When the guard strides over to the table, interrupting Cardelli’s monologue, I’m limp with relief. I don’t want to hear any more.
“Time’s up.”
“I ain’t done.”
“Too fucking bad.”
I could protest. This is an attorney-client meeting, but I barely have it together enough to stand, let alone put together a coherent argument for the guard. Not when all I want is to get as far away from this place as fast as humanly possible to tear apart Cardelli’s story in my head.
It can’t be true. Can it?
Following the guard, I return to the waiting area on shaky legs. Everything I thought I knew has been shredded into tiny, unrecognizable pieces.
It can’t be true, my head argues again. Right?
But Cardelli’s devastating accusations dog my steps, threatening to steal the future I was starting to believe I could have.
Cav killed someone. In cold blood. Execution style. In an alley.
Dom’s question follows me all the way home, but Greer isn’t there. Part of me wishes she was so I could tell her everything right now. Get it over with. Come clean. No more secrets.
A bigger part of me is grateful for the empty apartment because I need time to figure out how.
I stare at the floor where she sat with that file.
Of all the fucking cases in the world, how did she end up with that one?
I could have asked Dom to take care of the problem, but the words wouldn’t come.
I’m not going to lose her.
I just hope to hell I’m right.
I tell the cabbie to take me to Banner’s. I can’t go home. I need to tell someone what I just learned so they can tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do. I’m lost. Utterly and completely.
Can my judgment really be that bad?
I pay my outrageous cab fare and wave weakly to Banner’s doorman.
“Ms. Karas. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks.” The rote greeting comes out automatically, and I hope he can’t tell that I’m anything but fine. He nods to me, and I head to the elevator.
My mind is going in a million directions when the door opens onto her floor and I stumble out. Banner’s welcome mat reads GO THE FUCK AWAY, but I don’t take it personally. It doesn’t apply to me. Never has.
I knock on the door, although pound might be more accurate. There’s no answer. No footsteps. Nothing.
It’s Saturday. She’s gotta be here. I need her to be here.
I pull out my phone and make the call. “Come on . . . come on . . .”
From inside the apartment, I hear the unmistakable sounds of the Golden Girls theme song that Banner picked as my ringtone.
Thank God she’s home.
“What’s goin’ on, G?” Banner’s voice sounds huskier than normal.
“Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“Umm. Yeah. No biggie. What’s going on?”
“I’m outside your door.”
“Oh. Shit. Okay. Hold on.” And then she hangs up.
The dead bolts slide back moments later and Banner opens the door partway. She’s dressed in a man’s white T-shirt and nothing else.
“Oh. Shit.” I echo her words. “Am I interrupting?”
Banner shakes her head but doesn’t open the door further. “No. Of course not. You’re never an interruption. What’s up?”
The deep rumble of a voice coming from behind her means that if my best friend were wearing pants, they’d be liar, liar, pants on fire.
The voice grows louder and the drawl strikes me as familiar. Banner’s face pales in color, but she’s pretending he’s not inside.
That can’t be Logan Brantley. It’s not possible.
Except it is him.
Banner closes the door a fraction of an inch, but it’s too late. She adopts a casual mien, leaning against the doorjamb like there’s not a shirtless giant of a man standing in her living room, just within my range of vision.
“What’s happening? You’re awfully dressed up for an unemployed Saturday morning. When did you get back? Did they give a cause of death? What’s happening?” Banner’s questions come at me rapid-fire, but that’s not the unusual part. It’s the bouncing of her leg.
I don’t know what’s going on here, but whatever it is, my friend doesn’t want me to know yet. And right now, I can live with that.
“Uh, yesterday. Not yet on the autopsy. I . . . just wanted to see if you were up for grabbing lunch. But we can do it tomorrow or whenever.”
Banner nods enthusiastically. “Tomorrow’s good. I want all the details. Call me?”
She’s already pushing the door shut when I agree and turn for the elevator.
Maybe I’m dreaming. Maybe today isn’t real. How can any of this be real?
Banner’s doorman waves down a cab, and I climb in. Creighton’s address comes out of my mouth instinctively. When in doubt, I run to my big brother.
Holly opens the door and draws me in for a hug over her huge belly.
“How you doin’, girl? You okay?”
I shake my head when Holly pulls back. “No. I—I’m not. Is Crey here?”
“No, he’s at the office taking care of a few things. I expect him back in a few hours.”
Hours. I don’t want to wait minutes to tell someone what’s bottled up in my head. I question the wisdom of laying this on a pregnant woman, but Holly’s one of the most grounded people I know.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Of course. Anything. But if you need to hide a body, we’re gonna have to call your brother. I’m not allowed to lift anything heavy.”