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Fuck me.
The Firm is closed through the week. Which makes it the perfect, peaceful place to reflect on the case. I walk the length of the penthouse, my hands tucked into my pockets. I come here when a case is wearing on me and I need to put things into perspective.
It’s my domain.
I pour a bourbon and then settle on the long white couch facing the floor-to-ceiling window. The city isn’t dark yet, just a hint of night touching the sky. There’s an illusive feeling I can’t quite grasp; as if I’m skirting the obvious.
All evidence points to a guilty verdict for Bates. The freelance investigator can neither confirm nor deny that the metadata of Bates’ computer was altered. Sol’s investigation backs this up. That’s not good.
I can argue it wasn’t altered with a lengthy and tedious testimony from an expert witness about metadata, but the prosecution can argue their side right back with their own expert. With no factual evidence to prove it one way or the other, it’s a draw. Probably not even a very good angle to support doubt. Unless there’s one or two IT techs on the jury, the metadata angle is a wash.
The only alternative is to create another suspect. I have Sol digging through the victim’s personal life, scouring friends, family, friends of family, and the like. Seeking anyone that I can steer the jury toward.
In all honesty, it’s a desperate move. One that if the jury is smart enough—if there’s any one juror with half a brain—will see coming.
There’s also the issue of public opinion. Malcolm Bates was dubbed Doctor Date Rape by the fucking press. We escaped the court of public opinion during the first trial, as the jury was sequestered, but that won’t help us now. Bates has been all over the media.
In all actuality, Bates is guilty. Case done. I should let it go.
But there’s one niggling doubt I still harbor—one suspicion that’s brought me here before I make the decision to drop the case.
I set my drink down and pick up the folder to my right. Before I thumb to the victim’s statement, my phone beeps with a text message. I sigh, setting the folder on my lap and digging out my phone.
Alexis: I need you
Her words are like a kick to my stomach, and I feel each one, loathing myself. She knows just what to say to make me give in to her. Regardless if I stand by my choice not to involve her further, closing her out feels like I’m severing one of my own damn limbs.
I haven’t yet decided what to do about her brother, and I had hoped to have that figured out before now. There’s the pressing conviction that I owe her the truth—but there’s also the nagging certainty that it will result in a worse predicament for her.
I have Sol on watch until I decide. For now, the only option is to talk to the judge overseeing her brother’s newest charge. Luckily, Judge Morris is a member of The Firm, so getting Jake’s jail time exchanged for a treatment center should be easy enough.
It’s what I feel will truly make Alexis happy. And that’s all I want.
Me: Where are you?
Alexis: The lobby
Dammit. I already know before I ask.
Me: Jefferson?
Alexis: Yes. I made him. Don’t be angry
Too late. I’ll have to have a word with my employee to clarify what I meant by take her anywhere she wants.
Me: Get in the elevator
I head over to the panel and enter my code, giving Alexis access to the penthouse. When the metal doors open, my chest constricts. She’s wearing a silver silk blouse tucked into a pinstripe skirt. Her hair is raked back into a loose bun, highlighting her green eyes. She looks elegant and sexy; like she tried hard to please me today.
The thought pangs my chest, even if I was right not to see her. There’d been no way I could’ve left her alone after one glimpse. I’d have spent the day in my office peeling away her layers of clothing, getting lost in the feel of her.
The elevator doors begin to close and I reach out and stop them. “You look beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, you’re a welcome distraction.”
She cranes an eyebrow as she steps out of the elevator. My gaze is drawn to her heels, then drags up her legs. “Distraction,” she repeats. “Blaming me for your lack of work productivity? So that’s why I was sent away.”
The hurt in her voice tears through me, and I’m unable to keep from clutching her hips, pulling her against me. Not sure who’s in need of reassurance more. “That, and I didn’t want the case to upset you.”
She looks down, placing her hand against my chest. “Chase, I love how safe you make me feel. I love feeling protected by you. I’ve never been able to let my guard down around anyone.” Her eyes flick up. “So please, don’t shut me out.”
