MONDAY, OCTOBER 8
Traffic was stop-and-go along the Jefferson Davis highway, but eventually she pulled into the small parking lot behind Savannah’s storefront office. What was Caroline’s car doing there? Jaime double-checked her phone for the time. It was barely after noon, so Caroline should be slogging through a pile of motions and briefs for at least four more hours.
A sneaking suspicion made Jaime sit in the car a minute.
This wouldn’t be another one of Savannah’s interventions, would it?
That woman could be worse than a den mother at times. The last thing Jaime needed or wanted was a bunch of her friends holding her hand and asking questions, especially under the guise of helping a client.
She. Was. Fine.
She turned the car back on but couldn’t put it in reverse. What if it wasn’t what she expected and Savannah really needed her help? She moaned and collapsed against the steering wheel.
Could she do it?
Could she walk in there and pretend she didn’t understand what was happening?
Could she give that to her friends?
She wanted to, oh, how she wanted to. They’d given her so much. But all she felt was the churning and the warning that if she let them past her wall, they’d decide she was too much work. She kept a safe distance, so no one saw the depth of her pain and the ugliness of her scars. They thought they knew, but they didn’t understand a shadow.
Something knocked at her window, and she yelped.
“You okay, ma’am?” The words were muffled through the closed window, but she barely noticed as she looked up into the bluest eyes she’d seen . . . in several days. They were the kind of eyes that begged you to sink into their depths, something she would never do. A small quirk to the man’s lips communicated he recognized her too.
Jaime pressed the button to lower the car window inches to answer without letting the cold air in. “Can I help you?” She tried to insert the right note of back off buddy into her words.
He held up his hands. “Just making sure you’re okay. I’ll take the snark as a yes.”
What was he doing here? Chandler Bolton had been a nonentity in her life until his dog chased her cat a week ago. Now she saw him everywhere? Really?
Maybe he wasn’t human. Maybe he’d been sent to keep her safe in some twisted It’s a Wonderful Life remake. Each time she saw him, a piece of her was drawn to the dream. Yeah, more like an illusion. The reality was he’d turn into a toad that only gave you warts when you kissed him.
“I’m fine. Thanks.” She rolled up the window and gathered her things. After she turned off the car, she slid from it.
He was still watching her, and she was tempted to say, “Nothing to see here.” Instead, she lifted her chin and walked by without a word.
What was she doing here?
The princess tipped her chin and closed her eyes as if walling herself off. He couldn’t figure her out. She refused to look at him in such a determined way he wanted to laugh. He shrugged. Whatever made her life better. Yet he caught an edge of a cloak of sadness. Maybe she was intimidated by him. It wouldn’t be the first time his height did that, though she was taller than most women . . . with the look of an Amazon warrior princess. Would she be a perfect fit under his chin?
He knew better than to give more than someone was willing to take. When Rianna left, she’d taken his heart with her. It had taken a while to repair it, and he didn’t need to hand it over to another dark-haired beauty to mangle what remained.
He’d slipped outside the law offices of Daniels, McCarthy & Associates to grab his tablet from his car and check on Aslan. The law firm’s interior was too perfect for a big mutt like Aslan, no matter how well the dog was trained.
He wasn’t convinced he should even be here, but his childhood friend Angela Thrasher had promised that her colleagues could help Madeline Ange navigate the legal environment she found herself in.
When the woman had followed him out of the interview at the county building, he hadn’t wanted to get involved, but he couldn’t abandon a child who needed help. He’d had too many experiences where he couldn’t help.
He blinked back the image of convoys that didn’t make it back. Of innocents harmed in explosions.
Today would be different even if it made him uncomfortable.
He slipped back into the building and paused in the reception area. The TV playing in the background displayed some news program focused on Capitol Hill. Looked like another hearing. Those were a dime a dozen unless Congress was recessed, and even then the agencies kept busy. The next recess would be the week of Thanksgiving. A little over a month until the members left town.
The headline indicated that the talking heads were focused on new military appointments. There’d been a time he would have cared, but with his position at the Vet Center, other decisions had more bearing on his day-to-day than who gave the orders to troops on the ground.
Madeline’s daughter, Tiffany, sat at a small table under the watchful eye of the receptionist. The lady was prepared; she’d pulled out a tub of crayons and coloring books, followed by a bucket of Legos and a stack of books for kids of all ages.
Angela entered the reception area and spoke to him. “Thanks for referring Ms. Ange.”
“She needs an advocate.”
“This is the right place.” Angela glanced at the receptionist, who smiled warmly at her, then pointed her chin at Tiffany, as if in warning. Angela nodded, then gestured to the door. “Chandler, I’d like your take on something, if you have a minute.”
Tiffany was absorbed in building some sort of colorful eclectic structure with the Duplos, her tongue between her teeth. Chandler felt protective of her in a way he hadn’t since the little girl in Afghanistan, the one he’d sheltered with his body.
“Shouldn’t I stay with her?” He didn’t know who had hurt the child, but it wouldn’t happen again while he stood watch.
“She’ll be fine.” The receptionist gave him a calm look. “I won’t leave her. We’ll have a good time, won’t we, Tiffany?”
The little girl nodded, then added a bright green block to her tower. “I have to make a castle for Winnie-the-Pooh.” She held up a smallish character that stood on a Duplo.
“He’ll like that very much.” The woman shooed Chandler toward the door. “It’s not a good idea to leave those women waiting. No telling what they’ll generate in their whirlwind.”
Angela waited for him to open the door, then led him down the hallway. While not as public a space as the lobby, it still had professional warmth. The walls were painted a light shade of gray, and colorful modern paintings were spaced along one wall at shoulder level. On the opposite wall, framed images of the attorneys with a list of their accomplishments felt like invitations to know them rather than braggy bios, but Angela’s pace didn’t allow more than a glance.
She paused in front of a door, then squared her shoulders and opened it.
Madeline sat at one end of a long wooden table with two women on the other side, an older woman and—“Jaime?” He sank onto a chair opposite.
She nodded, but it felt like a regal acknowledgment rather than an admission that they’d met before—and just had a conversation in the parking lot.
The older woman glanced between them, and Jaime gave a reluctant sigh. “Savannah, this is Chandler Bolton, my neighbor. Chandler, Savannah Daniels is one of the best civil attorneys in the state. Ms. Ange will be well served.”
“And your role?” He didn’t mean for the words to sound hard, but he didn’t like her tone.
“Consultant.” She returned her attention to Madeline. Her face softened as she tapped her pen against her notepad. “Your friend was telling us what happened.”
Madeline looked at him in alarm. “Is Tiffany all right?”
“Building a tall Duplo tower under the watchful eye of the receptionist.” He settled against the chair. “What do you need from me?”
“Tell us about your dog.” Savannah, who could only be ten or so years older than his ancient-feeling thirty-one, leaned forward, elbows resting on the table as she focused on him.
“He’s been trained as a comfort dog.”
“Meaning . . .” The word lingered as pens hovered above legal pads.
Chandler filled them in on Aslan’s training and preparation to be available for the traumatized. “He helped unlock Tiffany’s words during her interview.”
“Hmmm.” Jaime settled back and eyed him. “How exactly did he do that?”
“By being there.” Madeline’s voice was small. “He sat next to my baby and loved on her until she broke down. He made her feel safe.” Tears slid down her cheeks.
He tried to keep his focus on the conversation, but as the crying continued he felt more uncomfortable with each second. Chandler wanted to find the guy and make him pay before he could inflict this pain on anyone else.