“Armani suits and Louis Vuitton briefcases, at least according to the paralegal Big John Simpson’s got doing research on the case. They’ve got motions on top of motions. Want a change of venue for one thing. The judge doesn’t like them, so that’s something.”
“Want to get him away from here, away from where people know what a nasty piece of work that Blake boy is.”
“Can’t say I blame them. But here or on Pluto, fact’s fact. The trouble is facts aren’t always enough in a courtroom.”
On one step back she slapped both fists on her hips. “You don’t think he’ll get off? Not after what he did.”
“I’m not going to think it, because if he gets out of this whistling, the next time, I know in my gut, he’s likely to kill somebody.”
“Well, my Jesus, Brooks.”
“Sorry.” Brooks rubbed at his tired eyes. “I should’ve taken my crappy mood to my office.”
“You sit right there and have your coffee, and you don’t let all this weigh on you.” She leaned down, kissed the top of his head. “You did your job, and everybody knows it. You can’t do more than your job.”
“Feels like I ought to. Anyway…just the coffee.”
“You holler if you want anything else.” Shaking her head, she walked away, topping off Roland’s coffee as she went.
Roland sat, mulling. Nothing the cop said struck him as false. He despised the “nasty piece of work” himself. But as the wise and wonderful Kim had said, you couldn’t do more than your job.
His was to find anything that might tip the scales in the client’s favor.
He nearly choked on his pie when the vision walked in.
He knew small Southern towns could produce some beauties, and in his personal opinion, Southern women had a way of nurturing that beauty like hothouse roses. Maybe it was the weather, the air, the chance to wear all those thin summer dresses like the one the vision wore now. Maybe it was the slower pace or some secret mothers passed to daughters.
Whatever it was, it worked.
He loved his wife, and had never in their twelve years together—ten-plus with rings on their fingers—strayed. But a man was entitled to a little fantasy now and then whenpossibly the sexiest woman ever created sashayed into his line of sight.
She hip-swayed right up to Gleason’s booth, slid in, like melted butter on warm toast.
“Not a good time, Sylbie.”
In Roland’s world, it was always a good time for Sylbie.
“I just have a question. I’m not going to try to get you back or anything like that. I learned my lesson back in March.”
“I appreciate that, but it’s a bad time right here and now.”
“You look tense and tired and out of sorts. I’m sorry about that. We were friends once.”
When he didn’t speak, she looked away, let out a breath that had her delectable breasts rising, falling.
“I guess we weren’t friends, and maybe that’s my fault. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since I humiliated myself for your benefit.”
“Let’s not go there.”
“It’s easy for you to say, since you weren’t the one standing there naked.”
Roland felt himself going hard, and mentally apologized to his wife.
“It was a mistake, and some of it’s on me for not talking it out with you. You’re sorry. I’m sorry. Let’s forget it.”
“I can’t forget it until I know.”
“Know what?”
