two months with non-real estate questions. Since he left his office door open most of the time, I’d overheard several of the conversations. They seldom wanted legal advice. They wanted Booker. Some were more overt with their flirting, while others were more subtle, but in the end, he’d send them away. He now had me screen all his appointments so he could get his real casework done. This one must’ve called him on his personal phone.
I went to the sixth floor and grabbed five boxes. Haley helped me carry them to Booker’s car.
“He’s freaking cute, don’t you think?” she asked as we approached the POC.
“Booker? Yes, I guess,” I said, playing it cool.
“You guess? Either you’re blind or insane,” Haley said as I opened the back door. We stuffed three large boxes inside.
“Okay, he’s freaking cute.” We both chuckled. With the backseat full of boxes, we headed for the trunk. He’d replaced the lock recently. The shiny new lock against the banged up metal of the trunk contrasted starkly.
“Too bad he has commitment issues,” Haley said as I opened the trunk. “Of course, if my ex was using me to spy on the police force so my boyfriend could steal drugs easier, I don’t think I’d be too excited to get involved again either.”
My mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?” I pushed the MET gear Booker told me about, a vest, empty gun belt, and a long silver case containing who knows what, to the back. I didn’t buy his excuse that he forgot to take the gear in the house. I’d bet the things were a security blanket to him. He’d been a cop most of his adult life—he probably felt naked without the stuff.
Haley shut the trunk after I placed the last box inside. “How’s this for sad: Booker busted his ex on their six month wedding anniversary, no less, walking in on her in bed with her boyfriend in his house. She ended up going to jail when everything came out. It wasn’t pretty,” she said as we headed back inside.
“Poor Booker. He must ’ve been devastated.” I walked to the elevators only because Haley did.
“He was pretty broken up. He divorced her in a New York minute. Her name had something to do with money, like Penny or . . . I can’t remember. I can tell you, the whole thing soured him on relationships. I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” she warned as the elevator stopped at her floor. “I can’t see Booker getting seriously involved with anyone. He’s strictly a player.”
She stepped out. “We just work together,” I assured her.
“Right.” Haley laughed as the elevator creaked shut.
Booker’s office door was closed when I returned. I could hear his mumbled voice along with that of a woman’s as I finished some paperwork. A couple of times the woman sniffled as if she were crying. Half an hour later his door opened and a lanky, strawberry blond woman emerged. She was angled back toward Booker and I couldn’t see her face.
“Thank you, and please thank Seth for talking you into taking my case. I know you don’t normally handle this type of work,” she said in a sad voice.
“You’re welcome, Hillary. And it was Maggie who talked me into it, not Seth,” he insisted.
“Maggie? Oh, I see.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned, exposing the battered mess that was her face. Black and green bruises circled her eyes. I guessed them to be a few days old. Her swollen lower lip had a small cut on the left corner, and her right arm was in a sling.
I tried not to react. I tried to distance myself from my memories. I tried telling myself that Hillary had been brutalized, not me. I tried not to relive the nightmares.
I failed.
Darkness swamped the room around me. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from Hillary’s bruised face. Vomit raced up my throat, and I swallowed it back down. Booker continued to talk to the girl as he laid her file on my desk.
“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” he said, his voice a million miles away.
The office door
I went to the sixth floor and grabbed five boxes. Haley helped me carry them to Booker’s car.
“He’s freaking cute, don’t you think?” she asked as we approached the POC.
“Booker? Yes, I guess,” I said, playing it cool.
“You guess? Either you’re blind or insane,” Haley said as I opened the back door. We stuffed three large boxes inside.
“Okay, he’s freaking cute.” We both chuckled. With the backseat full of boxes, we headed for the trunk. He’d replaced the lock recently. The shiny new lock against the banged up metal of the trunk contrasted starkly.
“Too bad he has commitment issues,” Haley said as I opened the trunk. “Of course, if my ex was using me to spy on the police force so my boyfriend could steal drugs easier, I don’t think I’d be too excited to get involved again either.”
My mouth dropped open. “Are you serious?” I pushed the MET gear Booker told me about, a vest, empty gun belt, and a long silver case containing who knows what, to the back. I didn’t buy his excuse that he forgot to take the gear in the house. I’d bet the things were a security blanket to him. He’d been a cop most of his adult life—he probably felt naked without the stuff.
Haley shut the trunk after I placed the last box inside. “How’s this for sad: Booker busted his ex on their six month wedding anniversary, no less, walking in on her in bed with her boyfriend in his house. She ended up going to jail when everything came out. It wasn’t pretty,” she said as we headed back inside.
“Poor Booker. He must ’ve been devastated.” I walked to the elevators only because Haley did.
“He was pretty broken up. He divorced her in a New York minute. Her name had something to do with money, like Penny or . . . I can’t remember. I can tell you, the whole thing soured him on relationships. I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” she warned as the elevator stopped at her floor. “I can’t see Booker getting seriously involved with anyone. He’s strictly a player.”
She stepped out. “We just work together,” I assured her.
“Right.” Haley laughed as the elevator creaked shut.
Booker’s office door was closed when I returned. I could hear his mumbled voice along with that of a woman’s as I finished some paperwork. A couple of times the woman sniffled as if she were crying. Half an hour later his door opened and a lanky, strawberry blond woman emerged. She was angled back toward Booker and I couldn’t see her face.
“Thank you, and please thank Seth for talking you into taking my case. I know you don’t normally handle this type of work,” she said in a sad voice.
“You’re welcome, Hillary. And it was Maggie who talked me into it, not Seth,” he insisted.
“Maggie? Oh, I see.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned, exposing the battered mess that was her face. Black and green bruises circled her eyes. I guessed them to be a few days old. Her swollen lower lip had a small cut on the left corner, and her right arm was in a sling.
I tried not to react. I tried to distance myself from my memories. I tried telling myself that Hillary had been brutalized, not me. I tried not to relive the nightmares.
I failed.
Darkness swamped the room around me. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from Hillary’s bruised face. Vomit raced up my throat, and I swallowed it back down. Booker continued to talk to the girl as he laid her file on my desk.
“I’ll walk you to the elevator,” he said, his voice a million miles away.
The office door
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