She glanced behind me, then edged around, darting up the stairs with Blake in hand. I sagged against the railing. Had I finally gotten through to her?
I hauled the stroller back up to the apartment and wheeled it just inside the foyer. Tempting as it was, I didn’t stick around.
I went for the bottle the second I hit the door. The study was lit only by the dim light of the desk lamp. I chugged back the amber liquid and lolled my hands to the side. Headlights illuminated the little handprints on the window.
They were a sucker punch.
I hated Wicked for this. We didn’t have to be here in this hell where no one was happy.
I missed Blake. I missed her. I missed Gummy.
She didn’t have to tell me she was sorry. If she just made a single step toward me, I’d forget all that had gone down between us.
“Like that.” I snapped my finger in front of my face.
The answers to our problems weren’t in the bottom of this bottle, but it was this or work on the case. I was in no frame of mind for that.
So I drank.
Thought about Marlow and how she held all the power. I seemed bound to end up without the one thing I wanted most. A family like hers. Maybe it was my penance.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. Hope sprang that she’d decided to forget this shit.
Tick.
The unknown number.
I tossed the phone to the rug and shrugged off my jacket. The screen lit and buzzed on the floor.
Tick.
I needed to call the women’s prison and have Heather Buchan’s computer privileges revoked. For what she’d done, nobody should be helping her out, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they were.
She needed to quit this shit.
Tick.
I swigged from the bottle. My mind muddled. Had Wicked worked it out with her dad? I’d give her up if it meant she got to keep all of them. She needed her family even if she didn’t know it. And Blake. As much as I loved keeping that little dude every day, I’d never take him away from Mr. Dixon.
Boom.
The doorbell and simultaneous pounding stirred me. My phone danced across the rug.
This scenario was all too familiar.
I shot to my feet, threw my hand out to the chair arm while I gained my equilibrium, and rushed for the door. She’d come for me.
On the other side of the door was a Dixon, but the wrong one.
“Don’t be pissed. I’ll take care of all of them.”
Three lines creased his brow, but he quickly smoothed them out.
“Have you seen this shit?” Andrew thrust his phone in my face.
Prominent defense lawyer hid his own crimes
A moment of panic zapped through me until I read the first couple lines of the story. Heather Buchan hadn’t been making idle threats about turning this story loose.
I shrugged off the headline. “Want to come in?”
“How are you so calm? Did you tell anyone else about what you did?”
It was too early, and I was still buzzed. “Bourbon or coffee? I’m leaning toward bourbon.”
Andrew put his hand on my shoulder. “We’re both having coffee. I’d represent you, but I don’t think that’s wise.”
“I wouldn’t drag you into this. The headline is bullshit. There’s no crime if you aren’t even accused.” I dumped granules into the coffee maker and hit the start button.
“What the hell happened? Why is this coming out now?”
“She called me yesterday. Said I owe her because that sicko brother of hers is in prison.” I didn’t know how she was pulling strings from inside lockup, but apparently she could have communication with a reporter.
“Did you record that?”
“No, but the Bedford Hills Correctional Facility probably did.” I poured two cups of coffee and handed one to him.
“I’d call that blackmail.”
I blew on the hot liquid and took a sip. “As far as I know, she never filed a report.”
“You better hope she didn’t. If she was on a sting and didn’t take you in, she could be in more trouble than you.”
“I’m not the first person to solicit sex.” I’d been in a bad place.
“I can’t believe you did it at all. Women hang all over you at the bar. Why pay for what you can get for free?”
“I told you, I was shit-faced.”
“We’ve been beyond that, and I’ve never known you to be interested in prostitutes.”
“Bad day.” The worst kind of day . . . but one crisis at a time. At least the mystery texts were about this instead of that.
He glanced at me over his mug. Knew me too well to buy the excuse I was selling.
“Who do we know for PR? We can spin this. If we get out in front of it, it’ll die down.”
“I’m just going to ignore it.”
He stared at me incredulously. “You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.”
“What would you advise a client in your position to do?”
I hid behind my coffee cup. “That’s different.”
“You sound like my sister.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He propped a hip against the island. “Why did you tell me not to be pissed when you answered the door? And who are you taking care of?”
I tugged on my collar and cleared my throat. “Have you talked to your dad lately?”
“Yesterday. He was excited Marlow was coming over.”
“So not after that?”
He leaned his elbows on the counter. “What’s with the twenty questions? No.”
“You talked to her?”
“She left me some kind of bizarre message last night. I haven’t called her back.”
“Why not? That’s a big step for her.”
“The last time I fell for that, she ended up saying Ella was going to end up like her father.”
I winced. “Give her another chance. She’s—”
“Is my wife right? Do you have a thing for Marlow?”
I had no idea.
“I’ve definitely got a thing for the baby we’re having.”
Whack.
My head snapped back when his right hook
