6. Cassie
CASSIE
The lawyer’s office is in a building I used to drive past all the time. Shortly after I learned he was representing Tim Walters, I changed my route so I didn’t even have to look at the building or be reminded of him.
Today, Tor drives me to the building and pulls into a parking spot like it’s nothing, but it doesn’t feel like nothing to me. My skin feels overly warm and my stomach is in knots as I follow him inside.
I’m so used to avoiding all this, not facing it.
I don’t want to see this lawyer, let alone talk to him.
More as a distraction than anything else, I sip the smoothie Tor bought me. We stopped for smoothies while he called the lawyer, and since I was already with him and the lawyer could see us right away, he drove me to the appointment.
I don’t know how else I would have gotten here, honestly.
I suppose I’ll have to tell my mother about all this soon enough, but not right now. I know the longer I avoid it, the more awkward it will be when she does find out, but that’s a problem for future Cassie to deal with.
I have enough on my plate right now.
As expected, the receptionist tells Tor to go in first while I wait in the lobby. His appointment takes a while.
I’m sipping on my smoothie when my heart nearly stops because Carson and Myra Walters come walking through the door. Time seems to slow down as I register the sight of them. My chest tightens, and breathing becomes more difficult.
“Miss Pritchard?”
The semi-urgent sound of the receptionist’s voice pulls me out of my slow-motion, horrified trance. I look over at her, and she’s waving several pieces of paper, trying to get my attention.
“Can you come up here, please? I have some forms I need you to fill out.”
Slowly, I rise. It’s hard to get my legs working right. I want to run to the desk to get away from Tor’s parents, but it’s like being in a dream where you’re being chased, and you need to scream for help, only to find yourself voiceless.
Except I’m awake, unfortunately.
This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here. I wanted to listen to Tor because he has been incredible, but I can’t be around these people in this place.
The receptionist moves out from behind the desk before I even make it there. She offers me a smile and asks me to come with her.
I do.
She leads me down the hall to a small conference room, not glancing back until we’re out of sight of the waiting area. Then she ushers me inside and closes the door behind us.
“Torrance asked me to remove you from the waiting area if his parents showed up,” she explains, putting blank computer paper down on the table in front of me. “I don’t really have any forms for you to fill out.”
“Oh,” I say, surprised at first, then my tense shoulders drop with relief. “Thank you.”
She nods. “Just stay in here, and I’ll let Mr. Walters know where you are in case he wants to see you. Torrance Walters,” she specifies, “not… the other one.”
I offer the faintest of smiles. “Got it. Thank you. I really appreciate it.”
Knowing they’re out there makes it hard not to think about them. I panicked at the sight of them, so their faces are frozen in my memory—the cold, hard lines of Carson’s face, his blue eyes narrowed with disdain, and the paler, more strained look on his wife’s.
It’s hers that gets me.
I’ve managed to avoid feeling guilty about what happened last night. It’s hard because all of this goes against my nature. I’m not a brutal person. I don’t want to hurt people.
But there are a lot of people who haven’t had any problem hurting me.
At a certain point, I had a choice to make. Fight back or let them win.
They’re used to winning even when they shouldn’t.
I think it’s only fair they finally get a taste of loss.
Despite the feelings that have built up inside me over the past year, I do feel sympathy for the pain I know Mrs. Walters must be feeling. It’s just that at this point, my sympathy toward the people who have ruined my life only goes so far.
I feel for her losing a son. I’m still glad I took him from her.
The conference room door opens, pulling me from my thoughts. It’s the receptionist poking her head in. “Tor has finished his appointment. He’s waiting for you at the front desk.”
My heart beats a little faster as I nod, rising from my seat with dread. I don’t want to go back out there.
I do anyway, and as soon as I reach the waiting area, I feel the molten glare coming from where his parents are seated. I ignore it as best I can and don’t look over at them. Instead, I go straight to Tor.
“All done?” I ask, hearing my voice shake a little.
“Yeah,” he says, grabbing my waist and startling me by pulling me closer. “It’s your turn. I know this is crazy. I’m sorry I got you involved in all this.”
My heart stutters, half because he’s touching me, half because I know his parents are watching. “It’s not your fault,” I say awkwardly.
He sighs, pressing his forehead against mine and nearly stopping my heart. “Just tell him what you know, okay? The sooner the cops stop wasting their time looking at you, the sooner they can get to finding the real fucker responsible for Tim’s death.”
He’s a frighteningly good liar.
His hand comes up to cup my face, his fingers caressing my jawline absently, as if they do it all the time.
Then he leans even closer, and I gasp against his mouth as it meets mine.
His lips are soft, but his kiss is slow and thorough.
Despite my shock and lack of preparedness, he controls the pace, controls how I know this must look.
He makes it feel intimate, comfortable, and supportive.
He pulls back slowly, then dips in on impulse to press one last soft kiss against the corner of my mouth.
My heart is racing when he lets me go.
“I’ll be waiting for you out here,” he tells me.
My nerves are a scrambled mess, but I manage a wordless nod.
The receptionist is waiting with a kind smile to escort me back to the lawyer’s office. I’m glad because I’m so out of sorts that I may not have found it on my own even though it’s straight down the hall.
“He’s sweet with you,” she remarks. “It’s surprising. I never thought he was sweet.”
“Neither did I,” I murmur, before remembering that I need to stop being honest. “Wait,” I say, my steps slowing. “Can I have just a second?”
“Of course.” She was reaching for the door to open it, but she stops, her hand dropping, and gives me a moment.
Tor prepared me for this as best he could, but he can’t be in the room with me. I have to handle this part of it myself, and I can’t do that if my mind is splintered in a million directions.
I force my mind to slow down. I take a deep breath in and then release it. Once I’ve done it three more times, I feel more in control.
“Okay, I’m ready,” I tell her.
She flashes me an encouraging smile, then opens the door and gestures for me to step inside.
Dread settles like a lead weight in my legs, but I manage to walk into the office. To the left is a wall of glass overlooking the street. The one I stopped driving down to avoid even proximity to this building, to this man.
He rises from the seat behind his desk, gesturing to the upholstered leather chair on the other side of it. “Have a seat, Cassie.”
He sits back down.
I walk around the chair and awkwardly take a seat near the edge.
“Get comfortable,” he tells me with a measured, polite smile. “We’re going to be here for a while.”
“Goody,” I murmur, leaning down to drop my purse on the floor.
“Yeah, I know. Murder is an inconvenient thing for all of us.”
I keep my lips sealed.
“To begin with, I need to tell you I am not presently representing you. This meeting is to see if I can represent you. Obviously, there are many complications and outright conflicts of interest. Under ordinary circumstances, there’s no way I would represent you, but Tor has made his stance clear.
I know he wants me to represent you, but do you? ”
I sigh quietly. “I don’t want to go to prison.”
“Should you?”
“People don’t always end up where they should,” I point out, holding his gaze.
His eyebrows rise, a knowing glint in his dark eyes. “Ah, but sometimes they do, don’t they?”
I cross my arms and lean back in the chair.
He doesn’t press. “If I represent you, you’ll have to sign a waiver acknowledging the conflicts of interest. I will, of course, represent you to the best of my ability, but loyalty is a crucial component of the relationship between a client and myself, and—”
“I know your loyalty is to him. We’re on the same side this time, so it doesn’t matter.”
“You’re on the same side right now,” he says flatly.
“It won’t change,” I assure him.
“You may think that now, but—”
“It won’t change,” I repeat firmly.
He holds eye contact for a measured pause, but I don’t break it. He goes on. “There are other conflicts. I previously represented Timothy Walters in a case where you were the complainant.”
“Victim,” I correct.
He maintains eye contact despite knowing he’s about to be an asshole. “Complainant,” he repeats evenly. “Legally.”
I fight the urge to glare at him.
“That prior representation creates a conflict. Even though my former client is dead, he is still entitled to confidentiality. That means there may be things I know about that previous case that I cannot use, even if it would help you. I cannot share those details with you, even if you’re my client now. ”
Frowning, I stare at him wordlessly.
“If you choose to sign the waiver, you may revoke your consent at any time should you change your mind. You may also terminate representation at any time. Before we can even think about crossing that bridge, though, we need to talk about what happened last night. I need to get your version of events and see how it lines up with Tor’s.
If there are significant discrepancies between your testimonies, then I cannot represent you. ”
I nod my understanding.
“Tell me what happened last night, in your own words.”
“It was a long night,” I say. “A lot happened.”
“Start at the beginning. What time did you go over to the lake house?”
“I’m not sure.”