Page 23 of Love, Lies, and Celtic Knots

Notice of Suspension: Frank Morely.

A wave of relief washes over me so suddenly that I feel lightheaded. It’s finally done. I quickly scan the email, confirming that Frank Morely has been officially suspended from practicing law in the state of Florida. There’s no coming back from this. His underhanded tactics, the juror intimidation, bribing a judge—it’s all caught up to him.

I let out a long, shaky breath, pushing back from my desk as a small, satisfied smile plays at my lips. This battle with Frank has been dragging on for far too long. His arrogance, the way he thought he could manipulate the system for his own gain, has always made my blood boil. But now, he’s finally paying the price.

I shut my laptop and grab my phone, already texting Miles.

Me: Good news today. Frank’s been suspended!

Miles: That’s huge. I’m proud of you, Emma! Anything I can do to help you celebrate?

Me: You’re still cooking dinner tonight, right?

Miles: You betcha. I’ll be there at seven. You pick the wine; I’ll bring the food.

Just seeing his reply makes my heart race. I’m not sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, my feelings for Miles grew deeper and faster than I expected. There’s something about the way he grounds me, the way he always seems to know exactly what to say. I feel safe with him. And after everything with Frank, a night of good food, wine, and the warmth of his presence sounds like exactly what I need.

I grab my purse and keys, taking one last look around my office before heading out. The drive home is peaceful, the sun setting in the distance, casting a soft orange glow over the horizon. I feel lighter, more relaxed than I have in weeks. Frank’s suspension is a weight off my shoulders, and tonight, I get to enjoy it with Miles.

When I pull up to my beachside cottage, I hesitate for a second. Something feels… off. The air around the cottage feels heavy, thick with tension.

I shake my head, laughing at myself. I’m being ridiculous. It’s probably just the aftermath of the stress I’ve been under. I shrug off the feeling and unlock the door, stepping into the familiar warmth of my home.

Once inside, I kick off my heels and head straight for the kitchen. A glass of wine sounds perfect right about now. I hum softly as I open the wine cabinet, my mind already drifting to thoughts of the evening with Miles. I can picture him standing in my kitchen, the smell of something delicious filling the air, his smile making my pulse quicken.

I reach for a bottle of red, but as I turn to grab a glass, a shadow moves at the edge of my vision. Before I can process what’s happening, cold steel presses against my head, and my heart stops.

A gun.

My breath hitches, fear slamming into me like a tidal wave as I freeze in place. I drop the wine bottle spilling red wine everywhere. My fingers grip the counter so hard they ache, my pulse pounding in my ears. The world around me blurs, my mind screaming at me to do something, anything, but I can’t move.

I can’t think.

All I can focus on is the gun pressed to my head.

“Don’t move,” a low voice growls from behind me.

My heart races faster, panic clawing at my throat. I don’t recognize the voice, but it’s dripping with malice, and the way he speaks sends chills down my spine. My mind scrambles, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to remember the self-defense tips I’d heard a million times but never thought I’d need.

“I—I won’t,” I stammer, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl,” the voice sneers.

I swallow hard, my body trembling with fear as I try to figure out what to do. My phone is in my purse, but it’s across the kitchen. There’s no way I can reach it without making things worse.

“Turn around,” the voice commands.

I turn slowly, my heart racing as I come face-to-face with a man I recognize.

Judge Stanley.

He’s tall, muscular, with a cruel sneer etched on his face. His dark eyes gleam with twisted satisfaction as he sees the recognition cross my face, his grip on the gun steady.

“What do you want?” I manage to ask, my voice shaky but strong enough to surprise even me.

“To do to you what you’ve done to me—ruin you,” he says, his eyes narrowing.

“How have I ruined you?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, trying to buy myself time to think.

---