Page 120 of The Wrong Side of the Law

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Gabriel

“All right, fine,” I say into the phone. “I’ll be patient, Ken, but seriously. Hurry the hell up, okay? I need this done, like, three weeks ago.”

“Then let me get off the damn phone,” he fires back, “and I’ll get started.”

There’s no goodbye, only a faint click followed by dead air, but before I can stuff the phone back in my pocket it starts to ring.

Caller ID says it’s John Whitehall. Grinning savagely, I silence the ringer. After the day we had in court, I’ve got a pretty good idea what he wants to talk about.

Too bad I don’t want to talk about my in-progress career suicide. With that performance in the courtroom today, I might as well have tied the noose myself and handed it to the executioner. Unless some very specific pieces fall into place—and very quickly—I’m headed for the long drop.

I take a deep breath, pressing my forehead against the cool glass of the hallway window, closing my eyes against the glare of the sun. One hand still clutches my iPhone, the other beats a quiet tattoo on the glass, working off the nervous energy of hope and anger and frustration.

“ASA Cooper?” Deputy Ernie Mangum’s rumbling voice is a welcome intrusion. “I found her for you.”

You can do this. You can talk to Emily. Youhaveto talk to Emily.

Another deep breath. Not quite ready to do this, not yet.

“Thank you, Ernie,” I say.

“You need anything else, sir?”

“No, not right- yes! Actually, yes. Can you send Philip back here, please?”

“No problem, sir.”

The deputy’s footsteps are fading down the hallway when I finally face a visibly angry Emily.

What the hell? What’s she mad about?

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she hisses. “What is wrong with you, sending a deputy to come collect me like that?”

“Well, you see, right now I’m very busy trying to make sure your brother doesn’t go to prison.” I enunciate slowly and clearly, each word dripping with sarcasm. “And also trying to make sure I don’t get disbarred for my handling of this case. Because, yeah, that’s a real danger. So I’d rather not go into a room that’s probably still full of reporters, and instead I asked someone else to find you.”

Some of the tension fades from Emily’s face and shoulders, and her tightly-balled fists relax. I should just let it go, but some little spark of resentment and anger drives me to take another shot at her.

“And besides, a nice law-abiding girl like you? There’s no reason for someone likeyouto be afraid of contact with the police.”

Part of me hates the way she flinches at the nasty, sharp edge in my voice, but another part is giddy with joy. After all, she’s the one who screwed things up between us, right?

“I deserved that,” she says, closing her eyes and turning her face partially away from me. “What do you need?”

Emily’s voice is small and quiet, and it tears the heart out of my own anger.

What do I need? What a loaded question. I need to rewind the past few weeks. I need to do things differently so that you never have to make a choice like that. I need you back in my office, in my bed. I need you back in my life.

But none of that’s possible, so I need to move on and get past this.

“I’m sending out another subpoena tonight. As soon as I’m done talking to you, in fact. I want to put a witness on the stand, but he—maybe she, I’m not even sure—isn’t on the witness list.”

“I don’t get it. Why are you telling me?”

“Because you’ve obviously got Mark Anderson wrapped around your little finger,” I say. “And if he objects when I try to call a witness who’s not on the list, then the judge isn’t going to let me do it. I need you to trust me on this, Em. It’s going to be a good thing foreveryoneif I can get this in. Please talk to Anderson about it?”

“Trust you? You said I should trust you before.” Emily’s lips twist up as if her words taste as bitter as they sound. “And yet, here we are still at trial, andyoustill don’t have a way out of it.”

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