Moving fast, I dart over to the first window and unlock it, sliding it up just a fraction of an inch. The gap is so small I don’t even know if I’ll be able to fit my fingers inside it later, but I can’t risk opening it wider—it would be too easy to spot.
Then I hurry back to the sink, and this time, I do lean over to wash my face, letting the cold water soothe my hot skin. I grab a tissue and wipe away the mascara smears from under my eyes, then blow out a shaking breath.
Adrenaline replaced all the sadness in my body as soon as I stepped into the bathroom, and I hope Hollowell can’t see that changes in my eyes.
But the honest truth is, I still look like shit, and when I let my shoulders slump, I’m the perfect picture of sorrow and defeat.
I’m still dabbing at my eyes as I open the door and step out of the bathroom. As I suspected he would be, Hollowell is waiting in the corridor for me, his hand resting lightly in the pockets of his suit. He looks me over with an assessing gaze, and I don’t try to hide my distaste. It would probably make me seem more suspicious if I didn’t seem to hate him.
“Are you all right?” he asks, tilting his head sympathetically.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I wrap my arms around my stomach in a protective gesture. “I have to get to school.”
“Of course. You can still have a good future, Harlow. So can your mom. Remember that.”
Hollowell’s voice takes on the quality I’ve heard teachers use when they’re trying to impart some pearl of wisdom to a troubled kid. Gentle and condescending, as if he doesn’t expect me to truly understand his words yet, but he knows that one day, I will.
“Yeah,” I say again, then turn and walk back down the hall.
Judge Hollowell moves too, stepping forward so he’s just ahead of me as he leads me toward the door. He opens it, and I step out into the cool February air. But before I can head to my car, his voice stops me.
“Let’s give it a week, all right? I’ll just make sure you’re keeping your part of the bargain and not talking to anyone you shouldn’t. As long as you do that, I’ll start working on securing a plea deal for your mother.”
“Fine.”
It’s the last word I say to him before I hurry down the walkway, slip into my car, and escape.
19
The guys are waiting for me about a mile away, sitting in Lincoln’s car on a side street in the opposite direction from the route Judge Hollowell will probably take to the courthouse.
I texted them as soon as I pulled out of Hollowell’s driveway to let them know I was okay. If they’d had their way, they would’ve been camped right outside his house, loaded up with baseball bats and brass knuckles, ready to rush in and save me if things went south.
But we couldn’t risk it. We couldn’t risk Hollowell thinking my visit was about anything other than accepting defeat.
When I slide into the back seat of Linc’s car, everyone turns to stare at me, and horror is written across all of their faces.
“Fuck, Low,” River breathes, sounding tortured. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” I swipe at my eyes again. Even if it was for show, the emotions I conjured up were entirely real, and I feel hungover from my hard cry. “It worked.”
“You got a window open?” Linc asks. Hot anger burns in his irises as he takes in my puffy face, but he keeps his voice steady.
I nod. “It’s just a crack. I couldn’t do any more, since I’m sure he probably went back to check the room after I left. It’s barely noticeable, but it should be enough to open it from the outside without setting off alarms.”
I hope.
“Okay.” Dax’s face is grim. “We called to confirm the court cases being heard today, and he’s due in court by ten. So we’ve got about an hour before he leaves.”
We wait two.
Each minute ticks by with agonizing slowness, and Linc moves his car several times, just to make sure no one notices us loitering suspiciously and calls the cops. At a little after eleven, I catch his gaze and nod. We can’t wait any longer. We need to be sure Hollowell is out of the house, but if we wait too long, we risk getting caught when he returns.
There’s no gate blocking the driveway of his house. The wall around his property seems to be intended more for privacy than as a deterrent to trespassers—but I did notice a security camera mounted on the wall, angled to capture the driveway.
So we park a few blocks away and walk, then climb over the wall in the same spot the guys did when they spied on him a few weeks ago. Hollowell seems to consider himself an outdoorsy man; his property is heavily wooded, probably so he can imagine he’s living in some remote hunting lodge or something.
But it works out well for us, because there are plenty of trees to use for cover as we creep silently toward the house, communicating only by gestures and low whispers. It’s warmed up in the past few days, but there’s still some snow on the ground—just little patches here and there where it piled up the thickest and was the slowest to melt. We make sure to avoid those parts, not wanting to leave any obvious footprints or disturbances.
I spot the bathroom windows as we round the side of the large, sleek house, and my heart clutches in my chest. This is it. If Hollowell realized I opened it, or if I didn’t open it wide enough, our plan will crash to an abrupt halt right now.
Tugging on River’s hand to make sure I
