Reid tipped his beer slightly in Deck’s direction.
“Noted,” he said. “I’ll try to stay on the right side of the bouncer.”
“Good plan,” Deck said. “He’s got a mean right hook.”
Eleanor shot Deck a look that was half warning, half affection.
“That’s enough,” she said. “Both of you.”
Reid’s eyes flicked back to her, amused.
“I’ll see you in court,” he said. “Or somewhere less formal. Eventually.”
He lifted two fingers in a lazy salute.
Deck did not return it, but the corner of his mouth betrayed the smallest twitch.
Reid held Eleanor’s gaze for one beat too long before walking out.
Reid
The air had cooled by the time he reached the curb.
He slid into his 1969 Jaguar E-Type. He’d rebuilt it himself—every bolt, every wire. He liked things he could fix. He liked things he understood. Things that made sense once you got beneath the surface. He turned the key.
The engine purred.
As he pulled away, the porch light caught the rear plate:
VERDICT.
In the front window, Deck stood watching. A protective old shadow.
Reid respected that.
He also found it, inconveniently, a little bit charming.
It didn’t change the math.
He smiled as he shifted into second and pulled away from the curb. Eleanor Harper wasn’t a case to be solved or an argument to win.She was a wildfire, and he was starting to realize he’d rather watch than put her out.
This was going to get very interesting.
Lila Grant — Later
By the time the evening settled, the courthouse steps had emptied.
Lila stood across the street from the white brick ranch, watching the gas lanterns flicker.
“Last one on the right,” Micah said, tapping the GPS.
Lila lifted her phone, snapping a shot of the house.
“B-roll?” Micah asked.
“Maybe,” Lila said.
Then the front door opened.
