Chapter Eight
That evening, Isabela sat cross-legged on the floor of her spare bedroom, which doubled as her office.
Bills and folders formed a chaotic half-circle around her, the remains of a weekend’s worth of procrastination.
She flipped through envelopes, opening each with a mechanical rhythm, half-watching a basketball game playing low on her laptop.
Her cell buzzed beside her. She didn’t even check the ID before answering. Only one person called this time of night.
“Hello, beautiful,” Izzy said instinctively.
“Hey, girl. This is a welfare check. Please tell me you’re not still at the office,” Lianna’s voice teased through the speaker.
Izzy smiled. “No, I’m at the apartment.”
She never called it home. It never felt that way.
“Okay,” Lianna said, exaggerating the word. “So, you’re in a bubble bath with a glass of wine? Or wait, already in bed, watching a movie?”
“Not quite,” Izzy admitted. “I’m in the spare room, surrounded by unopened mail and case notes. And yes, I’m aware of how depressing that sounds.”
“Izzy!”
“I know. The first step is admitting I have a problem. Hi, I’m Isabela Cruz, and I’m a workaholic.”
They both laughed.
“I do have a basketball game on in the background,” Izzy added. “That’s got to count for something.”
“A single crumb of balance. I suppose I’ll allow it,” Lianna said. “Anyway, I called to give you the date for Annie’s preschool graduation. They’re doing the whole cap-and-gown thing, songs, the works. Dinner at our place afterward. You should just plan to stay the night.”
Izzy adored Annie and Harris, Lianna’s two kids. She wouldn’t miss Annie’s graduation for anything. But staying over was trickier. Lianna had someone in her life now. A new relationship. That explained her constant glow.
“I’ll definitely be there,” she said quickly. “Can’t promise I’ll stay. Depends on...”
“Work,” Lianna finished for her. “I know, I know. So ... how is work? You were a little off this weekend. Still the detective’s case?”
“Yes.” Izzy exhaled. “The guy’s impossible, but I think I believe him. That he acted in self-defense.”
“Really?” Lianna sounded surprised. “Funny, you spent all weekend bashing him.”
“It’s complicated,” Izzy admitted. “I’m not sure why, but I do trust his word. I just can’t decide if I hate him or not. It changes every five minutes.”
There was a loaded pause.
“You don’t hate him. You’re ... conflicted. Which is a lot more interesting.” Delight weaved through Lianna’s voice.
“Stop it,” Izzy snapped. “I didn’t have the urge to strangle him today. That’s progress.”
Lianna laughed. “Is he cute?”
“I don’t know. I don’t look at clients like that.”
“That’s a yes. I’m googling him.” Lianna said.
Before Izzy could argue, her phone chimed. She pulled away from the call to read the message.
“I’ve got to go. The respondents in my workplace harassment case are ready to settle. I need to confirm before they change their minds.”
“No worries. I’ll call tomorrow. And Izzy?” Lianna’s voice softened. “It’s okay to crush on a client. Doesn’t mean you’ll act on it.”
“No, it’s not. Bye, babe.”
“Love ya. Bye.”
Izzy hung up and opened her calendar. The settlement meeting clashed with Thursday’s appointment with Chris. The timing was too tight. Something had to give.
That’s when it hit her: she wanted to keep Chris’s meeting. That fact hit her with more force than it should’ve.
She told herself it was about the urgency involved in his case. There were still many blanks to fill before the big review next week. Talking to Chris never went as planned, so she needed as many opportunities to pick his brain as possible.
She wanted to prove herself to Marcus just as much as she wanted to prove Chris wrong. He’d tried to push her aside, and she was determined to show him she was the kind of attorney no one could replace.
Maybe it was the fact that earlier today something had shifted between them. A truce of sorts. She gave a little, he gave a little. Regardless of the reason, she had an interview to reschedule.
Biting her lip, she scrolled to his name in her contacts.
She didn’t have to call tonight, but the last thing she wanted was to give him an excuse to be annoyed over a last-minute change of plans.
Before doubt had a chance to root itself, she hit dial.
The line rang. And rang. Just as she was about to give up, the click came, and the call connected.
“Hello?” His voice was low and gravelly, sleepy in an intimate way.
A shiver ran through her spine. That voice should be illegal.
“Hi, it’s Isabela Cruz. The lawyer.” She cringed as the words left her mouth.
“Hi, Isabela the lawyer.” There was a smile in his voice. “What’s up?”
“Sorry to call so late. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Nah. Just watching basketball.”
He sounded half-asleep, but she let it go. “Who’s playing?”
“Golden State at Dallas.”
She perked up. “I hope Dallas can win one at home.”
“You watch basketball?” his tone sharpened with interest.
“I breathe basketball. I’m not a fan of either team, but I’d like to see a decent series.”
There was a pause, then he said, “You just got more interesting.”
She smiled so big her cheeks hurt.
“So, who’s your team?” he sounded intrigued.
“The Bulls. I’m watching their game now.”
“MJ fan?”
“Isn’t everyone that’s born in Chicago?”
“Then you went back for law school, right?”
It wasn’t really a question. Someone had clearly been reading up on her, and she couldn’t decide if that made her uneasy or flattered. Was it to check her qualifications or because he was curious about her?
“I went to Indiana for law school, but close enough. Being in the Midwest again reinforced my Bulls obsession,” she admitted.
Christopher continued to ask questions and seemed to absorb the answers like a sponge.
They fell into an easy rhythm, talking about teams, players, their favorite playoff moments.
She couldn’t remember the last time a man just talked to her like this.
Not about work. Not trying to get her number. Just a conversation.
Eventually, she cleared her throat. “I actually had a reason for calling.”
“Figured.”
“I have a settlement Thursday that conflicts with our meeting. Any chance we could move it to tomorrow or later that day?” She asked.
“I’ve got the SPOG meeting tomorrow. Thursday afternoon’s out.”
“What’s a SPOG?”
Christopher let out a soft huff of breath that sounded a lot like a laugh. “Seattle Police Officers Guild. Sorry, sometimes I forget not everyone in my life is a cop.”
“Okay, so Thursday is out too?” she tried not to sound disappointed.
“My niece has a basketball game Thursday,” he added. “Travel league. She’s point guard. I try to make the games when I can.”
“That’s really sweet.” And it was. She wouldn’t have bet money on Chris as the doting uncle, but the mental picture was unexpectedly nice.
“She’s got a hell of a crossover,” he said, his voice laced with pride.
“I played point too,” she said.
“No way.”
“When you have three older brothers, you play what they play.”
“That’s impressive, you’re smart and athletic.”
Her stomach flipped. Was he flirting?
She changed the subject quickly back to safe ground. “Are you free Friday?”
“I think so. What time?”
She opened her calendar. “Four-thirty’s the earliest I can meet.”
“Sounds good. I’ll come to your office this time,” he offered.
“You sure?” she hoped he sensed her sarcasm.
He laughed. “I can handle it.”
“Okay, then. I’ll see you Friday.”
“Looking forward to it,” he said.
She hesitated. “Goodnight, Chris.”
“Goodnight, Isabela the lawyer.”
She hung up and immediately buried her face in a pillow, muffling a scream. This was not happening. Except it was. She was attracted to him. There was no denying it. Hopefully he couldn’t see through her. It was terrifying and exciting all at once. But what was the point? Did she have an end game?
Even if he was cleared, they had nothing in common, besides stubbornness, emotional baggage, and chemistry. Ridiculous, inappropriate chemistry. She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t.
With a groan, she reached for the last stack of mail. Bills, credit card offers, something from her law school alumni fund and then an envelope with her name misspelled in scratchy block letters.
Her pulse kicked up. She tore it open, her breath catching when she read the single word scrawled across the center of the page:
TRAITOR
It was written in all caps. There was no return address, no signature. She read it again and again. The word seemed to pulse on the page.
A cold sweat broke along her spine as she stood up, the letter still clutched in her trembling fingers. All the warmth drained from her limbs. The apartment, already dim, felt darker. Suddenly, she was not okay.
Who would send this to her? Her mind darted through names but no one specific came to her. That only made it worse, not knowing. It could be anyone. Someone she’d passed on the street. Someone who smiled at her while holding a door. Someone who had once sat across from her in a courtroom.
The urge to tell someone was strong but there wasn’t anyone to call. It was late, her family was asleep. Her best friend would only worry. What would she even say? That one word on a piece of paper had unraveled her completely? Loneliness crashed over her like a tidal wave.