Chapter Twenty-Six
Wednesday morning, Isabela hustled down the cold, fluorescent-lit corridor of the hospital. Marcus had called before she’d even made it out of bed, his voice tight and clipped, saying it was imperative they meet immediately. To say she was nervous was the understatement of the century.
She’d skipped breakfast, thrown on the first outfit that wasn’t wrinkled, and pushed her first meeting of the day back.
The only detour she'd allowed herself was the coffee drive-thru, and even then, she’d ordered on the app to save time.
One for her, one for Marcus. She hoped it would buy her a little goodwill because he hadn’t sounded happy.
Then again, being stuck in a hospital bed with a shattered leg would sour anyone’s mood.
She found his room, took a steadying breath, and knocked before entering with what she hoped was a warm, disarming smile.
“Hey boss,” she said brightly. “Sorry it took so long to get here, but I brought...”
Her words trailed off the moment she saw the look on his face. It wasn’t angry, exactly. It was worse, controlled, unreadable. A cold stare that she rarely saw from her boss.
She hesitated, then held the coffee cups up like a peace offering. “Coffee,” she added unnecessarily.
“Thanks,” Marcus said, voice neutral. “You can set it on the tray.”
He jerked his chin toward the food tray beside the bed. As she walked around to the far side, her eyes caught what was already there, and she nearly dropped the cups. The photo. The same one Chris had shown her yesterday afternoon.
The color drained from her face as she stared at it.
Her on tiptoe, fingers fisted in Chris’s shirt.
His mouth covering hers in a kiss that made it undeniable this wasn’t a moment of passion between strangers.
It was intimate and familiar. Devastatingly personal.
A red X had been scrawled across the image, the same as the copy Chris received.
Seeing it again, seeing Marcus see it, made the humiliation crawl up her throat like bile.
“Nicole dropped off my mail last night,” Marcus said casually, like he wasn’t holding the wrecking ball aimed at her career. “I went through it this morning. Hard to sleep in this joint. Even harder to sleep after seeing that picture.”
“Marcus,” she whispered, her throat closing. “Oh God ... I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry.”
Her knees felt wobbly and she forced herself to sit, not collapse on the bottom of the bed. This was it. She was going to be fired. She’d thrown her career, her credibility, and her reputation out the window for a man she wasn’t supposed to fall for.
“Damn it, Isabela. I’ve got to say, I did not expect this. I thought you said he was a racist bully?” Marcus’s eyes were desperate for an answer that would make sense.
She winced. “Turns out ... he’s not.”
Marcus leaned his head back against the raised hospital bed. “This was mutual, right? He didn’t force anything?”
“No. God, no. He would never.” She paused, took a deep breath. It pained her that anyone could believe Chris would do that. “If anything, it was my fault. I was the pursuer. I crossed the line.”
Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. She waited for the fallout.
But instead, he upped the stakes. “Do you care about him?”
She wanted to scream, yes! Instead, she lied. “I don’t know.”
Marcus gave her the signature courtroom stare. It was direct and relentless. The one that unraveled opposing counsel and made witnesses squirm. It was impossible to lie under that gaze.
She crumbled. “Fine. Yes. I care.” Her voice cracked with the strain.
“He’s honorable, and funny, and kind. He listens.
He makes me feel like I matter, like my brain matters.
I know this is horribly unprofessional. I am a terrible lawyer, a bad feminist, and a walking HR violation, but I didn’t plan to care for him. ”
A tear slid down her cheek and she hated it. Hated that her weakness was on display. “I’m so sorry for letting you down.”
Marcus nodded, as if all of that made sense to him. He reached for his coffee and sipped it thoughtfully. His calm expression only highlighted her angst.
“Not a whole lot of people know how Jas and I met,” he said after a pause. “She articled one summer at my firm while she was still in law school. I was a second-year associate.”
Isabela blinked, trying to decipher his words. “And you...?”
“Sure did,” he said, lips twitching with a wry smile. “Broke every rule in the ethics book that summer. Wouldn’t change a thing. She’s my soul mate, and we don’t control when they come into our lives.”
Her stomach flipped. “Chris isn’t my, well, it’s not like...”
She couldn’t even finish the sentence, let alone define what Chris was to her.
But she knew what he meant. She’d lain in bed each night for the past week thinking about him.
Not just his body or their kisses. She thought about linking fingers, meeting his niece one day, hearing him laugh in the morning.
She couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else, not after being with him.
“I guess the question is,” Marcus said slowly, “can you still do your job? And I don’t mean just coasting. I mean writing a persuasive enough brief that the DA decides not to pursue charges. Because what you gave us yesterday? It wasn’t enough. We both know it.”
Isabela dropped her eyes. He wasn’t wrong.
“In fact,” Marcus continued, “being close to him might help.”
She scoffed. “That’s crossing an ethical line...”
“You’ve already crossed that Izzy. If you know things, things that aren’t in the file, but that explain why he acted the way he did, then you have to use them. That’s not betrayal. That’s strategy. If we lose, it’s not just his career. It’s his freedom.”
Isabela pressed a fist against her stomach. The guilt was eating her alive.
“Shit,” she muttered.
“Out with it,” Marcus prompted.
She hesitated. Then, took a breath. The cliff edge had never felt so narrow.
“Chris was mandated to therapy after the July ninth incident. He was diagnosed with acute PTSD.”
“That’s in the file,” Marcus looked unimpressed.
“What isn’t in the file is why.” As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. There was no turning back now.
Marcus stilled.
“He blames himself,” she said softly. “Chris led the tactical team. Before they could breach the building and arrest the suspect he was told to wait. The command came down to stand by while they tried negotiation tactics. He waited, even though his gut screamed at him to move, to do something.”
She paused, remembering the look in Chris’s eyes as he shared his nightmare with her.
“He said the boy saw him outside a window. They made eye contact and the little guy looked hopeful. But instead of saving him, Chris obeyed command. While he followed orders a mother and her son were shot to death. He was right outside the back door and the first person inside afterward. He saw the bodies. The boy was nine.”
Marcus closed his eyes for a long moment.
“It broke him,” Isabela ignored yet another meddlesome tear. “He thought he could have stopped it, if only he’d acted on his instincts. It sent him into a downward spiral. He lost his marriage. He started drinking.
Marcus shook his head. “Damn. No wonder he reacted so quickly inside the prison.”
“But he got help. He clawed his way back. He’s not trigger-happy. If anything, he’s spent the last few years overcorrecting.”
“And now,” Marcus said grimly, “he’s being crucified for acting.”
Isabela nodded, throat tight.
“I can find the redacted details,” she said, already making a plan. “I know where to look.”
Marcus met her eyes, and this time there was warmth behind the sharp gaze.
“Then go look,” he said. “Write the kind of brief that saves him.”
She stood, her hands shaking. “You’re really okay with this? With me still on the case?”
“Your personal life is your own,” he said. “But I’m counting on you to do your job, Isabela.”
She knew what Marcus implied. To do her job she needed to betray the man she wanted to protect more than anything. Isabela walked out of the hospital room feeling like she was carrying something far heavier than a file folder. It was Chris’s life, and her heart was already entangled in it.