Page 71 of Only Fate

I need to find them.

If he is, he deserves to be free.

And Essie deserves justice for who actually committed the crime.

I’ll figure it out, but first, I need to talk to her.

When I get home and start on my next round of Earl research, I finally get a text from Essie.

Essie: Thank you again for the soup.

24

Brielle and Rhett’s court date is today.

Other than my text thanking him for the soup, and emails regarding Rhett and Brielle’s divorce, Adrian and I haven’t spoken.

The county courthouse is a thirty-minute drive out of Blue Beech, and when I pull into the parking lot, I see an old Volvo stopping at the entrance.

Adrian steps out of the passenger side. I park, waiting until he’s in the courthouse, and then walk inside to find him sitting on a bench.

When he sees me, he stands and offers a gentle smile. Our smiles connect like long-lost friends.

“Did something happen to your car?” I ask when I reach him.

“Punctured tire,” he explains. “I must’ve run over something. That’s what I get for staying in the middle of nowhere.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I want to get this shit over with,” Rhett shouts.

I turn to find him barreling in our direction, waving papers in the air.

“I signed,” he yells. “It’s done.”

Brielle chases behind him. “The bastard wants to marry his mistress,” she explains, crossing her arms.

Rhett thrusts the papers in our direction. “I’ve signed them, granting her what she wants as long as she signsto-fucking-day.” He snaps his fingers. “Right damn now so this is over with.”

I smile.

First case won.

Eek, yay!

Brielle shrugs, grins, and collects the papers from him. “Works for me. Does anyone have a pen?”

I hurriedly grab one from my bag and hand it to her.

Adrian smiles in satisfaction and slips his hands into his pockets.

Technically, his client didn’t get the deal he’d wanted.

Isn’t he supposed to be disgruntled about that?

He’s dressed in another one of his black suits that fits his frame perfectly. I can’t stop myself from roaming my gaze down his body.

Brielle clicks the pen open, presses the papers against the wall, and flips through the pages, signing each red-tabbed line. When she’s finished, she hands them to me.

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