“Yes,” Stella says. She sits back on her heels. “You’re going to make sure Mom gets the charges dismissed, right, Dad?”
She looks up at him with the kind of faith only a twelve-year-old can have—that her father can fix anything, even this.
“I’ll do everything I can, sweet pea.” Then he looks at me. “When’s your next meeting with your legal team?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Send me the details,” he says. “I want to be there.”
I don’t necessarily want Richard in the room, but it’s smarter to have him on my team—and after Stella’s request, I’ll go along with it. So I give a brief nod.
“Where’s Noah?”
“I suggested he give us some time.” He spots Stella’s overnight bag and bends to pick it up. “You ready, kiddo?”
“Yep. When will I see you?” she asks me, picking her phone up off the bed.
“Well, first, you’re going to send me your phone number, right?” She grins. “And, I don’t know, let’s see today’s…”
The calendar blurs in my head, and a weight of dread clouds my thoughts.
“Tomorrow your mother will probably have a late night,” he says. “But Thursday? You and I can cook dinner for her. Just us. Family meal.”
“Just the three of us? No Jessica?” Stella squints like that’s unbelievable and it makes me realize Jessica must be there every single night.
“Are you up for that? It will give us a chance to talk?” His question is to me, but Stella stares up at him, and he adds, “And review your case. Privately.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I say, even though the word family feels like a language I no longer speak where he is concerned.
Richard waits at Stella’s bedroom door, stepping aside for Stella, and then me, to pass. When we reach the downstairs, Noah is nowhere to be found. I assume he’s down in the basement, and this time, I hold the front door for Stella and her father to pass.
Richard still isn’t happy—his anger fogs the air like humidity, stifling breath. But for now, we have what feels like a truce. A fragile, temporary ceasefire.
All the same, when I talk to Luca and Shelly next, I’ll ask about preparing for the worst. Because if this turns into a custody battle, I can’t afford to be ambushed.
Chapter
Thirty-Two
Noah
The streetlights glow weakly in the early morning dark, and my breath ghosts the chilled air as Jake and I finish the last of our calisthenics. Sweat slicks down my spine. The sun is just beginning to drag light through the trees, gold streaking the bare branches.
We slow automatically—five minutes from the lot, five minutes from getting back to Alicia.
“Great trails. Easier on the joints,” Jake says.
“Yeah. The C&O towpath never disappoints.” Gravel crunches under our shoes, breath going white in the cold. Five minutes to cool down; fifteen minutes until I need to be back with her.
We’re alone, but Jake still lowers his voice. “Am I alone in thinking this isn’t feeling like a standard detail?”
“Because the hits don’t look like hits,” I answer. “They’re coming sideways.”
“You buying Pierce’s involvement?”
“Not yet. If it’s Vasquez-adjacent, it’s an out-of-the-box way to sideline a witness.” I shift pace. “Feels more like a tired detective rushing a bow on a messy file.”
“Right.” Jake stares ahead to where the towpath spills into daylight. “She tell you about the affair before the arrest?”