Page 47 of The Silent Hour

"Come in."

Knox stepped inside, shoulders squared, hands loose at his sides—the posture of a man who'd learned to look relaxed in rooms where relaxation was a liability. His eyes dropped immediately to the legal pad on my desk, tracking the margin notes, the circled names, the hard line I'd drawn beneath Dominic Cortez.

"When Rafa's done, we'll talk it through with him and my sister," I said, leaning back.

"Where's Eric?" he asked.

"Filing a minor motion on the De Luca arbitration before the courthouse closes."

Knox grunted and moved to the chair across from me without being invited, which was the only way he ever sat down.

"Did you know our wives were coming by today?"

“No." The corner of his mouth moved, not quite becoming a smile. "But I know why they did."

"Don't leave me in suspense."

He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, the way he did when he was choosing words carefully.

"Toya got the wrong idea about Lila and me. I thought I put it to rest when I told her I had zero interest in that woman, but she brought it up again until we had a disagreement."

I stared at him. "And she brought my wife along so she could see what exactly?"

Knox shrugged once. "Toya doesn't know Lila only looks at you like you hung the fucking moon when there aren't any women around."

I sat forward and steepled my fingers. "So she looks. I've ignored worse."

Knox studied me the way he studied juries—patient, unhurried, reading something he wasn't ready to name yet. "Lila's gorgeous, though."

My irritation came fast enough to surprise me. What the fuck does that matter? "Was that a redundant statement, or were you going somewhere with it?"

A faint smirk pulled on the left side of his mouth, the one that meant he'd already decided he was right.

"Point is, a woman who looks like that doesn't get to twenty-eight without knowing exactly what effect she has on people. She's a stunner and intelligent."

I said nothing. Because I knew she was beautiful. Of course, I fucking knew. I had eyes. I'd registered the symmetry of her face, the dark hair, the body she dressed technically appropriate while still making sure a man noticed what was underneath. That irritated me more than Knox's observation did.

Julia was the woman whose body I could map blindfolded. The woman I still watched cross a room because some primitive part of me refused to believe she belonged to me. There shouldn't have been room in my head to catalog another woman's fucking dress. So I shoved the thought exactly where it belonged—nowhere.

I picked up the Cortez file again. When Knox didn’t say anything, I glanced up at him. Something about him looked off. The observation snagged my attention like a hangnail, small and persistent and impossible to ignore. Knox's skin had a faint sallow quality, the kind that didn't belong on a man who'd been running at the same relentless pace as everyone else in our firm with overflowing case loads.

His eyes, usually sharp enough to cut glass, sat a shade duller than they should have, like someone had turned down the brightness on a screen. This wasn't the first time I had caught it. The pattern had been repeating for weeks now—Knox would show up looking like he'd been dragged behind a truck, and the next day he'd stroll in bright-eyed and rested, skin warm and healthy, as though the version I had seen the day before had been a trick of the light.

I'd asked multiple times. Once after a deposition when Knox had excused himself to the bathroom and hadn't come back for fifteen minutes. The second time had been in the parking garage. Both times, Knox had waved me off with some variation of the same line—just tired, man, you know how it is—and then the next morning, there he'd be, looking like he'd slept twelve hours on a cloud.

It didn't add up.

"You all right?" I asked, setting the Cortez file down. "You look like shit."

The corner of Knox's mouth twitched. "You sure know how to flatter a man."

"I'm serious."

He sighed. "I was just thinking that men like us don't get the luxury of mistakes, Ethan. One slip, even if you later regret it, your life is fucked."

I was well aware of that, so I wondered if he was talking about himself, or trying to give me unsolicited and unnecessary advice. I hated the warning all the same.

THE LIFT DOORS OPENED with a soft chime, and there she was.