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I begin following them out of the interrogation room. I’m showing my hand and losing the calm and sharp-tongued mask I wear whenever in attorney mode.
The thing is… I don’t give a damn.
Whenever Salvatore’s concerned, I’m the furthest thing from rational. I’m not a woman thinking with sound logic. I’m a woman hopelessly in love watching her husband get hauled off by people who make no qualms about expressing their hatred for him. By a system that’s corrupt to the core, with its leaders in bed with entities like the Neptune Society.
They’re going to sabotage us. They’re going to make sure they stack the deck so high, we’ll never be able to win…
“Salvatore,” I squeak out, my breathing erratic.
“Ricky, let them have a sec. Don’t be a total ass,” says the female detective.
We’re in the middle of the noisy police precinct with desk phones ringing and a swarm of officers at work, glued to paperwork or briefing others at a poster boards filled with suspects.
The detective named Ricky Zabala rolls his eyes. “You’re always such a damn softie, Keisha. I can’t stand it.”
They give us two minutes.
We’re not left alone. The detectives hover well within earshot in the background.
I step to Salvatore anyway, putting my arms around him and kissing his cheek. He can’t hold me even if he wanted to—his arms are still handcuffed around his back. My lips graze his ear and I whisper to him.
“I’m going to get you off. I promise, Jon. I’ll find a way.”
“Phi, breathe. You’re shaking. Look at me.”
I draw back enough to meet the blue-green swirl of his eyes.
“It’s going to be okay,” he tells me calmly. “I’ll be okay. It’ll just be a day or two ’til the bail hearing. Have Stitches take you home. Get some rest. Don’t worry about me.”
The fact that, even in a moment like this, where he’s handcuffed, being charged with first-degree murder, and about to spend at least the next few days in custody, he’s worried about me, boggles my mind. He’s trying to ease my worries when he has a mountain of troubles piling up.
“I love you,” I mutter, going for a full mouth kiss.
It’s a sign of affection I wanted to avoid in a public setting like this. Acting in the official capacity as his attorney, it’s best to keep the line between us professional at all times.
Yet, as our two minutes dwindle, and his comforting words quiet the panic inside me, I can’t resist.
They pull him away soon after. I’m forced to watch as he’s escorted out of sight, the pit in my stomach deep and nauseating.
* * *
I stay up all night reading law books and past case notes of criminal investigations. They encircle me on the floor of the living room, stacked on top of each other with dog-eared pages. The cats slink between the stacks in search of attention, only to be denied. I reach out a blind hand, stroking them lightly on their spines, and then return to my intent study.
My eyes ache and my body begs for a moment of rest. But my mind is impenetrable, pushing me on, spurring me to turn page after page.
I won’t rest until I have built a foolproof defense against the charges being brought up against Salvatore. His bail hearing will be sometime in the next day or two, which means I have to be ready for possible curveballs Polk and his team will throw our way.
There isn’t a doubt in my mind he won’t play dirty; he’s likely already tipped the scales in his favor. He’s well aware that Salvatore will be able to buy himself out of whatever high bail gets set—so he’ll want to convince the presiding judge that he’s too dangerous to allow back on the streets.
I’m so engrossed in my work that I don’t hear the front door of the loft snick open. Stitches walks up with his lips downturned and his glasses low on his nose. The wire frames do nothing to disguise the bags under his eyes.
Neither of us have gotten any sleep.
Rarely one to be distracted, I keep working, flipping to the next page, and jotting down some more notes in the margins. “What do you want?”
“Delphine, you’ve been up all night.”
“So?”
