Page 73 of Free to Judge
“One what?”
“One who was in for sexual assault.” She shivers. “The others built a human wall to keep him away from me after he tried to corner me.”
I grit my teeth together. “Where were the guards?”
Her head lifts and her eyes meet mine. “Outside the room.”
I want to howl at the desolate expression on her face. “What did you do?”
Her mouth kicks up in a self-deprecating smile. “Exactly what you think I did. I told my father.”
“Good.” The word is ripped out of me savagely. “Tell me Keene went after the bastards?”
“Actually, I think he first got sentences reduced or thrown out for everyone who protected me.Thenhe went after the inmate, guards, the shelter—anyone who thought it was a good idea to send an intern into that situation.” Her expression morphs into one of regret. “Turns out it wasn’t the first time.”
Before I crush the delicate wineglass in my fingers, she plucks it from my hands and entwines her fingers with mine. “Something good came from it, Declan. I started my own charity.”
I look down at our hands—hers, smaller but no less strong. Squeezing gently, I ask, “What charity is that?”
“Brave Steps Forward.” Kalie goes on to explain how she personally healed from the trauma by taking a new step every single day. She used a good portion of her trust fund to help others to do so in a healthy way.
“That’s what you were doing the night I saw you? Running with your charity group?”
She smiles tremulously. “Though those are people who are now back on their own. They just support one another by getting together and running. My law school roommate, Layla, helps coordinate the efforts both here and in her hometown of Seven Virtues, North Carolina.”
“Have I mentioned,” I shift so she can slip into my arms, “you’re amazing?”
“No, you haven’t.”
“You are.”
Her smile is bashful. “You’re trying to charm me.”
“Is it working?” I want nothing more than to pull her toward me and kiss her, but the timing isn’t right.
As if to prove my point, the timer beeps on our pizzas.
She makes a show of fanning herself even as she pulls away. “Right on time. Plus, it smells terrific. Be still, my starving stomach.”
I stand up. Even though Kalie is taller than the average woman, she’s dainty compared to me. I lift her onto the stool and place her wine in her hand. “Let me. Just give me directions.”
Kalie takes great relish in ordering me around her kitchen. I pull the pizza out, letting it rest while accumulating napkins and cutlery. Then, I plate it with a flourish—making her roll her eyes before I take my seat on the stool next to her, our knees casually bumping into one another.
We spend the rest of the night comparing our Harvard professors, the ridiculousness of some of our assignments, and the worst oral arguments we’ve ever had to give in court. I feel like I won a prize when I made her crack up over the Byrnes wanting to sue a gun manufacturer over bullets not being released fast enough so they sustained injuries in a shootout. She, meanwhile, explains her daily duties at Amaryllis Events. “I might be willing to trade you mobsters for bridezillas.”
I hold up my hands and give her a horror-stricken face. “No damn way. Those people are insane.”
That line made her laugh so hard she chokes on her wine.
But our discussion reminds her that she needs to send a file to her mother about a client. We wander up to her office. While she accesses her computer, I trace the spines of her legal texts with their gilded edges. When she finishes, she leans against her desk, studying me. “Do you miss it?”
“The FBI?”
She nods. “The mission.”
I walk over to her and slide my arms around her waist. My head rests on top of hers before I admit, “Sometimes. But they didn’t believe in me.”
She pulls back and her brow furrows. My lips curve sadly when I remind her, “About Tanya.”
