And even then, she could still hear him.
There’s some attention for you.
8
Reid
The green Jaguar idled low as he pulled away from the back lot.
Top down. Cool air cutting the heat still lingering in his blood.
He shouldn’t have done that.
The podcast crew was still circling town, hungry for another piece of them. And every phone in Sylva had probably lit up with that picture by now.
And he’d kissed her anyway.
Not because of the cameras. Because she’d accused him of being a showman—and he’d wanted her to understand the difference between a performance and a pulse.
God, it had been hot.
It wasn't just the kiss; it was the way she’d met him halfway, her fingers bunching his shirt, her body a live wire against his. He’d handled plenty of high-stakes cases, but nothing had ever made his head swim like the feel of Eleanor Harper finally letting go.
He turned onto Main, the courthouse looming above him like a white ghost.
He could still feel her hands in his shirt. Still see her mouth parted when he pulled back.
There’s some attention for you.
He ran a hand over his face, his skin still stinging slightly from the friction of her lips. He’d meant to provoke her, to prove he wasn’t just a suit on a screen—but he’d ended up proving something to himself instead.
At the next red light, his phone lit up in the console.
Unknown number.
He stared at it, a traitorous part of him hoping it was aWhat the hell was that?text from Eleanor.
It wasn't.
It was the buzzards.
The podcast account had posted again.
“Sources confirm Harper previously involved with Charleston ADA during acquittal case. Pattern?”
He winced. That word again.
He replayed her face when Charleston was mentioned on the steps.
One flicker.
Gone in a heartbeat.
But he’d seen it.
And Deck had stiffened, too.
There was something there.
