This time, she didn't bother with the mask. The hatred blazed openly, a promise that even concrete walls and iron bars wouldn't extinguish her obsession. I met her eyes steadily, refusing to look away until the courtroom doors closed behind her.
It was over, not in the way any of us had expected when the nightmare began, but over nonetheless. I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of the past months begin to lift, even as I recognized that some scars—visible and invisible—would remain with me forever.
Chapter 2
The courthouse doorsfelt impossibly heavy as I pushed through them with Matt at my side, the transition from climate-controlled dimness to Florida sunshine momentarily blinding. I squinted against the sudden brightness, my body tensing instinctively at the wall of noise that greeted us—shouted questions from reporters, the mechanical whir and click of cameras, the general buzz of a crowd hungry for a statement from the exonerated FBI profiler whose case had dominated national headlines for months. The stone steps stretched before us like an exposed gauntlet we would have to run, no shelter from the attention I'd never sought nor welcomed.
"Agent Thomas! How does it feel to see justice served?"
"Will you be returning to the FBI?"
"What's your response to the Bureau's handling of your case?"
The questions overlapped into unintelligible noise as Matt placed a protective hand against my lower back, gently guiding me forward. The gesture wasn't possessive but supportive, understanding that my body was still a map of healing wounds and that the press of bodies around us threatened more than just my privacy.
"No comments today," Matt repeated firmly as cameras thrust toward us, lenses glinting like predatory eyes in the midday sun.
I kept my face composed, years of media training kicking in despite my determination to leave that life behind. The FBI had taught me well—how to reveal nothing, how to maintain professional distance, how to keep my expression neutral even when surrounded by chaos. Ironic that these skills served me now, after the Bureau had so quickly assumed my guilt.
Halfway down the steps, the crowd parted like a reluctant sea.
The café two blocks from the courthouse offered sanctuary from the press and curious onlookers. I sank into the chair Matt pulled out for me, grateful for the relative anonymity of the seating. My body still ached from the tension of testimony and the lingering effects of my injuries, but here, with the courthouse no longer visible and Matt's steady presence across from me, I could feel my shoulders beginning to loosen, my breath coming easier. A waitress approached with professional disinterest—perhaps not recognizing us, or more likely, offering the courtesy of treating us like normal customers rather than subjects of the morning's headline news.
"You okay?" Matt asked after she'd left with our orders. His eyes studied my face with the careful attention he'd developed during my recovery, searching for signs of fatigue or pain.
"I'm fine," I assured him. "Better than fine, actually. It feels like…" I paused, searching for the right words. "Like I can finally exhale."
Matt nodded, his fingers drumming lightly against the metal tabletop—a habit I'd come to recognize as his mind working through complex problems. "I've been thinking," he began, the rhythm of his fingers increasing slightly. "About what comes next."
"And?" I prompted when he hesitated.
His expression shifted, enthusiasm replacing contemplation as he leaned forward. "I want to start a private investigation firm. Specializing in wrongful accusations." The words tumbled out with an energy I hadn't seen from him in a very long time. "Using my cyber expertise to find evidence that the authorities miss or misinterpret. Helping people who've been framed, like?—"
"Like me," I finished quietly.
"Exactly." His hands stilled, palms flat against the table as he looked directly into my eyes. "I want you to join me, Eva. Your profiling skills, my tech background—we'd make one hell of a team."
The waitress returned with our coffees, interrupting briefly as she set down cups and a small plate of biscotti neither of us had ordered. "On the house," she murmured with a quick, sympathetic smile before retreating again.
I wrapped my fingers around the warm ceramic, considering Matt's proposition. The idea resonated in unexpected ways—using my skills without the bureaucracy that had failed me, helping others navigate the nightmare I'd barely survived, working alongside the man who had remained steadfast when everyone else believed the worst of me.
"Yes," I said simply, my lips curving into what felt like the first genuine smile in months.
Matt's eyebrows lifted slightly, as if he'd expected more resistance. "Just like that?"
"Just like that." I sipped my coffee, relishing both its rich bitterness and the rightness of this decision. "I can't go back to the Bureau, not after everything. But I'm not ready to stop using what I know, either. This feels…" I searched for the word. "Fitting."
Matt reached across the table, his fingers finding mine in a gesture that had become familiar during my hospital recovery. "Partners, then."
The word carried multiple meanings, professional and personal boundaries blurring in ways we hadn't fully articulated yet. I squeezed his hand in acknowledgment of all those layered meanings.
"Have you heard anything new about Tommy?" I asked, shifting the conversation to the other topic that had occupied our thoughts since leaving the hospital.
Matt's expression softened at the boy's name. "His case worker called yesterday. He's doing okay in the temporary placement, but she says he still asks about you."
"And about you," I added, remembering my last visit with Tommy, how he had carefully shown me a drawing of three stick figures—a woman with red hair, a man with a "special leg" as he called Matt's prosthetic, and a smaller figure between them.
"I've been thinking about that too," Matt said, his voice quieter now. "The case worker mentioned Tommy will need a permanent placement soon. Preferably with someone who understands his trauma, who can help him process what happened with Sarah."
