A second later, he reached into the car and grabbed me by the legs, pulled me toward the open door of the car.
“What are you doing?” I yelled, but he didn’t answer.
Instead, he grabbed me around the waist, being careful not to touch my wound, then picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.
I pounded on his back, mortified. “Put me down!” I yelled. “Noah, put me down.”
He set me down on the ground, and dizziness flooded through me as the blood rushed back to my body.
“Easy way?” he asked, his tone making it perfectly clear he wouldn’t hesitate to pick me up again if he had to. “Or hard way?”
“Easy way,” I mumbled, and began following him into the hotel.
I headed for the front desk, but Noah strode right past it toward the elevator bank, and so I followed him. He pushed the button for the top floor, the penthouse, and we rode up in silence.
When the elevator doors open, we stepped out into a beautiful suite. It was sprawling but tasteful, with an ornate gold sleigh bed in the middle of the room, a bar area, and a good-sized kitchenette. Floor-to-ceiling windows took up the far wall, and there was a wraparound terrace that spanned the perimeter of the room.
“You own this?” I asked.
“No, Charlotte,” he said. “The penthouse is part of the hotel.”
I gaped at him. “You rent this room? Like, indefinitely?” I couldn’t even begin to imagine how much something like that would cost.
He ignored me, instead walking into the bathroom and flipping on the light. “Come here, Charlotte.”
I followed him.
The bathroom was huge, with a soaking tub surrounded by gold pillars and a double basin sink with shiny white marble countertops. On one side of the room was a vanity table with a lighted mirror and a white leather stool sitting in front of it.
Noah was at the sink, the bag of drugstore supplies that Jared had bought spread out in front of him.
He reached for me and pulled at the bottom of the sweater I was wearing so he could get a look at my cut. “It’s definitely not deep,” he said, studying it. “But you need to keep it clean.”
“I can do it,” I said, reaching for the bag, but Noah pushed it out of my reach.
“Hold your sweater up,” he instructed.
I did as I was told, and Noah pulled out a small gauze pad and a tube of antibiotic cream. “How did you end up in that room with Audi James, Charlotte?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re not the one who gets to ask the questions.”
His finger slid over my skin as he applied the cream to my cut, and I shivered.
“Fine,” he said. “What would you like to know?”
“He was your client?”
Noah nodded. “He was.”
I swallowed. “And he was… you got him off?” I knew better than to ask what I really wanted to ask, which was whether or not Audi James was guilty of killing that woman. As a defense attorney, you didn’t ask whether or not your client was guilty. You assumed they were innocent, you believed them even when you knew they were full of shit. And if you couldn’t do that, you comforted yourself with the fact that this was how our country’s justice system worked – it was set up so that everyone was entitled to a fair trial. It wasn’t a perfect system, but it was the best system, and it was a privilege to be a part of it.
“He was found not guilty.” Noah was finished applying the ointment to my wound, and he set the square of gauze against my skin.
“Because of you.”
“Because the jury rendered a not guilty verdict.”
“Because of you.”
“If you want to ask me something, Charlotte, please come straight out and ask me.”
“If it weren’t for you, if you hadn’t been such a goddamn good lawyer, would Audi James be rotting in a prison somewhere?”
“Impossible to say.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He held the gauze pad against my skin carefully, then picked up a roll of medical tape and ripped off strips of it using his teeth. He used the tape to fasten the gauze to my skin, then slowly pulled my sweater back down.
He looked at me expectantly, like he was waiting for a thank you. But he was going to be waiting a long time. Because I wasn’t going to thank him, not for helping me with something that was partly his fault to begin with.
Our eyes locked on each other, and I tried to look away, but he grasped my chin and pulled it back so that I was forced to look at him. The back of his hand trailed over my cheek.
“How did you find me?” I whispered. “How did you know I’d be in that room?”
His eyes darkened, and anger flashed on his face. “Audi James is my brother.”