Page 19 of Contention

She’s not successful, because she doesn’t have her wits about her, feels slow like she’s in quicksand. The man sidesteps everything she asks him smoothly, with a hint of chauvinist attitude in his every word. Kara flushes, irritated at him and herself, which becomes embarrassingly clear to the Judge as well.

To that note, her tone becomes combative. Which is a mistake.

“Miss Hayes, your line of questioning is not conducive to this case. Jury, please ignore the last comment,” Judge Canry says drily. “It was inflammatory in nature.”

Kara cringes in dismay; she screwed that up royally. She turns to look at her boss; the expression on his face is clear as day; she is not impressing Derrick right now.

In fact, he’s probably pissed at her.

Oodles of crap.Sigh.

When the break comes, Kara races off to the restroom, barely making it to the toilet before vomiting. There’s not much in her stomach, but the bile burns on its way up her esophagus. Gasping for air, trying to ignore the pain in her body, she flushes the toilet and spits.

Her body is shaking.

She goes to the sink to wash her hands, then splashes some water on her face, trying to clear her mind. Some of the other women in the room give her odd looks, wondering if she’s ill or judging her as a drunk. Kara scowls; she deserves their censure.

After leaving the safety of the bathroom, Kara retrieves her cell phone from her locker and goes outside to sit on one of the stone seating arrangements, flowers beginning to bloom in the beds of dirt around her.

She starts texting their PI, asking if he can ramp up finding the connection between the mysterious sums of money and people who had left the club before, signing NDA’s. He discusses the billing by the hours back to her and Kara agrees, because she knows Derrick will approve it for something this crucial.

When she’s done doing what she should have done yesterday, she sits and soaks in the early spring sun that has finally taken over the rain clouds, letting her eyes drift closed in exhaustion. It isn’t quite warm enough outside for no jacket, but the slightly nippy air on her face is welcome. Though her stomach is empty now, she still feels shaky and weak, overheating with dehydration.

She really could sink into the ground right now and never return. What if Derrick kicks her off the case for being so utterly awful?

“So, I guess you really are a lawyer, huh?”

Opening her eyes, Kara finds herself looking into a familiar face. Leaning his hip against one of the high stone walls is the Detective from that night in the hospital. Kara frowns at him, trying to remember his name. He’s wearing a lovely beige colored trench coat that wears well with his wild dark hair, even with the faint scruff along his jawline. A few scarce years older than her, if her estimate is correct.

He takes pity on her, clearly seeing her struggle to remember what he’s called. “I’m Detective Wellis. Remember? We met-”

Interrupting him quickly, Kara replies, “I remember you.” She shifts her mouth into an irritated moue. “You called me a prostitute. Which iswhyI remember you.”

The man flushes slightly, as if now embarrassed for his assumption. Rubbing the back of his neck, looking only a little less disheveled than the first time Kara met him, Detective Wellis says, “Yeah. Well. I’m sorry I offended you. I was just doing my job.”

He’s got these gentle eyes, a soft brown that seem far too worried about her when they drift to her face. No one has ever been worried about Kara, a fact that she has accepted over the years with a sort of quiet logic. She’d grown up with a mother who was just trying to get by day by day and they were both just trying to survive her father. Only, with him it was like balancing on a bed of nails on uneven ground.

This Detective Wellis doesn’t have the vibe of a bad man, just more of the vibe of a man who has seen far too much terrible. That, and he doesn’t have much time for a razor or a comb. Kara sighs, rubbing her temple absently, trying to alleviate the pain still pulsing there. “Your mother never taught you not to call girls bad names, huh? It shows, Detective Wellis.”

A hint of laughter appears in those deep eyes. “Ray.”

Kara’s sluggish mind hasn’t caught up to the speed of the conversation. No wonder she was garbage in front of the witness. “Huh?”

“You can call me Ray. It’s my name. What I’m called.” He’s lighting a cigarette, still standing a respectable distance from her. What is it with cops and cigarettes?

Kara gives him a weak grin. Do detectives always ask women to call them by their first name? “Only if you stop calling me that ‘Miss Hayes’ crap you kept pulling in the hospital.”

He smiles genuinely now. “A deal it is. Have you been alright, since that night? I meant to check in on you…I mean, we always do that, with uh…”

Kara waits patiently for him to call her a victim, but he must have learned something from his short time with her in the hospital, because he avoids the word.

Detective Ray Wellis continues after a brief stumble. “…with young women who are brought to our attention in the hospital. So. Are you doing fine? Safe?”

Safe is a funny word. Is Kara safe? Probably. But, safe from herself? Likely not. She’s her own worst enemy and her quest for perfection has always led her to the extremes, the pressure of it a heavy weight on her shoulders.

She gestures with her hand weakly. “Yes. All has been fine. And, if I need someone to save me, I know how to reach you.” Kara says it to watch his reaction. The Detective doesn’t disappoint.

He seems distinctly flustered. “You do?”

---