Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
VON
I keep my face tight and controlled as we leave the courthouse.
But in all seriousness…what the ever-loving fuck was that?
“What happened?” Al mutters in my ear and I shake my head once.
“Later,” I mutter back.
The press has arrived and crowd us as we get into the town car. “Take us to the estate,” I tell Alex.
“But Pop—” Noah starts to protest.
“Grayson is with him,” I say firmly. “He’ll be fine.” I’m not arguing with Noah and he’s not going back to that tiny little house. There’s zero security and it’s only a matter of time before the press phalanx grows even larger than it was this morning. The last thing we need is for Noah to accidentally create another tabloid moment. At least we can keep them at bay from the mansion.
But this judge—I’ve never been so infuriated in my life.
There’s nothing I hate more than a biased judge. Yes, I am a defense lawyer, and yes, sometimes it is my job to allow guilty people to walk free (okay, maybe more than sometimes) but always within a framework of fairness. It’s not like I haven’t encountered judges who favor one side or the other before, but this is something entirely different. Sending messages through the sheriff, insane trial dates, the clear coziness between him and the prosecutor… I would have thought they’d support Noah, being one of their own. The blue wall and all that. Instead, it seems like they are more than happy to toss him under the bus.
And that sets my alarm bells ringing.
We arrive at the house and I’m out of the car before Alex can even open his own door. I’ve almost forgotten it’s still peak tourist season, and the estate is open for tastings. I can see people standing up at the tables on the veranda, taking pictures.
We need to get out of Magnolia Bay.
“Get inside,” I say to Noah as he catches sight of the tourists and groans.
“I didn’t realize the tasting room was still open,” I say to Alistair, who shrugs.
“We can’t close it down. That sends the wrong message. We need to act like everything is business as usual. And you know—white women love wine and true crime.”
“Do you even hear yourself when you say things like that?” I ask.
Alistair shrugs. His attitude toward life has always been to make light of everything.
As soon as we step inside, Caden comes rushing up to us, Isla at his side.
“We just heard about the trial date,” he says, holding up his phone to show us Everly Harris’s most recent post. “December? Like, this coming December? Is that normal?”
“No,” I say curtly. “Where’s Dad?”
“In his study. ”
“It’s only a matter of time before the press descend on the house,” Alistair warns.
“I know,” I snap. I love my brothers, but they aren’t being helpful right now.
“Hey,” Caden says quietly, and I think for a moment he’s going to comfort me, but no, of course he’s talking to Noah. When I look at Noah, he’s pale and his fingers are trembling. “It’s okay. Come on. Let’s go to the kitchen. Get you some water. Sit down for a minute.”
Noah nods, seemingly incapable of speech. Honestly, he looks like he might throw up. He follows Caden and Isla down the hall toward the kitchen.
I take out my phone and text Grayson.
How’s it going over there?
He writes back immediately. The usual. It’s a tiny house. They won’t be here more than a couple hours. Found nothing of interest so far except Noah’s gun. Which he keeps in a lockbox. But we knew he had the gun, so that’s no real surprise.
I quickly tell Grayson about the trial date. He reacts much the same as I did, with some very choice words to describe the judge.
I need to get Noah out of Magnolia Bay, I type. Can you bring over some of his clothes?
On it. Yeah, it’s a shit show here. Where do you plan to stash him?
That’s the question. I can’t just shove Noah in a hotel room. I need to keep a close eye on him. Plus, I’ve got more questions for him. There’s something he’s definitely not telling me about that morning.
I’ll take him to my apartment.
Smart move , Grayson replies. My building has doormen twenty-four seven. It will be much easier to keep Noah away from the prying eyes of the press there. But the thought of Noah in my personal space feels…weird. Extremely weird.
I tell Grayson to text me when he’s on his way with the clothes, then I head upstairs to see my father. I knock on the door to his study and hear his low voice say, “Enter.”
I open the door. Dad is standing with his back to me, hands clasped behind him, gazing out the window toward the lodge.
“Hi Dad,” I say, closing the door behind me. “The trial date has been set.”
“I heard.” He turns and there’s a cold fury in his eyes. “December? That’s not nearly enough time for you to prepare. How could you let this happen, Siobhan?”
When he looks at me like that, I feel a sense of smallness that no stilettos could ever compensate for. “It is enough time,” I insist. “This judge is completely biased against the defense. He’s heading into an election year. It’s clear he and this prosecutor are working against us.”
Dad takes a step forward and snatches his phone off the desk. “I’ll give him a call. Remind him who really runs this town.”
“Dad, don’t,” I say. “The judge could take me off the case if you try to interfere.”
My father’s eyes flash. “I’d like to see him try.”
“You do this, and everything gets worse,” I plead.
Dad hesitates.
“I’m taking Noah to stay at my apartment in the city until the judge will hear my pretrial motions. Obviously, I’m going to request this case be moved out of Magnolia Bay and into a different county. But it’s not looking good.”
“If you can’t handle this?—”
“I can,” I say, cutting him off. I never cut my father off and I see fury start to cloud over his face. But he needs to listen to me. “I took care of that ridiculous rumor about Noah and Daisy this morning. I need to do this, Dad. You need to let me fight. For Mom.”
My eyes burn but I blink the burgeoning tears away. I will not show weakness in front of my father.
Dad turns away. I wonder what memories are filling his mind right now. Whenever Mom is brought up, he hides his face. Like he doesn’t want to be seen.
“Very well,” he says.
I know a dismissal when I hear one.
I leave the study and run into Finn in the hall.
“I hear you met with Judge Warner,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“He’s kind of a prick.”
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Why Finn,” I say. “How unpolitical of you.”
“Don’t leak that to the press,” he says with a grin.
I zip my lips and pretend to lock them.
“How are you holding up?” Finn asks softly. His gaze flits to Dad’s study and then back to me, a clear sign that he’s guessed Dad was bringing down the hammer. It’s nice to have one of my siblings care enough to ask. I get it—I don’t invite the warm fuzzies the way Caden or Daisy do. But I’m trying so hard to be there for my family. I give him a brittle smile.
“I’m okay,” I tell him. “Thanks for asking.”
I head downstairs and stop outside the door to the kitchen when I hear voices.
“…can’t believe this is happening,” Noah is saying.
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” Isla asks. “Get a new judge?”
“That’s not how it works.” I hear Noah give a heavy sigh.
“How are you and Von getting along?” Caden asks.
“Fine,” Noah says. There’s a slight pause in which I’m sure my brother is giving him a sardonic look. “No, really. I mean, we’re arguing like we always do, but honestly, that’s keeping me sane. It’s the one thing in this whole mess that actually feels normal.” He gives a sad chuckle, then his voice sobers. “She was magnificent with Warner today. I’ve never seen anyone stand up to the judge like that.”
Did Noah just call me magnificent? Maybe I need to get my hearing checked .
“Well, that’s good,” Isla says.
“But you should have seen the sheriff when he came to the house today,” Noah says. “He looked at me like I’m the enemy. I don’t understand how all these people who have known me for years can believe I would do something like this.”
There’s a short silence then another big sigh.
“I’ll talk to him,” Caden says.
“No,” Noah says. “That’s only going to make things worse. I need to…I’ve got to figure out…god, why can’t I crack open my skull and let my memories spill out? He’d know then. He’d see. Everyone would. I’m so tired, Caden. It’s only just begun and I’m so fucking tired. The cameras, the rumors, the questions. The judgement. This town, split in two, people taking sides. Is this my life now? Am I forever branded a murderer?”
There’s a long pause and I take that as my cue. It’s time to get Noah out of here. I enter the room and the three of them, sitting at the island, look up.
“We’re leaving town,” I say.
Noah’s eyes widen. “What?”
“Grayson is getting some things from your house. We can’t stay in Magnolia Bay right now.”
“Where will you go?” Caden asks as Noah stands.
“My apartment,” I say.
A couple hours later, we’re in the helicopter on the way to Pier 16 in lower Manhattan.
Noah has his face pressed against the glass like a little kid as we approach the skyline, the Freedom Tower shooting up like a needle toward the clouds, the skyscrapers of the Financial District bunched together like building blocks. I’m glad he seems distracted. It was discomfiting, the way he was talking to Caden in the kitchen, the pain and panic in his voice…Noah has always been infuriatingly cheerful. Forever the optimist.
As we start to descend, he turns to me with a grin. “This is pretty cool.”
“Has Caden never taken you to the city in the chopper before?” I ask.
Noah rolls his eyes. “I take the train. Like a normal person.”
When we land at the helipad, a car is waiting to take us to my apartment. Noah’s face begins to lapse back into worry as we drive down the FDR and loop around the bottom of Manhattan to get to the west side.
I try and think of something nice to say. “I live in Soho.”
He blinks at me. “Okay.”
I was only trying to reassure him he’ll be staying in a good neighborhood. But clearly, comfort isn’t my forte.
I turn and stare out the window for the rest of the ride.
When we get to my building, the doorman hurries up to open the car door for me.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Everton,” he says.
I give him a nod like I always do and walk past him only to turn and see Noah freaking introducing himself.
“Hi, I’m Noah,” he says, offering his hand. The doorman looks surprised for a moment then shakes.
“Benito.” Huh. I never knew his name. “Welcome, sir. Can I take your bag for you?”
“I’ve got it, thanks.” Noah hikes his duffel on his shoulder and stares up at the huge, cream-colored building on a cobblestone street. Decorative molding lines the windows, and there’s a spacious lobby decorated with modern art. “This is where you live?” he says.
“Yes,” I reply.
“Huh.”
“Not what you were expecting? ”
“No. I guess I imagined an island in the shape of a skull or something.”
I give him my most exasperated look. “I’m not a Disney villain.”
Another grin pulls at his lips. “Whatever you say, Maleficent.”
I shake my head and walk into the lobby. The other doorman is behind the desk and nods to me as I pass. Noah scampers up to him and yep, there he goes introducing himself again.
“Hi, I’m Noah,” he says, extending his hand over the desk.
This doorman looks as surprised as Benito. I press the button for the elevator.
“Sam,” the doorman replies, shaking Noah’s hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Noah says as the elevator doors open.
“Are you coming?” I ask.
Noah rushes over and steps inside. “Is this teak?” he says, examining the wood paneling.
“I have no idea,” I say, taking out my key to unlock the button to the penthouse. “Stop introducing yourself. The doormen don’t care who you are.”
He cocks his head. “You didn’t know their names, did you.”
I feel flustered and try not to show it. “They work here. They aren’t my friends.”
“That’s no reason not to treat them with respect.”
“I treat them with respect,” I say. “I tip them well at Christmas.”
Noah shakes his head. “Classic Everton.”
I throw out my arms. “What do you want from me? I’m a rich snobby Disney villain and you’re a man of the people. There. Happy now?”
This is not the best way to start off our month-plus of cohabitating, but I can’t help it—Noah has always seemed to know exactly how to push my buttons.
The doors open and I can’t deny my satisfaction at seeing Noah’s eyes pop. My apartment is pretty spectacular. It should be, seeing as I spent a small fortune on an interior designer.
I step onto the polished hardwood flooring. The walls are crisply white, lined with black and white photographs of the city. I walk into the open plan living room and kitchen, tossing my bag on the long sleek island that separates the two. The double height windows let in the late summer sunlight, and I press a button on the wall so the glass panels retract, allowing the room to blend seamlessly with the large terrace outside—a warm breeze tickles my nose and the sounds of the city waft up from the streets below.
“Whoa,” Noah says. “This place is insane. You have a balcony?”
“Terrace,” I correct him.
“Is that a firepit?” He points to the low, rectangular table with artistically placed charcoal in its center. It’s a gas firepit—I’m not one for making fires—with a long white couch on one side and two white armchairs at either end.
“Yes.”
He peeks over the railing then comes back inside, blinking around at the modern furnishings, the waterfall island, and the custom white matte lacquer cabinets. It’s a far cry from the cramped little house on the water back in Magnolia Bay.
“Why is all your furniture shaped so weird?” Noah asks.
I roll my eyes. “It’s not weird. It’s AgapeCasa.”
He points at one of the armchairs in the living room. “It looks like an egg. Who wants to sit in an egg?”
“When you’re done judging my décor, I can show you where you’ll be sleeping,” I say. The first floor has one guest bedroom, a bathroom, and a small study. I’m not letting Noah sleep in one of the guest rooms on the second floor, where my bedroom is. That would feel far too close. Too…personal.
I have a sudden, panicky vision of running into him in the morning, clad only in his boxers. My pulse gives a faint hiccup, and I push the thought away.
Noah seems happy enough when I open the door to his room. “Whoa,” he says again, dropping his bag on the bed and gazing out the window, which offers a view stretching toward midtown, the Empire State Building sparkling in the sun.
“There’s a bathroom just down the hall,” I say. “Noah, we need to talk about?—”
But before I can finish, my phone pings with a text from Harold.
I’m handing your cases to Martin Donovan, he writes. I need you to come in and walk him through them.
Ugh. Martin is a Grade A tool. I bet he’s salivating over this opportunity to steal some of my limelight. The competition between junior partners is fierce.
“I need to go into the office for a bit,” I say. “I’ll be back later.”
“You’re leaving?” Noah asks.
“I have to get the lawyer taking my other cases up to speed,” I tell him.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Read. Meditate. Play Candy Crush. But do not, under any circumstances, leave this apartment.”
“But—”
I point a finger in his face. “No. And no social media either. I don’t want you posting anything until this is over.”
“I don’t really post much anyway,” Noah says.
“Good. That shit can geotag you. The last thing we need is for the press to find out you’re here. Is that what you want? More cameras? More reporters?”
“I get it, Von,” he says.
“Stay,” I command. I can’t help it—it does feel just a little good to tell my brother’s best friend what to do and he actually has to listen to me .
The last thing I see before I leave is Noah standing by the window, his profile etched starkly against the New York skyline.