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Dan slowly rolled off the edge of the bed, hoping to shake the mattress as little as possible. Camila tended to be a sound sleeper, but you never could be certain, and he didn’t want to deal with a chili-pepper temper this early in the morning.
He stretched, forcing the kinks out of his aching bones. His ribs still hurt. Not as badly as before, but more than enough to remind him, every minute of the day, what a beating he had taken. How much they hurt him.
How much he risked by continuing with this case.
He tiptoed into the tiny bathroom adjoining the so-called bedroom. Barely enough room for a sink and a mirror, but he had learned to make do. He reached for a shaving brush—
What was that noise?
He dropped the brush. The strength drained out of his arms. He felt his knees weaken.
What if it was them? The big man, and the UPS guy, and—what if they’d come back? What if their boss didn’t like the way the trial was going and decided to—
He clenched his eyes shut. Get a grip on yourself, Pike.
He listened harder. There was no one there. It was just the wind in the sail, or the creaking of the timbers. Nothing.
Maybe it was time to stop pretending the attack had made no lasting impression.
They were still with him, every second of the day.
He splashed cold water on his face, breathing deep, drinking in the air. He wasn’t even sure what question he should be asking himself. Do you have lawyer PTSD? What kind of crazy fool would continue with this case? Who are you trying to impress?
He grabbed a towel and dried his face, peering into the mirror. Who the hell are you, Pike? What are you doing here, with your life, with your client, with this woman in your bed?
For so long, he’d let his father’s tragedy define him. He’d been on autopilot since he was a teenager. The government railroaded his father, so he wouldn’t let them do it to anyone else. Fine. Except what did he ever do? Got a few people off the hook—and was well paid for it. But did he actually investigate his father’s case? Even when he had a chance to talk to Ellison, the man directly responsible for his father’s conviction, he avoided the subject.
Who are you? he asked the face in the mirror.
And why can’t you solve this case? It shouldn’t be that hard. A dead man, greedy relatives, a mysterious disappearance. Put it together already. Professor Plum in the Conservatory with the candlestick. Or something like that.
He heard a creaking door and fortunately did not jump. Camila shuffled behind him and pressed her warmth against his. “Pretrial jitters?”
“Something like that.”
“You could come back to bed. It’s not even light out.”
Her hair was a mess, sleep in her eyes—but still gorgeous. “My mind is already at the courthouse.” Bit of a lie, but it sounded good.
“Anything I can do?”
“Don’t think so. Got any more PR events with Sweeney?”
“No, thank God. I’ve had as much of that man as I can take. But I can’t afford to be rude, not when I’m fundraising.”
“I understand. Don’t like it, but I understand. I’m convinced that man is the puppet master pulling the strings in this case. And that he’s using DA Belasco.”
“There are ways we could deal with the district attorney.”
He turned—not easy in this tiny alcove—and gave her a sharp look. “What do you mean?”
“We could have him taken care of.”
He grinned. She was adorable when she pretended to be ruthless. “Just off him?”
“If he’s on Sweeney’s payroll, he deserves to be offed.”
“I don’t see you doing that.”
She looked him in the eyes, wide and watery. “For you, I would do anything.”
“Likewise.” He pulled her close and planted a kiss on her lips, lingering a long time. “Here’s an alternate plan. How about I win in court?”
She pressed harder against him, placing her hands in completely inappropriate places. “Are you sure you don’t have time to come back to bed? Clear your head? Relieve some stress? It would be therapeutic. Really, I’m only thinking of you.”
“Is that a fact.”
“I am your mayor. That makes me the city’s foremost service provider.” She wrapped her hands around his waist. “I aim to provide service.”