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“Are your fellow partners putting pressure on you?” Jessa asked Tim because that was the only question in her head at that second. The one that sat out there, blinking and begging for attention. “Poor Tim and his big, important firm.”
Faith whistled as she sat back hard in her chair. “Oh, shit.”
“Fine.” Tim’s gruff voice sounded the exact opposite of fine. “Yes, your continuing with this case could be... problematic for me. For both of us, actually.”
Jessa lost interest in her drink, this outing... this topic.
He reached out and put his hand over hers. “If this case goes sideways on the Bartholomews, which they don’t expect because they always get what they want, they will destroy you. Head-on, behind-the-scenes, through me. It won’t matter how.”
Jessa tried to block out the sound of his voice. She looked around him, searching for the waitress. “We should order.”
His hand dropped away from hers. “I’m not the asshole here.”
Faith made a humming sound. “Are you sure?”
Jessa wasn’t in the mood to console Tim and protect his ego, but she did it anyway. Her hand slipped to his leg, and she gave his thigh a little squeeze. “Trust me. I can handle Darren.”
Tim’s expression didn’t change. “I hope you’re still saying that a month from now.”
Chapter Seven
BREAKING NEWS: TECH BILLIONAIRE FOUND DEAD—Washington, DC
Alexander Carlisle, 49, founder and CEO of The Carlisle Collective, who sold his online gaming company for nearly a billion dollars two years ago and recently announced his intention to start a production company and enter the Hollywood arena, was found dead at his Georgetown home this afternoon. Sources at the scene who asked not to be identified said the death was the result of what is believed to be an accidental, self-inflicted gunshot wound to the pelvic area. Carlisle was alone in the property’s guesthouse at the time of the incident.
Carlisle’s wife, Ingrid, told witnesses at the scene that her husband did not own a gun and there were no guns on the property. The police have reassured the community that this is not an ongoing dangerous situation.
Carlisle has been in the news for personal matterslately. He was implicated in the death of an erotic dancer and escort during a party on his yacht,Undaunted, over the July 4 weekend. Following the allegation, five other women, all of whom worked as escorts, and some of whom had previous convictions for prostitution, have come forward to accuse Carlisle of assault and other violent acts during the last three years. Carlisle’s spokeswoman dismissed the allegations as part of a “vicious harassment campaign” to undermine Mr. Carlisle. The US Attorney’s Office for the District of Columbia, citing a lack of credible evidence, has, so far, declined to press charges.
Carlisle is survived by his wife, his son, Maddox, and his parents, Victor and Honey Carlisle of Greenwich, Connecticut. The shooting investigation is ongoing.
Chapter Eight
Gabby
The next two days passed in a whirlwind of grief and funeral arrangements. Gabby filled every minute with a long task list designed to keep the despair from seeping in. She pinged from one obligation to the next. Talking to the detective. Helping Baines’s brother, Liam, pick out a casket. Feeling useless while Kennedy wept uncontrollably. Exhausting herself so she didn’t have to process the clash of her seething anger at Baines that had grown wild over the last few years and the heartbreak of how his life ended.
Old memories and long-buried emotions rushed in at the oddest times. Baines’s silly grin the minute he saw her dress on their wedding day. The relieved tears when Kennedy finally arrived after twenty-three hours of intense labor. The endless work hours. Their exhausted laughter over pizza and cheap beer as they sat at a folding table, the only furniture in their first house for six months other than a bed and a ratty sofa.
The day she found out his secret, only to realize he’d discovered hers.
Divorce intensified every emotion and every slight. Shaded the good memories with a thick layer of disgust. Ratcheted up the tension until every word, every attorney letter, every long-resolved argument got dragged up and relitigated.
“Where’s Kennedy?”
Gabby turned from the window and stared out at the trees that blocked her view of the C&O Canal when she heard Liam’s deep voice. He’d abandoned his suit jacket and tie and rolled up his shirtsleeves as he sat down on her couch. Fatigue tugged at the corners of his mouth. His usual high level of energy dripped away as she watched.
“Upstairs. Crying, sleeping... both.” Her daughter loved to sing and dance. She’d inherited her bouncy, don’t-need-rest attributes from the Fielding side of the family. But she’d barely said a word since Gabby brought her home. “Nothing will ever be the same.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve buried my parents and a sister. Now my brother.” Liam leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a second. “Damn, it’s just me now.”
Gabby had known the three Fielding kids, Baines, Liam, and Natalie, for decades. They’d lived on the same street growing up. Natalie was the middle child. She used to say she’d drawn the unlucky Fielding straw. She dealt with learning difficulties and devastating anxieties that left her unable to handle open water, most animals, some food, elevators, or crowds. As an adult, she’d rarely left the house and depended on her brothers and an inheritance from her author aunt to survive.
Until the fire.
“I know. I’m . . .” Gabby sat down next to Liam. Their thighstouched, and she reached over to put a reassuring hand on his knee. The closeness immediately wrapped around her, suffocating her. Clearing her throat, trying to think about anything other than Natalie’s death and the long history between their families, she shot to her feet to put a bit of distance between them. “I know this isn’t the right time to talk about Baines. I’m not sure if there is one. Who knows how—”
“Gabby.”
