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‘And where did your loser mates get to?’ Cole didn’t bother hiding his disgust.

‘They drove off.’

‘Of course they did. Bloody heroes.’ He shook his head as if trying to dislodge a wayward blowfly. Jumped to his feet and paced to one end of the kitchen and back. Banged an open hand on the table. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Do you want to end up in jail? Or hospital? Or worse?’

Owen shook his head. ‘No.’

Cole angled forward, trying to force his brother to meet his eye. ‘Do you want to hurt someone else? Possibly kill someone?’

Owen’s gaze shifted from the table to Hannah. ‘No.’

Cole threw a hand in the air and let it fall to his side with a thwack. He’d diverted to his bedroom to pull on a T-shirt before the discussion so was now fully dressed, his eyes as black as his clothing.

Owen cleared his throat and shuffled forward a little in his chair. ‘Hannah told me what happened to her father.’

‘Her father?’ Cole’s expression was blank. He settled himself back into his seat. ‘What about—’

‘He died. In a car accident. The other driver was high and he’d stolen a car. He killed himself later in prison,’ Owen said, summing up the story, but the trembling of his hands and the quiver in his voice belied his apparent indifference.

Cole turned, the question there in the watery depths of his eyes.

Hannah nodded. ‘Christmas Eve. I was seventeen. He was picking me up from a party.’ That was a piece of information she’d withheld when she’d berated Owen but since she’d leapt so far over the professional–personal divide there seemed no point in keeping the truth a secret.

‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’ Cole lay his palm over her clasped hands.

Her throat ached. The action was so sincere and compassionate it didn’t set off a single emotion other than gratitude. A small smile was all she could muster in response, the weight of her own disclosures suddenly too much.

‘Is this enough to make you come to your senses?’ Cole’s question to his brother was laden with gravity. ‘Or are you going to continue on your merry way being a total dickhead?’

‘No … I mean … yes, it’s enough.’ Tears pooled in Owen’s eyes.

He lifted his hand, wiped his nose on his wrist.

‘Hannah is quite within her rights to call the magistrate and tell him you’ve broken the court conditions.’

Owen shot her a nervous glance. ‘Will you?’

That was exactly what she should do. Never in the entirety of her career had she even vaguely considered not doing things by the book. But she’d also never had a client that reminded her so viscerally of her father’s death. Of the man who had been responsible. Of the night her life was inexorably changed. Then there was her unexpected attraction to Cole. Not that she was acting on it, but it did make the whole situation more personal.

Lenore’s advice played itself back like the repeated refrain on a loop box: you need to find a way around the problem; work to live, not live to work.

‘No,’ she said finally. ‘I won’t report you to the court or the police. I’m going to refer you to a friend of mine who specialises in delinquent behaviours in teenage boys.’

Cole grimaced, probably at the use of the ‘delinquent’ label. But that’s exactly the sort of behaviour Owen had been displaying.

‘He’s tough, but he’s good. I know he’ll be able to help.’

‘So you won’t be doing the sessions anymore?’ Was that a note of hope in Owen’s voice or a tremor of disappointment?

‘No. Given the clear conflict of interest, I think it’s best if I take a back seat from here on.’ She turned her chair so she and Owen were face to face. ‘But I want your solemn promise that you will abide by the rules Cole sets and get yourself on the straight and narrow.’

‘I will. I really will.’

She drew in a long breath as she stood, flashing Cole a weary grin. ‘He’s all yours.’

‘I’ll see you out.’

Cole stepped onto the porch behind her, sticking his hands into his pockets. ‘I can’t thank you enough for all of this.’