward her, the familiar heat of him reaching for her, but she stayed pressed against the wall.
“It won’t matter. Harlan isn’t going to throw out a murder case because we had dinner at Sky Bar.”
“Reid.” The way she said his name—sharp and final—stopped him cold. “They’re not going to let this go,” she whispered.
The counselor mask was gone, leaving only the woman who had watched her life burn down once before.
“We can’t do this anymore,” she said. “Not like this.”
“Do what?”
