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“Good. I think,” I hedge. “I haven’t been able to visit her too often because of school. But I think things are going okay.”
Hollowell nods, seeming to consider that. A strange light shines in his hazel eyes as he cocks his head. “Huh. ‘Okay.’ And you’re satisfied with that?”
My lungs expand too quickly inside my chest, pressing against my ribs painfully. What the fuck does he mean?
“Well,” I stammer, “no, but—”
“You wouldn’t rather have her found entirely innocent? Get her off scot-free? Prove someone else did it?”
I can’t move. I can’t speak.
We’re far enough away from the dining room here that I can’t hear the thrum of voices, which means no one inside of it can hear us either.
We’re alone.
Hollowell takes another step toward me, his presence invading my space, fi
lling up my senses. Something in his tone shifts as he gazes down at me, his expression blank and unreadable.
“What do you want to talk to Detective Dunagan about, Harlow? Why did you call him?”
14
Oh, fuck.
He knows.
I don’t know how he found out. Maybe Summer ratted on us, or maybe Dunagan mentioned my call to one of the cops Judge Hollowell has in his back pocket.
At the moment though, the how doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he knows.
Hollowell is still standing in front of me, his body too close to mine, his gaze steady. He’s waiting for a response, waiting to see if I’ll try to bluff again or admit the truth.
“I just wanted to ask him some questions about Mom’s case,” I say thickly, my tongue feeling too big for my mouth.
A little smile creeps across the judge’s face, as if he expected me to say that. As if he’s been waiting for it.
“Now, that’s not true, is it? You wanted to tell him a few things about the case.” He pauses for a beat. “About me.”
I don’t answer. I don’t know what to say. There’s nothing I can say, no lie he’ll believe.
Because he knows.
And it turns out I don’t need to say anything. Hollowell takes my silence as the admission it is and nods thoughtfully. He glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is nearby, then reaches for my arm and tugs me around the corner into the foyer, even farther away from the dining room.
I jump at the contact, at the horrible feeling of his long fingers wrapped around my arm. But before I can jerk away, he releases me, holding up his hands as if to assure me he won’t hurt me.
Not that I believe that for one damn second.
“Harlow.” His voice is soft, even, and straightforward. “Your mom is going to be convicted. It’s an unavoidable fact at this point. But not all sentences are created equal. If you stop poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, if you keep your mouth shut and don’t tell Dunagan anything, I can pull some strings and make sure she gets a reduced sentence. Involuntary vehicular manslaughter. She’ll be out in five years, tops—maybe less with good behavior. She’s young. She’ll still have her whole life ahead of her.”
“If I do what you say,” I force out, my voice unrecognizable.
“Yes.”
“And what about you?” A hot wave of anger rises up in me, making me stupid and reckless. My voice is still a quiet whisper, but it’s taking everything in me not to let it become a shout. “You slept with a fucking teenager and then killed her because you got her pregnant, and you just get to keep living your life with no consequences?”
There’s a flicker of… something in Judge Hollowell’s eyes. For a half-second, I think it’s remorse, but it’s not. It’s almost like surprise. Then he clears his features, banishing the micro-expression.
