Chapter 31
Jackson County Courthouse — Late Morning
The courthouse steps were busier than usual.
Not crowded—Sylva didn’t really do crowds. A couple of people lingered near the railing, phones in hand. Two women stood off to the side, talking in low voices, glancing up every few seconds toward the entrance.
Reid Calloway spotted them before he reached the bottom step.
Phones.
Always the phones now.
He didn’t break stride.
One step. Two.
A voice cut through the low murmur.
“Mr. Calloway.”
He kept walking. He knew that tone. Polished, hungry, and practiced.
Another step.
“Mr. Calloway—a quick question.”
He didn’t slow, didn’t turn. The courthouse doors were ten feet away. The heavy oak was his finish line.
The woman stepped into his path. Not close enough to block him—she was too smart for a harassment charge—but close enough to make his refusal to stop look like a confession.
Lila Grant.
Up close, she was smaller than she looked on screen. Sharper, too. Eyes too steady.
A phone angled toward him from her other hand. Recording.
Of course it was.
Reid stopped.
Because walking through her would make a worse clip than stopping.
“What can I do for you?” he said evenly.
Her mouth curved—slightly.
“Given your relationship with Ms. Harper,” she said, voice smooth as silk, “do you have any concerns about how this case might be perceived moving forward?”
Reid held her gaze. He didn’t let his eyes shift, though he felt the other phones lifting around them. This was the trap: if he denied the relationship, he was a liar; if he defended it, he was compromised.
“My job,” he said, calm and precise, “is to follow the evidence wherever it leads. The law doesn’t have a personal life, Ms. Grant.”
Lila didn’t blink. “Of course. And do you believe the public can trust that process to remain impartial when the defense and the prosecution are... so closely aligned?”
There it was. Closely aligned. A polite way of saying in bed together.
Reid didn’t let his jaw tighten. He didn’t give her the satisfaction of a defensive breath. He let the silence sit for a beat. He let the wind whistle through the trees on the square, long enough for the tension to ripen.
“If charges are warranted,” he said, “they’ll be based on evidence. Not perception. If you're looking for a story about bias, you'll have to write it yourself.”
A flicker of something passed through her eyes. Interest. Calculation. She’d gotten her soundbite, but she hadn’t gotten him to flinch.“Understood,” she said.
“And Ms. Harper’s involvement—”
Reid stepped past her.
“Have a good morning, Ms. Grant.”
He didn’t wait for another question.
Didn’t give her a second clip.
Behind him, he heard the faint click of a recording stopping.
Then the low murmur of voices picked back up.
He pushed through the courthouse doors and into the cool, dim hallway beyond.
Inside, the air felt different.
Quieter.
The pressure didn’t just follow him in—it settled onto his shoulders like a lead cloak.
Jackson County Sheriff’s Department — Late Morning
Deck paused inside the door and looked around the bullpen like a man stepping back into a language he still understood.
A deputy behind the front desk glanced up.
“Morning, Deck.”
Deck tipped his chin.
“Mornin’, lads. Try not t’arrest the wrong fella today, aye?”
A chuckle moved through the room.
Eleanor walked beside him toward the hallway that led to Burke’s office.
“I’m going to speak to Sara for a minute,” she said. “I’ll be right there.”
Deck nodded.
“Aye, lass. Take yer time.”
She turned down the corridor toward the patrol offices.
Deck continued toward Burke’s door and pushed it open without knocking.
Inside, Burke sat behind his desk. Scout leaned against a filing cabinet. Reid Calloway stood near the window, finishing a conversation.
All three men looked up.
Deck rested one shoulder against the doorframe.
“Mornin’, lads.”
Burke leaned back slightly.
“Deck.”
Scout nodded once.
Reid’s mouth curved.
“Mr. O’Rourke.”
Deck snorted.
“Ah now, lad. I think we’re well past the ‘mister’ stage, don’t ye?”
Reid chuckled.
“Fair enough. Deck.”
Deck stepped into the room but didn’t sit. Instead, he folded his arms and studied them a moment.
“Before the lass comes in,” he said, “we’re goin’ t’have ourselves a wee understanding.”
Burke raised an eyebrow.
Scout crossed his arms.
Reid looked amused.
“Those podcast vultures have rolled into town, an’ from what I’ve seen they’ve taken a particular interest in Eleanor Harper.”
Scout tilted his head slightly.
“Why? Has something happened?”
Deck shook his head.
“No.”
Scout frowned.
“Okay… then why are you—”
Deck lifted one hand.
“I’ll tell ye why.”
“An’ there’s one fella in a canvas coat been lurkin’ outside Harper he was seeing the woman he’d claimed on a granite counter, and he didn't seem to care who knew it.
Reid stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, crowding the air in the small office.
“Good morning,” he said.
His voice was a low, resonant vibration that she felt in her bones. It was the same tone he’d used when he told her I’ve got you, and hearing it here, in front of Burke and Deck, made her heart hammer a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
He is unbelievable, she thought, a frantic mix of irritation and sheer, helpless attraction swirling in her chest. He’s going to get us both disbarred before lunch.
She locked her knees to keep from trembling and extended her hand, a desperate attempt to claw back some shred of professionalism.
“Counselor,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
Reid took her hand. His grip was familiar in a way it absolutely shouldn’t be here—warm, steady, and slightly rougher than a stranger’s. He didn't just shake it. He held it, his thumb grazing the side of her palm in a slow, electric stroke that sent a bolt of fire straight up her arm.
That slow, knowing smile appeared—the one that said he knew exactly what she was thinking, exactly how she was reacting, and that he found the entire situation delicious.
“Counselor,” he repeated, like an inside joke.
Eleanor felt the heat—a raw, stinging flush—ignite in her cheeks and burn down her neck. It was so obvious, so visible, that the room went dead silent.
Deck didn't just watch. He leaned in, his eyes darting between their joined hands and Eleanor’s flaming face.
Reid was still holding her hand. He hadn't moved. He was looking at her like they were the only two people in the county, blatantly ignoring the fact that the Sheriff of Jackson County was three feet away.
Deck cleared his throat. It wasn't a cough; it was a loud, rhythmic warning that sounded like a saw hitting a knot in a log.
Reid finally released her, but he didn't look away. He gave her one last, lingering look that felt like a touch before nodding toward the room at large.