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The drive to the courthouse would be short, as we live only two blocks away, but we’re picking up Dana, Reese’s client. “Have you talked to her today?”
“Not yet,” Reese says, “but I’m about to call her now and let her know we’re on the way.”
“Tell her one of our men is about to be at her door,” Luke orders.
He pulls out his phone and makes the call. I listen to the short exchange and Reese disconnects. “Done,” he tells Luke before he glances at me. “She’s cold and removed. I’d rather her cry.”
“Because cold and removed comes off as rich, arrogant, and indifferent.”
“Exactly,” he says.
“It’s an expectation,” I reply.
He glances over at me. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning address that head-on. She lived under an iron fist of expectations that meant no emotions. That call was an explosion of everything bottled inside.”
He studies me a few beats and kisses me. “You really need to be practicing law, Cat.”
I warm with the compliment he gives freely. That’s the thing about Reese. He’s the only person in my life that has lifted me up, not torn me down, my brothers included. That’s how he will be with our child.
“I do.” I say, lacing my fingers with his. “With you and then I write about it which is the definition of an inside source.”
“I love your column, Cat,” Luke says. “My wife is an attorney and she gobbles it up. She got me hooked.”
“Thank you,” I say. “It’s very flattering to have people enjoy my random thoughts about cases.” My phone buzzes with a text.
I grab it and glance at the number to find a message from Lauren: Any change?
Sick this morning, I type.
Oh good, she replies.
I laugh and Reese glances over at me. “Lauren. Girl talk.” My phone buzzes again with another message from Lauren: How are you going to the doctor with the trial going on?
I reply back with: I got a seven am appointment. I’ll call you later.
We pull past Dana’s high-rise apartment and the press is everywhere. “We’re picking her up two blocks down,” Luke says, glancing over at us.
A few minutes later, Dana, who I’ve met once before, is in the backseat next to me, her navy blue dress prim and proper, her blonde hair tied at her nape. “Hi,” she says to me and then in general to everyone. And that’s it. She says nothing else. Reese was right. She’s cold and removed.
“How are you?” I ask.
“Sick,” she replies, suddenly showing her human side. “I threw up three times this morning.”
“Have you eaten?”
“I can’t eat,” she says. “How can I eat? I’m being accused of killing my father.”
I reach in my purse and offer her crackers. “They might help.”
“Do you carry crackers for all of his clients?”
I can feel Reese’s attention and I quickly add, “I have food poisoning. I thought they might help me, so maybe that was lucky and they can help you. Try one. You need to be strong in court.”
She grabs a cracker and munches and Royce offers her a bottle of water that she takes. I settle back into my seat and Reese squeezes my leg, willing me to look at him. I inhale and glance over at him, meeting his penetrating blue stare and while he says nothing, there’s a question in his eyes. Maybe he’s even wondering if I could be pregnant. Or I’m paranoid. I’m paranoid. How can I not be?
We pull up to a side door of the courthouse where the police have blocked off an entrance. Dana inhales. “This is it.”
