Dr. Ian West

“God. I don’t believe you.” Porter marches ahead of me down the courthouse steps. She’s fired up. No, she’s pissed. I keep a good distance away from her, just in case she tries to volley her briefcase at my head.

“This is the best decision, Porter. Do you really want to tell Mathers that your client is changing his plea? To an insanity defense? That’s one for the books.”

She groans and whirls around as she reaches the last step. I halt before I pummel into her. “Do not patronize me,” she says. “Do not think for me. What happened in that conference room was so far outside of right…”

“This…from the woman representing an admitted murderer?”

The seething blaze in her eyes makes me back up. Maybe that was too far. Yeah, I should leave now.

“Look,” I say, chancing a step closer, because I’ve proven I’m not the smartest man and I don’t know when to stop. “Your client isn’t right. Matter of fact, he’s dangerous, Porter.”

I have the sudden and alarming urge to sweep her hair behind her ear so I can see her eyes fully. Instead, I flex my hand by my side. Bury the urgent need to be closer to her so far down, Indiana Jones couldn’t excavate it.

A group funnels down the steps. I take her arm and guide us to a more private space. A fall breeze caries her scent of lavender perfume between us, triggering memories. I inhale deeply as I look down at her, realizing we’re much too close.

Porter stares up at me with a curious expression, divots line the delicate skin between her brows. What is she thinking?

That flowery, feminine scent heats my senses, a burn itching my palms. But I stand my place, baking in the fire. “I can’t stand the thought of you spending one more minute with that monster,” I tell her. “I need to know you’re safe.”

One of her rare smiles tips her mouth. “Such a hero.”

“That’s me. Knight in shining Armani suit.”

“I don’t need a knight, West. I need a friend. My friend. The guy who used to have my back and who trusted me to make my own choices. Whether for good or bad.” She blinks up at me, the afternoon sun catching the gold currents in her eyes. “I miss that guy.”

Yeah. I miss him some days, too. He was an easygoing kind of guy. He could make Porter laugh—a deep, throaty laugh that unfurled a sense of elation. I was mesmerized by her laugh.

I open my mouth to say…something, but the words are stuck in the ache clogging my throat. What a wuss.

It’s easier being her enemy.

Her sigh wraps around me, easing some of the tension between us.

“Truthfully,” she says, “it’s been hard to sleep ever since this case landed on my desk.” She shakes her head. “I’ve represented some of the worst scum of the earth, but this case…I don’t know. I took an oath, and I stand by it”—she drives her point home with a severe glare—“but Quentin Shaver, he’s something else. Something darker. And I know how stupid that must sound—”

“It’s not stupid.” I touch her now, the lightest stroke of her arm. A connection point to let her know I believe her.

“Maybe it’s just stress,” she amends to downplay her fear.

“I don’t put a lot of stock in gut instincts. Logic is more deserving of my time.” I give her a glib smile. “But the mind has a gut of its own, in a sense. I think it would be stupid to ignore its warning.”

The Tarot card in my pocket feels weighty.

A faint smile graces her lips. “Fine.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Fine? As in, you’ll allow Shaver new representation?”

“Yup.”

I cock my head, suspicious. “How painful will this be for me?”

“You owe me,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Done. I owe you. Just name it, and I’ll—”

“Drinks,” she says, cutting me off. She circles her thin fingers around my tie, giving it a firm tug. “Tonight. You and me and a couple glasses of bourbon.”

That ache lodges deeper. “Porter…”

“That’s my terms. Take it or leave it.”

Resigned, I nod once. “You drive a torturous bargain. You should think about trading careers altogether.” I straighten my tie as she releases it. “I hear they’re looking for Dominatrixes at the DA’s office.”

She smirks. “Funny.”

As the wind picks up again, silence stretches, stacking that tension back up. Our fragile truce seems to drift away as quickly as her smile.

“I should go face the music.” She checks the time on her phone. “My bosses might fire me over this.”

“I doubt that.”

She looks up. “How are you so sure?”

I shrug. “I know things.” Like the fact that Porter was offered a partnership at her firm. She hasn’t made it public yet, which makes me wonder if she’s waiting until the media craze that is Shaver’s case to be over.

She mouths “full of it” before she turns and heads up the courthouse steps. She pauses on the third to look back at me. “When you met with Shaver…what did you get from him?”

I sink my hands into my pockets. “Like reading him?”

She nods.

“He’s guilty.”