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“Originals?”
“The photos were altered. If we can prove that, I think we can get the little dude home.”
I popped to my feet. “I need my phone.”
Chapter Sixty-One
Patrick
I wrungmy hands in my lap.
They’d been in there for two hours. What could be taking so long? We’d found the original photographs. This should’ve been a slam dunk.
Instead of being in the courtroom, I was stuck hiding outside. Andrew thought it would be best if I weren’t present. I understood, but Marlow and Blake needed me.
I sank into the leather backseat of the hired car. They had a whole ton of people both here and away. I’d spent the morning videoing some of the guys at the VA Hospital who were more than happy to share their thoughts on Wicked.
The truth was, I was here for me. Because I needed to know the second the judge came to a verdict. I couldn’t stand the thought of Blake spending one more night away from home. Except when I pictured him where he belonged, it wasn’t in that tomb of a house. Those handprints on my home office window would never be cleaned. They should be littered with fresh ones.
Did this mean I had forgiven Marlow? Or had we called a temporary truce in an emergency?
I couldn’t be with someone who didn’t believe in me, but the previous night was the first time I’d felt whole since we’d last been together. Our little boy was missing, but once we had him back, we could be a family.
Except we couldn’t. Once this was done, we were done.
I drummed my fingers on my knee. Checked the time again.
Finally, I leaned forward. “Take them anywhere they want to go. Just make sure they get in the car with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
I tugged on the door handle and buttoned my cashmere coat as soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk. I found a bench close enough so I could see without being noticed and dropped onto the frigid metal seat.
A few minutes later when Marlow emerged from the courthouse with Blake on her hip, I jolted to my feet, but stopped short. Her face was luminous, even if tear-streaked. Blake thrust a fist in the air, the remains of his shout garbled when they reached me.
Wicked made a beeline for the SUV. When she opened the door and found it empty, she looked around, said something to the driver before her expression clouded. He ushered her inside, followed by Andrew, Trish and Ella, Mr. Dixon, Mrs. Quinn, Holt, and Baker.
There wouldn’t have been enough room for me anyway.
And wasn’t that the most accurate summary of the situation? I’d finally felt I’d found my home, but I wasn't really part of them. They’d been welcoming, but when push came to shove, none of them had said they believed in me. But I hadn’t exactly taken any of their calls. I didn't want to hear their disappointment.
I remained glued to the concrete as the car eased past, following it with my eyes until the taillights disappeared. Whatever had filled me over the last day evaporated along with it, replaced by a hollowness I could hardly stand.
My life was in that car. But I wasn’t their life.
“I hopeyou look like you haven’t slept because you’ve been working on my case.”
I slung my briefcase on the table. “I hope you plan on telling me all the shit you’ve been hiding.”
“It has to be Christopher.”
I failed hiding my surprise at this revelation.
“Do you have anything concrete to substantiate that?”
“She chased him into the woods that day. He came out. She didn’t.”
“You were there too,” I pointed out.
