Page 8 of Happy Is On Hiatus
“How many you got today?” he asked when she’d made it through the detector and stood at the front desk across from him.
“Just the one; then I’m heading back to the station.” Captain Hall had already sent her a text saying he wanted to see her as soon as she finished in court. She wasn’t looking forward to that confrontation. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d butted heads, and considering Floyd Hall thought she’d be better off sitting behind a desk, Sharae knew it wouldn’t be the last.
“You got Tempton or Fray this time?” Meadows asked.
Judge Mabel Tempton had been on the bench for twelve years and was known for giving a defendant every ounce of time the law allowed on any given charge. While Judge Abby Fray leaned more on a rehabilitative course rather than looking only toward punitive recourse. As the guy Sharae and her partner had investigated, questioned, and arrested was beyond guilty because he couldn’t aim worth shit and missed his intended target—a rival gang member—killing two innocent teenage bystanders in the process, she’d hoped the case would be heard by Tempton.
Unfortunately, as disappointment seemed to make a beeline for her on a daily basis, it was Judge Fray’s courtroom number that was typed on her summons to appear.
“Fray, but we’ve got a lot of evidence, including eyewitnesses, so we’ll see how it goes.”
The courthouse was already busy at eight in the morning, with employees coming in, citizens reporting for jury duty, and others showing up for whatever judicial matter was going on in their lives at the moment. Beeping from the metal detector had continued to sound while she’d stood talking to Meadows, as two other deputies worked at the opposite end of the desk either checking employee IDs or giving directions to courtrooms.
“You off this weekend?”
Smiling, she gave Meadows a knowing gaze. He’d been asking her about a second date every week for the past eight months since their first date. “Yeah, but I’m not comin’ out. Got some stuff to do around the house and with my family.” That was only a partial lie—she did have a new desk being delivered on Saturday, and she needed to clean out the second bedroom she used as an office before it arrived. But her family knew she hated impromptu visits and was likely to leave them outside pressing the buzzer to get into her apartment building if they ignored her wishes.
“Or you’re just brushin’ me off again,” Meadows replied. His grin never faltered, nor did the look that said he was still picturing their night in the back seat of his 4Runner as if it’d just happened yesterday.
That had been a very interesting night. He’d asked her out at least half a dozen times before Sharae had finally given in. Meadows was a good-looking guy with his tawny-brown complexion. The temple fade with sponge twists hairstyle he preferred coupled with those seductive eyes only added to his charismatic charm. So many women in the courthouse, in law enforcement, and probably all around the city wanted to date him. Sharae had only wanted to fuck him, and so she had.
“One and done, Meadows. You know that.” And before he could say another word, Sharae waved a hand at him and walked away.
She could hear his deep-throated chuckle as her four-inch heels clicked across the marbled floor, toward the elevator.
Minutes later she was on the third floor sitting on the bench outside Judge Fray’s courtroom. She’d already checked in with the state’s attorney and was now just waiting for the trial to begin. Pulling her file out of the black Tory Burch Perry leather tote she carried, she settled back and opened it to read over her notes. The bag looked like new even though Jemel had given it to her two birthdays ago. Sharae only carried big fancy purses on special occasions, but that didn’t stop her from having a collection of them that she kept carefully stored in the special shelving she’d had installed in the second-bedroom closet at her apartment. While she was working out in the field, a functional cross-body bag about the size of two cell phones side by side was all she needed to hold her phone, wallet, keys, and notepad. But on the Sundays she could make it to church, and whenever she had to attend some other function that the Aunts deemed necessary, she pulled out her pretty bags and carefully coordinated them with her outfits.
Jemel called that progress, considering those outfits were hardly ever skirts and dresses like she and Rita preferred to wear. Sharae had always been the tomboy of the trio, and as she crossed her legs andflipped through the file, she smiled at the thought. From early on they’d each had a place in their little clique, serving a purpose to the others and forging their bond. As if being first cousins wasn’t enough.
“Hello.”
Sharae looked up at the sound of the man’s voice. “Hello.”
Similar to down on the first floor, there was the usual morning commotion in the hallway. Lawyers rushing to their assigned courtrooms, the sound of the wide, heavy oak doors that matched the antiquated design of the one-hundred-year-old courthouse being opened and closed with a bang echoing throughout the long hallways. The hum of multiple conversations and a combination of keys and the chains shackling an inmate’s ankles as deputies escorted them to courtrooms joined the chorus.
“Mind if I sit here?” he asked before nodding at the empty space left on the bench to her right.
He was a lawyer, of course. A high-priced defense one, no doubt. His suit wasn’t off the rack, not at any place like the Men’s Wearhouse or Macy’s. No, the navy-blue slim-fit pants and jacket were definitely high quality and had been professionally tailored. There was no way a guy over six feet tall, as he was, with his athletic build could go into any type of store and find a suit that would fit him as perfectly as this one did.
She shrugged. “Sure.” It was a public bench, and she’d settled at the end closest to the courtroom door. Her hope was to get in and get out as quickly as possible.
As he took a seat, she returned her attention to her file, reading the original report she’d filed and the photocopy she’d made of the notes on her pad since she didn’t like flipping through her pad in the courtroom and she never tore the pages out. After nineteen years on the police force, she knew the drill with court appearances. Last week she’d met with the state’s attorney to go over her testimony. Routine stuff, no surprises there. But six years as a homicide detective, ten in narcotics, and three as a beat cop had shown her just how smart and divisive defense attorneys could be. It was always better to be prepared than be caught off guard by some slick legal strategy.
“I’m Desmond Brown,” the lawyer said from beside her.
Sharae barely spared him a glance and a curt nod.
“You’re Sharae Gibson.”
Now she let her gaze settle on him. His beard was low cut and well maintained, as was his wavy black hair. His lips were of medium thickness, his eyes an interesting cognac color. Not only was he wearing an expensive suit, but he also wore an eight-hundred-dollar Movado watch—she knew because her cousin Tariq sold knockoffs down at the flea market on Saturdays.
“Okay,” she replied finally, not bothering to hide the questioning tone.
It wasn’t odd that attorneys knew her, and as much as she’d been in this courthouse, she was certain there were more lawyers and other staff who knew her than who didn’t. So, the slither of alarm that now danced along her spine wasn’t normal.
He reached into the leather messenger bag he carried and pulled out a thick brown file folder. Unwrapping the band from the file, he opened it and extended a picture toward her.
That alarm swirled up her back to wrap around her neck and tighten until she gasped. She looked away from the picture of herself at the age of four sitting on her father’s lap, grinning like life was all rainbows and cotton candy, and stared at him. “Where’d you get this?”
