Page 89 of The Wrong Side of the Law

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Emily

With my phone buried at the bottom of my purse—and at the other end of the condo, besides—the alarm isn’t loud enough to wake me up. That’s okay, though: I’ve been awake for a while already, laying in bed and watching through the window as the sun rises.

Gabriel is still fast asleep beside me, flat on his stomach. One of his arms is wrapped around his pillow; the other is draped possessively across my belly underneath the heavy duvet. I’m warm, I’m safe. I’m comfortable. I’m happy, or as close as I can be, at least.

And I’m loved.

I suppose I’ll let him be a little possessive, under the circumstances. In fact, I think I like it.

I need to get up, though. I need to turn off the alarm, if nothing else.

Carefully rolling to the side and prying his fingers loose, sliding out from under his arm and the covers at the same time, I gasp as the cold air hits my skin. Gabriel keeps this place like the inside of an ice box at night.

Naked and shivering, I reach for the first thing I can find to cover up, which turns out to be the light blue tee-shirt he wore yesterday evening. It still smells like him. Softly padding on bare feet out to the kitchen, I catch myself sniffing the collar, and it makes me giggle.

The alarm is still going but it can wait for a minute. There’s something else more important: caffeine.

I yawn, digging around in the cupboards. It’s hard to get a good night’s sleep when you’re as stressed out as I was yesterday, but between the two of us we found some creative ways to take care of that. Of course, by then it was too late to get a lot of sleep, but I’m not complaining. It’s time for coffee, though. Gallons of it, if I’m going to be productive today.

Once it’s started brewing, I go and look for my bag. Where did I leave it last night? I was so out of it that I can’t even remember. Following the sound leads me to a long, narrow table backing the couch that divides the living room from the dining area, where my purse sits atop Gabriel’s briefcase. I get the alarm shut off, no problem, but when I put the device back in the bag it’s enough to overbalance things, and I barely catch the briefcase before it tumbles to the ground.

My purse, however, is not so lucky. And neither is the folder that was between the bag and the case. Though, at least the purse landed right-side-up and nothing spilled.

I gather the scattered sheets, stuffing them back into the manila folder. I have no idea what order they were in, so I’ll have to apologize for that, but at least they’re not all over the floor anymo- huh?

Frank’s mugshot.

What folder is this? The label on the tab says682018CF000123.That’s a case number. County sixty-eight, year 2018, criminal felony, and it’s number one hundred and twenty-three for the year. Sort of a funny number. One-two-three.

My brother’s mugshot, in a folder labeled with a case number.

Oh, shit.

I should not be seeing this. I should not have this in my hands right now.

I can’t look at this.

I glance at my phone. 7:25. Gabriel’s alarm doesn’t go off for another five minutes.

I can’tnotlook at this.

I mean, he’s going to know the folder got messed up, and there’s nobody else to blame it on. I’m not going to change anything or tamper with anything. I just need to see it. To know.

I shouldn’t do it.

Sitting on my heels, I stare at the folder in my hands. What’s it really going to hurt? I mean, what am I going to learn from it that the prosecution won’thaveto give to the defense, anyway?

And if he asks me if I peeked, I mean, I won’t lie. I can just say… hm. I can tell him I saw the picture, the mugshot, and then knew I shouldn’t look. That’s not a lie, is it?

But it feels wrong. It’s not a lie, but it’s still deceitful, and it feels wrong to do that to someone I love.

But I love my brother, too.

It’s a choice. What comes first: loyalty to my family… or what’s right?

Oh, shit.

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