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“Well,” he finally said, “congratulations, Luna. You certainly kept me on my toes.”
He winked at me—while I pretended I didn’t have a hot flash over it—and then ambled off, female groupies all rising in their pews, ready to worship their god. But he ignored every one of them calling his name as he left.
Thank goodness that encounter was over. I’d gone my entire life without acting like a seventh-grade girl drawing hearts in my notebook, and I sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.
I was allergic to relationships—which was another whole story.
Relationships?Why the hell didthatword enter my mind? This was nothing more than attraction—unwanted attraction at that, and it would fade.
I would make sure of it.
I quickly packed up my belongings, touched up my lipstick, and started my path to the front of the courthouse, where reporters would be waiting on the steps.
A sudden chime from my cell phone broke my train of thought.
Charlotte: Have you heard?
I stopped cold. Charlotte and I didn’t text very often; we had no reason to, outside of the fact our dads were friends. Her father was my dad’s only friend, truthfully. They’d been cellmates for five years.
Me: Heard what?
The three dots on my screen pulsated, my throat growing drier with each one.
Charlotte: Your father is hurt.
My feet cemented to the floor as my heart began spasming.
Me: Hurt how? Is he okay?
Charlotte: I don’t know. I don’t have the authority to call and check up on him, but my dad was visiting another friend at the prison and heard.
Me: What happened?
And why hadn’t the prison called me?
Charlotte: A fight broke out, and your dad is in the infirmary.
The prison hospital.
My stomach collapsed in on itself.
Me: Thank you for telling me, Charlotte. Seriously, thank you.
And then I turned and started jogging to the opposite end of the courthouse, where my car was parked.
Instantly, my reasons for hiding it in the back parking lot seemed insignificant. My car was a piece of crap, and I wanted to avoid the possibility of some reporter following me all the way to it. Looking professional was imperative, particularly to my clients who were scared, and I didn’t want them to think that their lawyer was so incompetent with finances that she couldn’t afford a basic car payment. So, I parked it out of sight.
I jogged down the bustling main corridor, veering right into a quieter hallway. Then I hung a left, another right, and finally, I headed down the last passageway leading to the back parking lot, wondering…
What happened to my father?
Was he going to be okay?
He shouldn’t even be in that godforsaken prison!
The exterior door gave way with a forceful push, and the summer’s sweltering heat assaulted me. The rhythmic click of my heels echoed on the asphalt, and as I rounded a colossal truck that obscured my vision, preparing to navigate through the sea of vehicles, a sudden snag caught my foot.
I stumbled, my palms scraping against the unforgiving pavement. With wide, horrified eyes and a dread washing over me, I absorbed a scene that would forever be etched into my nightmares.
