She sank onto one of the kitchen stools. The exhaustion hit harder now that she’d stopped moving.
Deck ladled soup into a bowl and slid it in front of her.
“Eat what you can,” he said. “Humor an old cop.”
She picked up the spoon. Her hand shook enough to betray her.
Deck didn’t look at the soup; he looked at the way she was holding the spoon—like it was the only thing keeping her from floating away.
“The law’s a cold bedfellow, Ellie-girl,” he said, his voice slipping into that low Irish rasp. “It’ll take everything you give it and still ask for more.”
He held her gaze.
“But don’t be thinkin’ that walking away from him makes what you feel any less true.”
He leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching her for a long moment.
“How bad was it?” he asked quietly.
She looked down at the glass in her hand.
“Court?” she asked. “Or the circus on the steps?”
“Both,” he said. “But start with the one that didn’t involve that vulture with a microphone.”
She took a sip of soup. It was warm and salty and steadier than she felt.
“Cade and Burke did what they always do,” she said. “Clean. Professional. Katie… did what she came to do.”
Deck nodded.
“And you?”
“I did my job,” she said. “Poked holes. Asked questions. Tried to make twelve people see cracks where Reid wants them to see concrete.”
“He look at you?” Deck asked.
She stared into the soup.
“Not much,” she said. “That makes two of us.”
Deck’s mouth twitched.
“Aye,” he said softly. “There’s the rub.”
Silence settled for a moment, broken only by the quiet clink of her spoon.
Deck pushed off the counter and came to stand beside her, leaning his hip against the island.
“I saw you after,” he said. “Leaving. White as the courthouse marble.”
“Needed to get out of there,” she said.
“Because of the case,” he prompted. “Or because of the boy on the other side of the aisle?”
She swallowed.
“Both,” she admitted.
