Chapter 13
Outside Judge Harlan’s Chambers — Next Morning
The hallway outside Judge Harlan’s chambers had gone quiet.
Eleanor stood beside Reid with her file clutched against her ribs, close enough to feel the heat of him through the sleeve of his jacket.
Not touching.
Far too aware of how easily they could.
“You know I won’t take it easy on you in there,” Reid said, low and amused.
She kept her eyes on the file in her hand.
“You better not.”
Then she looked up at him. Cool. Sharp. Entirely herself again.
“Because if you do, Counselor, I’m going to wipe the floor with you.”
A slow grin touched his mouth.
“There she is,” he said softly.
Her gaze snapped to his. “Excuse me?”
“The woman who pretends she doesn’t know me every time we walk into court.”
Last night, he had stood in her kitchen with one hand at the back of her neck and his mouth against her forehead.
This morning, she looked like she meant to pretend every second of it had never happened.
Before she could answer, the bailiff opened the door.
“Counsel.”
They walked in.
Separate tables. Same current.
Inside Judge Harlan’s Chambers
Eleanor set her file on the table.
Judge Harlan reviewed the docket, glasses low on his nose.
“This matter has drawn more attention than most,” he said. “That will not influence this court.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Eleanor replied.
His gaze shifted to Reid.
“Mr. Calloway, I expect the same restraint from your office.”
“You have it.”
Harlan folded his hands.
“No commentary to the press. No trial by podcast. We will operate on admissible evidence and nothing else.”
A quiet beat.
“Understood?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” they answered in unison.
“Good. We’re finished for today. I’ll see you both at nine tomorrow.”
He rose. Meeting over.
Outside Judge Harlan’s Chambers
The door closed behind the judge. Counsel spilled into the hallway.
Eleanor gathered her files with practiced precision.
Reid stepped beside her, close enough to feel the warmth of his shoulder.
“You were aggressive today,” he murmured.
“You were sloppy,” she replied, not looking at him.
His mouth curved. “That motion was tight.”
“It should’ve been.”
He watched her for a second. “You’re back.”
She glanced up. “I never left.”
“No,” he said quietly. “You did.”
She stilled. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means last night you let me in.”
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the file.
“Reid—”
“And this morning you’re acting like it never happened.”
“Because this is exactly why it can’t happen,” she said, voice low. “The podcast. Charleston. Whatever this is becoming… I’m not dragging you into it.”
He studied her for a long time.
“Too late.”
The air hummed between them.
Reid lowered his voice.
“Dinner. Friday. No strategy.”
She didn’t miss a beat.
“I don’t date opposing counsel.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Oh yes, you do.”
Her brows lifted. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll pick you up at six forty-five.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
“You’re assuming I’ll be home.”
“You will.”
“And if I’m not?”
He leaned in enough that only she could hear him.
“Then I’ll wait.”
Her pulse kicked. The file edges bit into her fingers.
He stepped back, smoothing his jacket.
“Be ready, Ellie.”
Then he turned and walked down the hall.
Eleanor stood there a second too long.
April materialized beside her, eyes sparkling.
“Well,” April said lightly, “that was bold.”
Eleanor adjusted her files.
“I am not dating him.”
“Oh yes, you are.”
“I don’t date opposing counsel.”
April snorted.
“You kissed opposing counsel at Sky Bar.”
Eleanor froze.
April’s grin widened. “The whole town knows.”
Eleanor exhaled slowly.
April leaned closer, voice dropping a notch.
“You deserve someone who doesn’t scare easy.”
That landed softer than the teasing.
Eleanor straightened her stack of files.
“Not a word.”
April lifted a hand in mock oath.
“My lips are sealed.”
A beat.
“Unless it’s really good.”
“April.”
“What? I’m invested.”
Eleanor turned and walked down the hall before her composure cracked.
But she was smiling.
Just a little.
Parking Lot
Late afternoon light slanted across the nearly empty lot.
Eleanor stepped outside alone, files tucked against her side. Reid was already ahead, somewhere between the doors and the row of cars.
She reached her sedan—
And stopped.
A sheet of paper was tucked beneath her windshield wiper. Not an envelope. A page ripped from a spiral notebook, fringe still clinging like tiny, jagged teeth.
Her name was scrawled across the front in block letters.
ELEANOR HARPER.
The smile drained from her mouth.
She scanned the lot.
She pulled the page free. Unfolded it.
Cheap blue ballpoint ink bit into the paper, pressed so hard it had nearly bled through.
You defend monsters and call it justice.
Vanished in the Valley is watching.
At the bottom, someone had drawn a crude little mountain peak with a jagged V scratched inside it.
Vanished.
One of the college kids in a Vanished hoodie paused mid-sentence, his phone still aimed her way.
He simply watched her—a long, blank stare that lasted until the paper crinkled in her hand before he turned back to his screen as if she were merely a background extra in his own story.
“Eleanor?”
Reid’s voice carried across the pavement.
She looked up. He was halfway to his car, case file in hand, watching her face change.
He closed the distance in a few long strides.
“You okay?” he asked.
Wordless, she held the page out.
Reid read the lines once. Then again. The easy courtroom charm was gone.
“These bastards,” he muttered.
His gaze swept the lot, sharp, taking in the few scattered cars, the distant knot of college kids in Vanished hoodies by the far exit, phones out, laughing at something only their screens could see.
“This isn’t from a rival,” he said. “It’s from a fan.”
He looked back at the note. Then at her.
“I’ll look into this.”
He folded the paper once—careful, precise—and tucked it into his file.
Eleanor stood very still.
For the first time, this didn’t feel like noise.
It felt aimed.