“Always...” His brow furrowed. “Well, it used to be that he was always the last one still in the office. But lately...”
Lately, he’d been showing up at her office. And at her apartment.
Was that why he didn’t know what she knew?
Or did he know but he’d been keeping her busy so that she wouldn’t find out?
Miguel held the doors for her with one beefy arm while he gestured with the other. “He’s at the end of the hall toward the right. Corner office.”
“Of course,” she murmured. Stone Michaelsen would have a corner office.
“Since we have the whole top floor, each of the partners has a corner office or would have...”
“Would?”
“A couple of them walled up some of the windows,” he said. “Guess it goes back to the streets, where you like to keep your back against the wall.”
Acting impulsively, she hugged the big man. “It was great seeing you again, Miguel,” she said as she pulled back. He’d reminded her that people could come a long way from where they’d started, not just materially, like Stone had, but emotionally as well.
Could Stone achieve the emotional growth that his old friend had?
Miguel smiled at her. “It’s too bad you’re not doing juvenile cases anymore, Ms. Bellows. You were always really fair.”
That was why she was here, because it was the only fair thing to do. With new resolve, she headed down the hall toward Stone’s office.
The door was open, and despite having two walls of windows, he had his back against a wall with none. It was the same wall on which the door was, so he would have seen her before she’d seen him if he was looking up.
But he had his head bowed over an open book on his desk as he rubbed the back of his neck. He already looked beaten, so he probably knew what she did.
He just didn’t know that she knew, that she had the evidence in her briefcase. She didn’t want to talk about that now, at least not yet. Instead, she slipped off her heels, so he wouldn’t hear her coming. And she tiptoed along the wall until she came up behind him. There wasn’t much space between his chair and the wall. And the minute she reached out and touched him, he pushed back the chair and nearly crushed her. Her breath escaped in a whoosh.
And he jerked forward. “Are you okay?” he asked, his gray eyes wide with concern.
“Yes,” she assured him.
“What were you doing?” he asked. “Were you going to whop me over the head with your briefcase like you did in the parking garage?”
“I didn’t whop you over the head,” she said. “I hit you in the shoulder.”
“I’m going to be like Ernest Rapier,” he said with a sigh. “So abused.”
At the moment, with dark circles beneath his eyes and lines of tension around his mouth, he looked abused. Or at least exhausted. And worried.
“Yeah, like I could ever hurt you...” But even as she said it, she trailed off. She could hurt him—or at least his case—if he didn’t know what she’d just learned.
He studied her face for a long moment, and as he did, a muscle twitched along his tightly clenched jaw. “I think you just might be the only one who could.”
“Will this really be your first loss?” she asked.
He grinned and shook his head. “You are so damn sure of yourself.”
She had even more reason to be now.
She reached out and stroked her fingers along his jaw. Stubble was already poking through his skin. But it was soft to her touch, making her fingertips tingle. “You’re not,” she said. “You finally realize your client is guilty?”
He groaned, and it was full of frustration. “He’s not. But he’s not helping me prove it.”
“He’s not going to testify?” she asked. He was on the witness list, but he could still change his mind. And she could guess why he had.
