“I see. Well, Mr. Granade—hmm. I suppose I’ll have to start referring to you two by your first names to tell you apart. Lincoln, do you have any objection to her motion for pro hac status for Washington?”
I had a multitude of objections, but none of them were grounds to disqualify Wash’s admittance to the case. It was like I’d been hit with a haymaker, blindsided.
“No, Your Honor.”
“In that case, I will conditionally grant the motion pending the receipt of Washington’s paperwork. Counsel is dismissed.” Judge Crane exited through the chambers door.
“What the fuck do you two think you are doing?” I kept my voice low. The walls had ears. But I wasn’t going to let Evan waltz out of here without an explanation.
Wash smirked. “I got a call from a lady in distress.” He looked at Evan and then back to me. “I always come running when I get a call like that. You know a few things about butting in where you don’t belong. Remember, Linc? I’m just taking a page out of your book.”
My emotions were changing by the second. Guilt over what I’d done to Wash mixed with the anger of him ambushing me like this.
Evan still didn’t look me in the eye. The bad bitch was having the last laugh.
I’d thought I was making progress, getting her to open up to me. I even believed her vulnerable act. Was anything she told me about her past, her family, even true? She’d asked me that night at my apartment if I’d been telling her the truth. Maybe I should have asked her the same thing.
“Evan?” I put a lot in the question.
“This is just business. Just work.” She snapped her briefcase closed and pushed through the balustrade, never giving me even a sideways glance.
Had she been working me the whole time? Was she really the bad bitch like they all said? I didn’t want to believe it. But anyone who would take advantage of bad blood and turn his own brother against him wasn’t someone to be trusted, to be loved. I thought she was something different, someone who was strong enough to fight her demons. I realized that she didn’t fight them. She gave in to them. She let them run free. She was ruled by them the way I had been.
Wash followed her. He wasn’t gloating, exactly, but I could tell he was pleased with himself. She set a brisk pace, almost running from me though I was standing still, not giving chase.
“Evan,” I said again, not a question this time.
She halted her flight.
“Everything they say about you is true.”
Then she was gone, Wash following in her wake.
Chapter Nine
Evan
Wash and Jonesy set up a huddle in the largest conference room. Drew flitted in and out, bringing additional bits of information and case prep. I retreated to my office, slamming my door behind me. Do not disturb was implied.
I sank down on my couch and kicked off my heels. I rested my head in my hands. The look on Lincoln’s face when he’d seen Wash haunted me. Confusion first, then shock, then betrayal—a parade of horribles that I had laid before him.
“Shit!” I kicked the coffee table away and lay back, stretching out and draping my arm across my eyes. I didn’t want to see anything. Just darkness, blackness, what I looked like on the inside.
I was a coward. Now Lincoln knew it. The tears ran down and dripped into my ears. I let them fall. I didn’t deserve to cry. After all, I was the one who’d done wrong. But I wasn’t crying out of self-pity so much as I was crying for what I’d destroyed, what I’d lost.
Lincoln’s green eyes emerged from the soot of my mind. He was looking at me with his mix of mischief and curiosity. He’d wanted to know about me, the real me. Was there even a real me anymore? I’d been the bad bitch for so long that I’d become it. Did this fall into “be careful what you wish for” or “fake it until you make it” territory? No, it was in “you’ve fucked it all up” land.
I’d wanted to knock Lincoln off his game, to take the fight out of him so I’d have an easier time courting reasonable doubt. I’d accomplished my goal. I didn’t realize how much it would hurt to see him wounded. How much I would regret it. How hard it would be to walk away from him after he’d called my name.
Everything they say about you is true. His words reverberated through my mind, an indictment. All the counts against me were accurate. I was the worst of the worst, far nastier than any of my clients. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, thought I was better than I seemed. When I was with him, in his arms, I’d started to think maybe I was better, too. He was wrong. We both were.
I continued sinking into my pit of self-loathing, soaking in it until I dozed off.