Chapter 41
Saturday Evening
The Jaguar roared gently to life, a low purr that vibrated through the leather seats.
Reid fully dropped the top as they pulled onto the winding road toward Bryson City. Evening air poured over them cool and soft, carrying the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke.
The breeze caught Eleanor’s hair, sending blonde strands flying around her face. She laughed, the sound caught somewhere between surprise and delight.
“Hold on,” she said, gathering the loose waves and pulling them over one shoulder, baring the long line of her neck to the fading light.
Reid glanced over. For a moment, he almost forgot the road ahead. All he could see was the elegant curve of her neck…the easy way she trusted him with the road, the speed, and the view.
“You look very experienced at this,” he said, forcing his eyes back to the road.
“This is mountain driving,” she replied, lips curving. “You learn quickly.”
He took the first curve a little faster than necessary, the Jaguar’s tires gripping the asphalt with a low, aggressive growl.
Beside him, Eleanor swayed with the momentum, her hand flying out to steady herself.
Her palm landed flat against his thigh—high up, where the muscle was corded and tense from the weight of his foot on the pedal.
Electricity bolted straight through him. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t even blink. He felt the searing heat of her hand through the fabric of his suit pants, a brand that made the cases and jury pools in his head vanish instantly.
Eleanor rested her arm along the door, tracing idle patterns in the air, watching the scenery roll past. The wind pressed her dress against her body, tracing every line.
She should have felt exposed, but up here, with the sky turning soft and the world falling away on either side of them, she felt strangely safe.
“This is why I stayed,” she said as another sweep of mountains unfurled before them.
Reid glanced at her again, at the softness in her eyes that didn’t quite match the sharp, unflinching attorney he knew from across a courtroom. He knew what it meant to choose a place and call it home; he also knew what it cost to leave one.
“I can see why,” he said, and he wasn’t talking about the view.
Her palm brushed his thigh again as the car took another curve. This time, she didn’t move it away as quickly.
By the time they reached Bryson City, the festival was already alive. Strings of twinkling lights hung between trees along the riverbank, casting a golden glow over the crowd. Music slipped through the night air, a steady, pulsing rhythm that seemed to hum right under his skin.
Food trucks lined the edge of the park. The scent of barbecue, grilled peppers, and sweet kettle corn wrapped around them like another kind of invitation.
Reid parked near the river. When Eleanor stepped out, the band started a new set, a low, sultry guitar sliding into the air. She straightened, smoothing her dress down over her hips. His gaze followed the motion, lingering before he caught himself.
He offered his hand.
She took it, her fingers sliding against his palm, cool from the night air. Neither of them let go as they fell into step together.
He’d brought dates to nice dinners, charity galas, the sort of things that looked good in a society column. None of those felt like this—bare shoulders under lantern light, music in the distance, her hand in his, and no one he had to impress but her.
They didn’t notice the two people standing near a food truck, half hidden in the shadows. One lifted a camera with a long lens.
Click.
Another photo.
The lens followed them as they moved through the crowd.
Reid bought them lemonade first, condensation slick against his hand as he gave her the cup.
“Careful,” he said. “It’s cold.”
“I like cold,” she murmured, taking a long sip, throat working as she swallowed. A drop of lemon clung to her lower lip.
He looked at it a second too long.
Long enough that she noticed.
The air between them practically crackled.
Then he bought tacos from a food truck, spicy and dripping. Eleanor stole half of his without hesitation.
“You ordered two,” he pointed out.
“Yes,” she said calmly around a bite, eyes glinting. “But yours looked better.”
He watched her lips as she licked salsa from the edge of the tortilla, then dragged his gaze back up to her eyes when she caught him.
“You cross-examine like that, and I’m never winning another argument,” he said.
“Good,” she replied lightly. “I like my odds.”
They wandered toward the stage where people had begun dancing barefoot in the grass. The river moved beyond the lights, dark and slow, the sound of water a low murmur beneath the music.
Reid’s fingers brushed against the back of her hand once, twice as they walked. On the third pass, he closed his hand around hers.
She hesitated enough that he felt it. Old habits rose—professional lines, small-town gossip, the weight of other people’s expectations. She’d rebuilt everything here; she knew exactly how quickly it could all tilt.
“What if someone sees?” she asked, voice softer now, the words almost lost under the drumbeat.
He looked at her, at the flicker of worry behind the challenge. It would be so easy to joke, to step back, keep things neat and deniable.
“So what if they do?”
“You’re the District Attorney,” she said. The title sounded formal and distant compared to the way his hand felt wrapped around hers.
“And you’re the best defense attorney in three counties.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
He tightened his grip on her hand, his thumb stroking once over the soft skin at the base of her thumb.
“I’ve spent my whole career worrying about how things look,” he said. “Maybe I get one night where I care more about how something feels.”
The honesty in his tone caught her off-guard. He wasn’t pushing boundaries for the thrill; he was choosing her—here, in the open, with full awareness of what it might cost.
“I can’t pretend this is a business lunch, Ellie.”
The way he said her name, low and intimate, meant only for her, sent a small shiver through her. Her heart kicked up, matching the lazy thrum of the bass.
“I don’t want to pretend,” she admitted.
It was the closest she’d come to saying aloud that he scared her and steadied her at the same time.
The band shifted into a slow song, the rhythm loosening, voices turning husky. Reid tugged gently on her hand, guiding her toward the small dance area near the stage.
“Dance with me,” he said.
She glanced at the people around them, couples pressed close, hands on hips and shoulders, faces tipped together in the glow of the lanterns. Years of keeping her distance—in court, in town, in her own heart—pressed up against the urge to step into his arms and stop thinking.
“Now that someone might actually see?”
“Especially now.”
Something in his eyes knocked her a little off balance.
She laughed softly, more from nerves than humor, and stepped closer.
His hand settled at her waist, a steady weight through the thin fabric of her dress. He drew her toward him, closing the last inches of space between their bodies. The contact sent awareness sliding up her spine.
They began to sway with the music, slow and easy. Eleanor rested her free hand lightly against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her palm. Each small shift of his hips moved her with him.
Lantern light flickered across the river behind them, casting moving shadows over their faces. The crowd blurred into a wash of color and sound.
He’d danced at enough formal events to know the steps, but this felt different. Every place their bodies touched said I want this...even if neither of them had the courage to say the words out loud yet.
Reid leaned in, his lips brushing the sensitive skin below her ear.
“You know something?” he murmured.
“What?” The word came out as a whisper.
“I’m very glad your parents interrupted those negotiations.”
He didn't pull back. Instead, he let his lips linger for a fraction of a second against the pulse point just below her ear. The abrasive brush of his stubble scraped lightly against her skin, sending a violent shiver down her spine.
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He smiled slowly, drawing her a fraction closer against him.
“Because now we get to start them all over again. And this time, I don’t plan on getting interrupted.”
Something low and sharp curled in her stomach at the implication in his tone.
She laughed softly, but the sound was threaded with something else now.
She let her head rest against his shoulder, taking him in—clean soap, faint spice, and the low, steady heat of him.
For the length of the song, the world outside this circle of lantern light didn't exist. There was no Charleston, no cold case, and no courtroom.
But the dark beyond the riverbank wasn't empty.
Behind them, the long lens adjusted, focusing sharply on the way Reid’s hand dipped below her waist, the image crisp and damning. The camera flashed quietly—a brief, artificial heartbeat in the shadows, capturing the exact moment the District Attorney forgot to hide how much he wanted her.
And neither of them noticed.
They were too warm, too close, and too far gone.
The walk back to the Jaguar was slower, the air cooler, their fingers still intertwined. Reid was still riding the high of the dance; Eleanor felt the familiar prickle at the back of her neck—the one she’d lived with for two years in Charleston.
She pulled her phone from her clutch to check the time.
A notification glared on her lock screen—a Jackson County Ledger alert, or rather, the comments beneath it.
@SylvaTruth: Saw the DA’s Jag headed toward Bryson City with a blonde in the passenger seat. Conflict of interest much?
@MercerJustice: Calloway’s too busy dancing to find Caroline. Guess we know whose side he’s on now.
Eleanor’s steps faltered. “Reid.”
“Mm?” He was watching the river, not his phone.
“People are talking. Online.” She turned the screen toward him, the blue light harsh against the lantern glow. “They’re tracking the car. They know we’re here together.”
Reid didn’t even slow. He pressed his thumb to the power button, dimming the screen, tucked her hand—phone and all—back into the crook of his arm.
“It’s not just talk,” she said, the words tight. “Lila’s followers are vicious. If they make it look like you’re compromised because of me—”
He stopped then, turning her to face him. He didn’t look rattled; he looked done performing for the gallery.
“I’ve spent ten years building a reputation so I could choose my own life,” he said quietly. “If the price of tonight is a few nasty comments, I’ll pay it.”
“It won’t stay in the comments,” she whispered. “They don’t want the truth. They want a villain.”
Reid cupped her jaw, his thumb tracing her lower lip. “Then let them have one. I’m the District Attorney. I’ve been called worse than ‘compromised.’”
He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. “And I’m not spending my Saturday night staring at a screen when I could be looking at you. Put the phone away, Counselor. That’s an order.”
Despite the cold knot in her stomach, her mouth twitched. “Is that right?”
“Highly official,” he murmured, and kissed her—brief, firm, and defiant.
By the time they reached the car, Eleanor had slid the phone back into her bag. She wanted to believe his power could shield them both.
But as the Jaguar’s engine came to life, she couldn’t shake the sense that they weren’t just driving back to Sylva.
They were driving straight into a target.
Down the street, beneath the dark canopy of a sycamore tree, Deck sat behind the wheel of his truck with the engine off.
He watched the man with the long camera lens and the woman standing beside him—Lila Grant, though to him she would always be Lila Allen.
Micah shifted, angling for a better shot as Reid pulled Eleanor closer.
Click.
Another shot.
Deck’s jaw tightened.
He knew exactly what they were doing. They weren’t documenting a story. They were building a weapon.
And sooner or later, they were going to use it against his Nell.