“How are you holding up?” he asked.
Danai snorted. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
He studied her face, noting the faint streaks of dried sweat near her hairline from her run down Fifth Avenue to safety, her wrinkled clothes, and her now scratched, incredibly expensive shoes. The subtle hints of disarray did nothing to detract from the clear-eyed stare she gave him.
“It’s just another day for me.”
“If this is how exciting your life usually is, I think I’d like a vacation.”
Patrick barked out a laugh. “I’m owed one, believe me.”
Danai cracked a smile. “Then let’s make sure you get it.”
Something tight loosened in his chest. Yes, they were paying her an exorbitant amount of money to defend him in court, but Patrick had a feeling any other lawyer would’ve never left the cathedral with him—would’ve walked away and substituted out over fear for their life. Except Danai hadn’t, and he was starting to think that maybe he wasn’t just a paycheck to her, but a wrong to be righted.
Like Sage, she seemed to live for that challenge, and Patrick knew he was as challenging as they came in some ways.
“Think a preliminary report will change Preston’s mind?” he asked.
“Hard to say. It’s preliminary, which means there’s still some wiggle room for a wider set of findings, but the forensic investigators are meant to be neutral.”
Patrick nodded, resting his hands on the back of the empty chair in front of the desk, letting it hold up his weight. “People can be bought off.”
“I’m aware of that, but I don’t think that will happen here. I’ve used this firm before, and they have a rock-solid reputation.”
“All right.”
He settled in the other seat and pulled out his cell phone to update his pack on what had happened. He kept his phone on silent so the usual beeps of an avalanche of text messages didn’t annoy Danai. Twenty minutes later someone knocked on the door. Patrick straightened up from where he was slouched in the chair and put away his phone.
“Come in,” Danai called out.
Preston opened the door, gaze sweeping over them. “They’re ready.”
“Will the meeting be over once they give us the preliminary report?” Patrick asked.
“Yes,” Danai said before Preston could say otherwise.
Patrick texted Jono on the way back to the conference room, getting a response almost immediately that he was parked nearby. Considering what had already happened today, that wasn’t exactly safe, but Patrick had known arguing with Jono back at the cathedral was a migraine waiting to happen.
They entered the conference room again, where the two witches sat huddled around the laptop, scanner put away and three sets of printed-out pages in front of them. Danai and Patrick took their seats again, as did Preston and the other mage. The court reporter read everyone back into the record, and Preston took the lead.
“What did you find?” he asked.
Fredricka gathered up the papers, handing one set to Danai, one to Preston, and one to the court reporter to enter it into the record as an exhibit. “On their face, the magical signatures are similar on many certain levels, but vary in others, which is typical in familial cases. The variances were strong enough to conclude they are not identical, especially with Mr. Collins’ soul wound taken into account.”
Patrick would’ve let out a sigh of relief, except he knew it meant nothing if the charges against him weren’t dropped.
Preston frowned down at his copy of the reports. “Are you certain?”
“This corroborates the underlying evidence in our motion,” Danai said pointedly.
“This doesn’t clear him of murder.”
“The facts don’t lie.” Danai turned her attention back on Fredricka. “How long for the official certified report to be released?”
“We can have it to you by Wednesday,” she said.
“Thank you.”
