By the time the trial date came, she’d be fat as a well-fed hen.
Reaching for a carton of orange juice, her hand paused mid-air. It was wonderful to be staying in a lake house, almost like a vacation. But with everything hinged on the trial, she wondered how she would ever relax.
9
The new pen fit in Dr. Powell’s hand like an extension of his fingers, smooth ink flowing over the paper with ease. Through a single earbud in his left ear, a man’s voice—thick with a fear he refused to voice—spoke in clipped sentences.
Dr. Powell took down every word in neat cursive, leaving several spaces between each section for his own notes. While many in his field preferred the ease and speed of typing up session recordings, writing by hand gave Powell a chance to absorb every nuance, revealing more than just the words that were spoken.
This time was a chance to dig deep into every moment the patient had spent baring his soul. What the man hadn’t said was more telling than the emotions the tough-as-nails officer was trying to hide.
Smiling, he flipped to the next page just as a quiet knock announced his first appointment of the afternoon. “Come in.”
Green eyes framed by perfectly manicured reddish eyebrows found him at his desk, her curly hair pulled back into the tight French braid he’d seen her wear so often on patrol. Once she’d made detective, her hairstyle had relaxed a bit, her naturally coiled curls sometimes held back by a single brown clip at the nape of her neck. By the end of her shift, rebellious strands would slip out, her hair as wild and unruly as her own spirit if not tightly contained at all times.
Like her hairstyle, her pantsuit was the same sleek, modern cut she typically favored, but the colors were muted. Even the shirt beneath the suit jacket was far from her usual pop of color. Gray, the shirt provided little contrast against the dark navy suit. The effect was a diluted version of the Ellie Kline he was used to seeing.
She’s changed her style to appear more competent.
“It seems you’ve changed your look a bit since you’ve returned to work.” Powell motioned toward the couch, moving from his desk to the chair he used during therapy sessions. She took a seat, quietly waiting for him to elaborate. “You’ve made some changes in the past,” he flipped through the calendar in his mind, “two and a half weeks since you came back on restricted duty. How are you feeling?”
She shrugged. “I’m fine.” She smoothed her hands over her pantlegs in an unconscious gesture, and he hid a smile. “I’m trying to tone it down a little, I’m surprised you noticed.”
“I rather enjoyed your occasional hot pink or canary yellow shirt lending a bit of surprise color to an otherwise boring pantsuit. But you’re smart to adjust your dress to inspire confidence while you’re waiting for full reinstatement.” He set the notepad on the table beside him and folded his hands in his lap. “It would be foolish to ignore the fact that unconscious bias exists. There’s nothing wrong with using human nature to get what you want.”
She nodded, finally leaning back against the cushion. “I just want to go back to work full-time. I’m ready to get back at it, you know?”
“I understand. Refresh my memory. When are you scheduled to return to full duty?”
Ellie glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall. “Monday, April sixteenth, if everything goes well.”
“It won’t be much longer, then.”
She sniffed, shaking her head. “Maybe to you. To me, that’s eleven more long days, and I’m feeling a little stir-crazy.”
“But you’ve managed thus far, and after a couple weeks off duty entirely.”
Ellie rolled her eyes dramatically. “Barely.”
“Surely, there’s something positive to come from all this.”
“I’ve gotten really good at making copies.” Ellie’s shoulders slumped as she leaned back on the couch, letting out a long breath. “I’m not cut out for administrative duties. I’ve been answering the Violent Crimes Unit’s tip line and interviewing walk-ins.”
“Walk-ins?”
“Mostly people filing missing persons reports on adults. There’s a form they fill out, and I upload it into the database.”
Powell tilted his head. “They don’t have you working on cold cases? Even if you’re not out on the streets conducting interviews, I would think there’s plenty for you to do.”
“I told Fortis the same thing, but he shot me down, so I’ve been in the main office. I have a feeling Fortis did it so he could keep an eye on me.”
“And how does that make you feel?”
Ellie scoffed, picking at a spec of lint on her pant leg, jaw clenched tight. “Frustrated more than anything. I think giving me thirty days of restricted duty after having leave was overkill.”
“You’ve had multiple incidents in six months, Detective Kline.”
“All justified.”
Powell noted her answer on the notepad and turned his attention to her once more. “Let’s say you’re in Fortis’s position. How would you handle a situation like the one you’re in differently?”
Ellie blinked in surprise, opened her mouth to speak, and closed it again without saying a word.
Powell waited for her to collect her thoughts.
She cleared her throat, thinking about her answer for a few moments before she spoke. “I guess I wouldn’t have much of a choice in his shoes.”
Powell nodded, trying to keep his pride of her under wraps. “Every officer needs to be cleared before returning to full duty after firing their weapon or being shot. You’ve experienced both in a relatively short period of time.”
“And I’m fine.” She squirmed a little under Powell’s gaze before throwing him a fiery green glare. “I did what I had to do to save the victim. That’s what’s important here.”
“Taking a life is traumatizing, even when it’s the only option. There’s no shame in admitting that.”
Her eyes suddenly welled with tears.
Ahh, there it was. Ellie was hard to crack, but there was a cavern of emotions beneath the surface. Powell grabbed
