Chapter 52
Counsel
Evan Cole
Evan Cole studied his reflection in the steel tabletop, trying not to see what everyone else saw—a man waiting for a sentence. The fluorescents hummed overhead. He kept his hands flat, as if the cuffs were still there.
A slot in the door clacked. A deputy leaned in. “Counsel,” he said, holding the door for a man in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than the squad’s radios.
The Denver attorney moved like a blade—sharp creases, slicked hair, cufflinks discreet but expensive. He didn’t introduce himself. He didn’t need to. He set a leather folio on the table, took the stool across from Evan, and offered no hand.
“Mr. Cole.” His voice was easy as a martini. “Let’s speak plainly.”
Evan watched the man’s eyes—polished, cold. “You’re West’s counsel,” he said.
“I’m an attorney,” the man corrected, voice smooth. “Here to discuss your… options.”
A muscle ticked in Evan’s cheek. “I’ve already got a deal in motion.”
“A proffer,” the lawyer said, as if the word bored him. “You got a letter that protects your statements—in exchange for cooperation. That’s very nice. It’s also very… provisional.”
He flipped open the folio—paper sliding like silk. “Here’s the reality. You’re going to prison for a while. Whether you end up with a full commissary and a soft landing, or you spend your nights bartering for toothpaste, depends on how clean you keep this.”
Evan went very still. “Clean.”
“You plead not guilty at arraignment.” The attorney’s tone never rose.
“Standard posture. Then your public defender chases the best offer. On the morning of trial—if they hand you something worth taking—you take it. You’ll plead to assault-related counts.
You will not mention my client at any stage.
You will not weave his name into your narrative. Ever.”
“If I don’t?”
The lawyer’s mouth made something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Then you’ll discover how small a cell can feel without commissary—and how long a year is when your name isn’t on anybody’s list.”
Evan studied the cufflinks. They caught the fluorescent glare and threw it back.
“They already know I gave them the ridge cabin,” he muttered. The lease was in his name, like all the others. Jason had made sure of that. Jason’s name was nowhere—only on the rental car.
The attorney’s gaze never moved. “Then you’ll tell the truth about the assault. You’ll be very brave about your mistakes. You will not allege any conspiracy beyond your own poor judgment. You will not—under any circumstance—attempt to implicate Mr. West.”
The vent ticked as it cycled to stop. Jason’s hand on his shoulder—friendly, heavy, temporary. The room felt smaller.
Finally, he nodded once. “I’ll plead not guilty.”
“Good.” The attorney closed the folio with a soft thud. “We’ll revisit your courage on the morning of trial.” He stood, adjusted his cuff, and added, “Keep your mouth shut in the meantime. To everyone.”
The deputy opened the door. The attorney didn’t look back. Evan watched him go.
He looked at the card. Then at his own hands—steady now, not shaking. He hated that the stillness felt like relief. But the sound of her falling still found him in the dark.
Across town, the hum of another room took over—the steady rhythm of people who hadn’t slept in days.
Rhea Lancaster
Rhea hit the bullpen like a cold front—boots with her suit, copper hair twisted up, a yellow pencil speared through the knot.
A leather folio hugged her ribs; a violet-black fountain pen rode her lapel like a dagger.
“Where’s Parker?” she asked, scanning. “And I need the chain on the Tahoe—every hand that touched it, printed out.”
The bullpen hummed—a steady, relentless kind of sound that matched the hours and the work.
Sara Parker popped up from behind a monitor, already sliding a stapled packet across. “Chain of custody through eighteen-hundred last night; added my supplemental on the cabin sweep.”
The bullpen buzzed with ringing phones and clattering keyboards. Two deputies at the back whistled low as Parker walked past. She ignored them, but heat crept up her neck. Before she could snap, Scout shifted in his chair and leveled a stare. The grins vanished. Both men bent to their reports.
Heat rushed through Sara. That was Scout all over—quiet, intimidating, the kind of man who didn’t need to speak to make his point. She pretended not to notice, but a spark flared in her chest anyway.
“Good,” Rhea said, flipping pages as she walked. “You corrected the timestamp on your radio log.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Parker said, mouth twitching.
Lancaster tapped Scout’s shoulder with the folio as she passed. “Deputy Wilson. Your supplemental on the Tacoma—write what you saw. No loopholes.”
“Noted,” Scout said.
Every deputy in the county liked Lancaster and hated her at the same time. She’d gut you for sloppy paperwork, then stand like a wall in court when defense came swinging.
Izzy Moreno
Izzy sat at the end of the conference table, arm in a sling, ankle braced, hair pulled back in a shaky knot. She looked both small and unbreakable.
Scout hung in the doorway until Rhea crooked a finger. “Stay. If Ms. Moreno wants you.”
Izzy nodded at once.
Rhea set down her folio and softened her smile. “Izzy, I’m Rhea Lancaster. I’ll be handling the assault case against Evan Cole. You’ve been through a lot. We’ll move at your pace. Deal?”
Izzy swallowed. “Deal.”
Rhea clicked her pen. “Two tracks. One: practical—what the courtroom looks like, when we take breaks. Two: content—what you’ll be asked, what defense will try.”
Izzy’s eyes dropped. “Is he going to… be there? Evan?”
“Yes,” Rhea said gently. “But you’ll never be alone. Not in the hall, not in the courtroom, not in the parking lot. If you need a break, you’ll say so. If you need water, cough drops, a stress ball—tell me.”
Izzy nodded, dazed but listening.
“Here’s what matters.” Rhea’s voice steadied. “He pled not guilty this morning. They usually do. It keeps leverage on the table. If he takes the plea, it’ll be at the courthouse door after you’ve prepared. That’s the part I hate. But we prepare anyway. We assume you’ll testify.”
Izzy tried a shaky smile. “I could do pancakes after.”
“Good.” Rhea drew a small diagram of the courtroom.
“Here’s where I’ll be. Here’s where he’ll be.
You’ll look at me—no one else—unless I ask you to point.
If defense gets nasty, I shut it down. And if they make you feel small, you remember this: you survived.
That carries more weight than anything they can ask. ”
Izzy’s eyes shone. Scout stayed quiet in the doorway, watching.
“Cross-examination,” Rhea continued. “They’ll try to rattle you. They may imply you were distracted. They may suggest you misunderstood. None of that matters. Truth is a straight line. You walk it. I’ll clear the debris.”
Izzy let out a breath—lighter this time. “Okay.”
Rhea leaned forward, voice low. “Shame belongs to him. Not one ounce belongs to you.”
Izzy’s chin trembled. Scout looked away, a muscle jumping in his cheek.
The room was still except for the tick of the wall clock—loud, relentless. She thought of the diagram again. So simple. So final.
The door cracked. Parker poked her head in. “Lancaster? Rumor has it you made three deputies fix reports just by walking down the hall.”
“Good,” Rhea said, not looking up.
Parker laughed and slipped out. Izzy even managed a tiny smile.
“They all like you,” she murmured.
“They all hate me,” Rhea corrected. “Which is fortunate, because I don’t work for them.” She capped her pen. “Ten minutes. Then we run it once more.”
Scout Wilson
Scout leaned beside Rhea in the hall. “That was good. She needed that.”
“She needs sleep,” Rhea said. “But the calendar doesn’t care.” She paused. “Cole?”
“Pled not guilty.”
“Of course.” Her mouth went flat. “Tell Burke I’ll file the motion to limit prior-relationship questioning. Defense doesn’t get to parade Caitlin’s life for sport.”
Scout smiled faintly. “Deputies hate you.”
“I sleep fine,” she said.
“Badass.”
“Soft for victims,” she countered.
“Pushover for them.”
“Letter of the law for you.”
“And when it counts?”
She looked over her shoulder. “When it counts, I’m on your side—if you’ve earned it.”
He watched her go, a half-smile tugging. “Guess I’ll earn it.”
“You’d better,” she called back.
Evan Cole
Evan lay on his back, staring at the block above his head, Denver’s card on the shelf like a dare. Not guilty. Then a deal.
He could live with that. With commissary. With silence.
He closed his eyes and saw a woman falling through light. He swallowed hard and told himself a story where he wasn’t the villain.
The lights dimmed. The card glinted. He told himself he could live with anything.
But he’d never dreamed this kind of silence could sound like punishment.
He could still hear her scream.
Rhea Lancaster
The office was barely bigger than a closet, a lamp burning in the corner, files stacked like barricades.
Rhea closed the door and sank into the chair. She flipped open her notebook and wrote longhand—impressions, pauses, things a transcript never captured. Izzy was strong, but the cracks were there. Her job was to keep her from shattering.
Through the wall came bullpen chatter—Parker’s laugh, the phones. Life went on. But inside this room, the weight of West’s case pressed down hard. Jason wasn’t just another abuser; he was connected, calculating, backed by money that bought silence.
She uncapped her fountain pen and wrote across the page in block letters: NEVER LET HIM REDEFINE THE VICTIM.She underlined it twice, capped the pen, and sat back in the shadows. Because men like Jason West didn’t just fight in court. They rewrote stories.
Burke Scott
Burke’s phone buzzed on his desk.
“Scott,” he answered.
“Rhea Lancaster,” came the reply. “I need you and Caitlin in my office as soon as you can get here.”
“What’s happened?”
“I’ll go over it when you get here,” she said. The line went dead.
District Attorney’s Office
Rhea stood behind her desk, sleeves pushed up, papers fanned across the blotter like a battle map. When Burke and Caitlin stepped in, she wasted no time.
“West’s attorney met with Cole yesterday,” she said, voice clipped. “Looks like he’ll cop a plea before trial. Without Cole tying West to the assault—without hard evidence—the DA isn’t willing to move forward. They’re leaning toward dismissal.”
Caitlin’s hands tightened around her purse strap. She stared at the floor before lifting her gaze.
“Jason and his family always win.”
Silence thickened the air. Then she exhaled, voice shaking but hard as stone.
“Evan Cole still has to answer for what he did to Izzy. I’m used to Jason, but what Cole did to her… it’s unspeakable.”
Rhea nodded once, nothing soft in her eyes. “Then that’s where we start.”
The pause that followed was heavy, each of them understanding that—for now—justice meant shifting their fight, not their resolve.