Page 66 of Passionate Defense

Again, silence reigned on her end. “You did,” she said, as though surprised.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Ethan,” she breathed.

“I’m still here.”

“I hope you win.”

Chapter 15

DAYS THEN WEEKS PASSEDwithout the police showing up to arrest Ethan. There was also no civil filing against him. When a month went by without a peep from Walt Simons, Lanie allowed herself to relax—a little. She still looked for Morton Deevers in the faces she passed on the street, but there were no further sightings. She followed his appeal proceedings, almost obsessively.

Like now, with the office dark, quiet, and empty after hours other than her, instead of preparing for court in the morning, she pored over news articles from every print and online source she could find.The Dallas Observerfollowed the case closely, which is where she learned the appellate court would hear oral arguments on Monday—in only four days.

Sitting back in her chair, she stared out the window into the darkness. What if he won and, heaven forbid, they released him? She doubted a few months in prison put him on the straight and narrow. A lifetime of therapy by the best psychologist in the world didn’t have a snowball’s chance of healing his warped psyche.

Movement outside her window and a faint tapping on the glass had her sitting straight up in her chair. She reached for the chain on her desk lamp and pulled it, shrouding her office in darkness. Now, instead of the window reflecting what was inside, she could better see out.

“Deevers!” Lanie screamed at the figure lurking in the shadows off to the side. Heart racing, fear took over. She shot to her feet, her chair on casters flying out behind her and smacking hard into her credenza.

The sound must have penetrated the glass because the figure turned and looked directly at her. Frantically, she tried to recall if she locked the door and set the alarm. When he moved that way, she whirled and ran to the door, desperate to get there before he could. She reached the double glass doors several strides before he did. They were secured. The light which signaled the security systems was armed flashed green. As the man moved closer, he stepped into the circle of light cast by the streetlight. It revealed his hunched posture, a shuffling gait, and shaggy, unkempt gray hair—lots and lots of it, unlike Morton Deevers—along with a straggly beard.

The wrinkles on his face reflected a hard life. He moved slow and stiff, as though arthritic. When he was out of sight, Lanie slumped against the wall. A moment later, she laughed, but there was no humor behind it.

All the previous sightings were nothing more than a trick of the light, a figment of her overactive imagination, and perhaps a manifestation of her obsession and growing unease as his appeal grew closer. Each time, it cast doubt upon her sanity, leaving her hesitant to rely on her own senses and what had once been trusted instincts.

Ethan kept reminding her, Deevers being released was a long shot, and with the trial happening in Texas, it was beyond her control. She tried to put him and Walt Simons from her mind. With a husband who had a libido and imagination as active as hers, but in a good way, and piles of cases on her desk, it wasn’t as though she didn’t have plenty to distract her.

Needing to hear his reassurances and to experience one of those distractions now, she didn’t bother tidying her desk. She turned out the lights and exited by the back door, running to her car with pepper spray in hand, just in case.

***

ALL THE STRESS, WORRIES, and chaos in her life hit Lanie like a ton of bricks the next morning. Even though she got a solid eight hours of sleep—thanks to the wicked and creative things Ethan had done to her body—she woke exhausted and had to force herself out of bed. It didn’t get better as the day went on. She felt like she was coming down with something. The vitamin C and extra fluids she took in trying to ward it off did no good. By the time five o’clock rolled around, she couldn’t pretend anymore; she was sick.

Glad it was Friday, and she had two days to get over whatever it was, she left, taking only her purse, which proved to her coworkers who were concerned but keeping their distance that it was something serious. She never went home without her briefcase packed full of work.

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