Page 2 of Legally Loved

"In that I can't get rid of you." Remembering what I was doing when he interrupted me, I attempt to hide it from him, but he grabs it before I can.

"Planning on returning to the scene of the crime?" Annoyed with this whole situation, I snap, wanting to know why he cares. Sliding it toward me, he doesn’t respond. Whether that was his intention or because the waitress came to check on us, I’ll never know. Caleb orders two pancake breakfasts and we each remain silent until it’s delivered. That’s when the interrogation begins. "What were you trying to steal?"

He works for the other side and can’t be trusted, but I’ve hit nothing but dead ends on my own. Plus, he did offer his assistance. If he was truly interested in seeing me behind bars, he wouldn’t have done either. Right? Taking advantage of the time chewing gives me, I think about how to proceed. As he waits, becoming increasingly impatient, I realize he’s used to getting his way. "I'm trying to prove my brother's innocence."

"He's in jail? Where and for what?"

"Yes. A few counties over in Franksville. For a murder he didn’t commit.”

He lets out a long whistle as he shakes his head. "That'll be an impossible feat."

"How would you know? You haven't even looked at the case," I protest, annoyed at his conclusion.

"Convicted criminals always claim they didn’t do it."

"He didn’t!" I shout. His eyes tell me he doesn’t agree, that I’m simply another loved one who wants to believe it’s an error. But he’s wrong. This time it truly is a mistake. I attempt to calm my breathing as the reality of what’s going on hits me. Then Caleb surprises me by asking what happened. Despite his doubt, he seems sincere in wanting to listen, so I take the chance and tell him everything. Hoping I’m not being stupid. "We grew up in Franksville with an abusive and alcoholic father. He finally left, but it had a lasting impact on us and our mom.

Caleb places his hand on mine, offering comfort as he says, “I’m sorry, baby.” The endearment shocks me, but I need to continue before I lose my nerve.

"Harry and I weren’t the best kids," I admit with a shrug, as if I’m not embarrassed. "Stealing, fights, you name it. Mom was a waitress at a high-class bar. That’s where she met and started having an affair with Patrick Benson.” Caleb confirms that I’m referring to the mayor. “When he broke it off, she became depressed and killed herself.” My eyes water as I talk about it, the pain of it all still so fresh. "Harry was understandably pissed and blamed Patrick. The night after her funeral, he got drunk at a local pub and was overheard threatening Benson. He decided to confront him, but when he arrived at his house, he was already dead."

"So, he called the police and they arrested him?"

I cringe as I confess, "No. He ran from the crime scene." I still can’t believe he did that. It’s as good as declaring you did it. When he wants to know why, I tell him, "He was drunk, scared and just saw a body for heaven’s sake. They found his prints along with video footage of him running, and with no other suspects, they pinned it on him."

"That’s pretty damning evidence," Caleb responds. "What makes you think you can prove otherwise?"

"The mayor's son, Sean, was disowned a few years back, though he was in town when the murder occurred. There’s no tape from inside, only from where Harry entered and left. The weapon was never found. Add to that the fact Sean hadn’t been removed from the will, meaning he got everything…”

"That is suspicious,” he concedes. “Was he in there long enough to kill Patrick?"

"He looked for him and eventually found him in his room. The time of death overlaps with his arrival."

"You think it was Sean," he guesses.

"I do. Not only did he receive a huge inheritance upon his father’s death, but he also skipped town right after. He's been spending that money like crazy. I just know he has the missing tape."

"That's why you broke in? You think it’s there?"

"Yes. And if it's not, then his place or he keeps it with him. Regardless, I know he did it." Once I’m finished, I’m out of breath, worked up from reliving it.

Caleb simply gives me another squeeze before letting it go and resumes eating. "We'll figure it out. Together." His words have a warm and fuzzy feeling coursing through me. I try to brace against it, knowing I can’t let him get under my defenses. I have to focus on Harry, that means I can’t allow for distractions. This is merely me using Caleb to get what I want. And maybe if I tell myself that enough, I’ll begin to believe it.

Chapter 3

Caleb

From my spot on the couch, I stare at the spare room, unable to think about anything else but the fact Halo is inside, wet and naked while she showers. Shaking my head, I try to push the images away, but I’m failing. After we ate and I learned she had nowhere else to go, I offered my home to her. She has a lot of pride, so she was reluctant to accept. I also doubt she’s ever had anyone offer to help her. Halo brings something out in me and I can only assume it’s how Clive felt when he met Grace. This woman is my one, I just feel it in my soul. The irony of being a prosecutor that’s fallen in love with a criminal makes me chuckle. It’s almost like a fairy tale.

From what she’s said and implied, up to this point, she’s pretty much been living a nightmare. I, however, intend to make sure from here on out it feels like a dream for her. While I believe in the system I swore to uphold, from her explanation about Harry’s situation, I have to admit her theory has merit.

When there’s a knock , I stand, expecting Clive. He strides in and brandishes the file I requested before placing it on the coffee table as he takes a seat.

"It wasn't easy," he informs me. His eyes pause on some pages I’d printed out and he asks, “Still house hunting, huh?” Sitting next to him, I sigh, letting him know none of them seem right.

I’ve been in this apartment since finishing law school, and even though it’s an excellent building and location, my parents have labeled it a hovel. That being said, I’ve always wanted to own a house, but it has to be one I can see myself in. My childhood residence was oversized and more like a museum than a home.

"Why would a closed case be difficult to obtain?" Clive admits it shouldn’t be.

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