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I sighed. Just about time for the most stressful day of my life, and that was including all the times I’d been shot at.

  5

  The courthouse was small, not one of the ones we’d been to for our few other cases. There was only one actual courtroom, set aside for family affairs like these, and the rest of the building was given over to offices and record rooms, with clerks in dark suits hurrying from point to point with cardboard boxes in their arms. I was fifteen minutes early, and I was still the last one there, though I saw Cal head through the front doors just as I pulled into the parking lot, so I knew I wasn’t that far behind.

  I spotted the group the moment I walked inside, clustered around a bench against the wall, though no one was actually sitting down, and I hurried over to them. I was dressed in my second-best suit. I’d ruined the first best leaping off a roof to catch Blair Haddow. This one was navy blue, and I wore it without a tie, the top button of my white shirt open, my dress shoes tapping against the floor and echoing all around the lobby.

  The group looked up as I approached. Rachel was wearing more makeup than usual, her foundation not quite blended properly just under her eyes, and I could tell that she was trying to hide how red they were. She offered me a smile, but it was weak and tired. I gave her arm a squeeze. She wore a black dress, a cardigan draped over one arm, and she kept picking at a loose thread on the sleeve.

  “That’s Jack and Malia over there,” she said to me, glancing over her shoulder to look at the pair standing on the opposite side of the courtroom doors from us.

  Rachel’s ex-husband was a tall man, well over six feet, but his shoulders hunched slightly as if he was self-conscious of his height. He wore a brown blazer and black pants, the sweater vest underneath giving him a professor of history vibe, and I realized I had no idea what he did for a living. He had a long nose to match his long limbs, and it gave his face a sorrowful cast, though that might have also been from the weight of the day. He looked like he needed a haircut since it was a little shaggy at the back and around the ears.

  Malia was around eight years old, and I saw more of her mother in her than I did her father. Her blond hair was cut short and held back from her hair by a butterfly barrette. Her dress had a flower print on it with a little bow at the throat, and she held a rather ragged bunny rabbit in both hands, gently rubbing at its cheeks with her thumbs. She saw us looking at her, and Rachel waved, smiling, and her daughter had the little rabbit wave back.

  Rachel ached to go over to her but held herself in check because Jack had a rather possessive hand on Malia’s shoulder. His eyes flicked toward us and then away again as a gray-haired woman approached, offering him a to-go cup.

  “His mother,” Rachel explained. It was clear there was no love lost between the two of them.

  “We’ve got your back,” Cal said, and, just as I always was when we were together in a group like this, I was tempted to suggest that we put our hands in and do a ‘one, two, three, go team!’ The one time I’d mentioned it, I’d been shot down rather mockingly to a chorus of jeering laughter, but I would get them to indulge me at least once. It was my life’s mission.

  The attending clerk opened doors to announce that we could enter, and the five of us took a breath together, held it for a beat, and then let it out as one.

  “Here we go,” Rachel murmured, but as she moved to enter the courtroom first, her phone went off, the ringtone loud in the high-ceilinged lobby. She pulled it from her bag to decline the call and silence it, but she froze as she looked at the screen, an unreadable expression slicing across her face. “Go in without me. I’ll just be a minute.”

  “What is it--?” I began, but she was already walking off, placing the phone to her ear.

  Jack turned his head to watch her, a disappointed sigh on his lips as he shook his head just slightly, and his mother whispered something to him. I bristled but kept my mouth shut. We would not ruin this for Rachel.

  We let the three of them enter first and then filed into the courtroom. The judge sat at the high seat, the stenographer just below her, and a few witnesses filled the pews, separated from the front of the room by a wooden partition. Jack pushed through the swinging gate and took the table to the right, seating Malia between him and his mother. There was a man in a crisp, gray suit sitting there as well, and they immediately began to confer, heads bowed together.

  There was a woman at the left-hand table looking through a sheaf of papers, and as the four of us scooted into the pew just behind the partition, she looked back at us and raised an eyebrow. “Where’s Ms. Bane?” she asked.

  “She’ll just be a minute,” I said quietly. I was at the end of the pew and had to lean forward to speak with her. “She had to take a call.”

  The lawyer pursed her lips but didn’t say anything.

  “She’s still got three minutes,” I said, nodding to the clock over the judge’s head. As someone who was chronically late, those three minutes were very important to me.

  “Go get her,” the lawyer ordered, but before I could slide into the aisle, the courtroom doors opened, and Rachel entered, hurrying toward us.

  I caught her arm just before she grabbed the partition gate, and she glanced over at me. “What was that all about?” I whispered. There was a hollow look to her face, an extra worry carved into the lines around her eyes and mouth.

  “Simon Ward escaped prison,” she whispered.

  “Who?”

  But she pulled my hand away and joined her lawyer at the table just as the judge banged her gavel to bring the courtroom to attention.

  “Do you know who Simon Ward is?” I asked Lex as quietly as I could. She shrugged and shook her head.

  Rachel’s shoulders were tense, her back ramrod straight, the tendons on her neck standing out, and I hoped that call wouldn’t get in the way of this hearing. She had her hands on top of the table, and from behind, I could tell that one of them was still clenched around her phone.

  The judge cleared her throat and arranged the papers before her one last time. “We are here to reach a verdict on the custody case between Rachel Bane and Jack Harrison. Ms. Bane, you are suing for partial custody, is that correct?” The judge directed this last question down at Rachel, and Rachel nodded.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And you brought character witnesses?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “We’ll begin there then. Who do you call first?”

  Damn, we should have decided this beforehand. Lex nudged me, and I shot her a look. I didn’t want to go first. I’d be the standard. I wouldn’t know what to expect like the others would. I shook my head just slightly, and she nudged me again.

  Rachel turned around in her seat. “Jace?” she asked.

  Dammit. Now I had to. I nodded.

  “Jace Greyson will start, Your Honor,” Rachel announced, and I rose, unsure if I was actually supposed to take the stand like I would in a criminal case or stay where I was.

  The judge motioned toward the podium set up just in front of the two tables. I dried my hands off on my pants and stepped through the partition, all the way up to that podium.

  “State your name for the record,” the judge said.

  I cleared my throat so the words wouldn’t stick. I would feel the weight of all the eyes behind me on my back. “Jace Greyson.”

  “Your relationship to Ms. Bane?”

  “She’s my boss. I’m an agent with MBLIS. She’s the director. She hired me.” I cut myself off before I rambled on, thinking it best to stick to the questions that the judge asked me and not get ahead of myself.

  “How long have you known Ms. Bane?”

  “About four months now.”

  “So not a long relationship.”

  “No,” I admitted. “But it’s a case of quality over quantity. I count her among my closest friends.”

  My heart thundered within my chest, and my palms were already beginning to sweat again even though I’d just wiped them off. The air conditioner r
ushed full-blast from the vents, raising goosebumps across the back of my neck and hands so that I was an odd mix of sensations. I wished I could sit. My legs were trembling, and I couldn’t still them. This was much worse than any other hearing or trial I’d been a part of. The judge was staring right at me, and all the other eyes were boring holes into my back. I thought that maybe one pair was red hot—Jack’s probably. Or his mother’s.

  “Describe Ms. Bane in your own words.”

  I would have to speak carefully. “She’s amazing,” I began. “She’s kind, and she’s funny, and she’s always looking out for us, offering us help with anything at all, work-related or otherwise. She’s dedicated. To her job, yes, but also to her daughter. She tells us stories about Malia at least once a day. When it’s her time to pick up or visit Malia, she leaves the office just as soon as she can, and we all know that she’s unavailable if she’s with her daughter.” I hesitated, wondering if I had strayed from the question. “She cares an awful lot. And if she cares about you, then that’s pretty damned great.”

  The judge’s face remained impassive, impressively so, and it put me on edge. I wanted to know how I was doing. I wanted to glance over my shoulder to check on Rachel, but thought I should keep my attention on the judge.

  “Tell us about your job,” she continued.

  I swallowed. This was the hard one. “My job is pretty different from Rachel’s. Which one do you want to know about?”

  The judge gave me a flat look that told me to figure it out, and I rubbed my palms on my pants again, trying to hide the nervous motion behind the podium.

  “Right,” I said. “Well, our jobs are different. Rachel is our director. Because of that, she’s got a greater freedom of schedule than we do. She doesn’t have her own cases. She just oversees ours, so she doesn’t have to worry about getting wrapped up in a stakeout or a case that might take longer than expected. It’s less dangerous, too, since she’s not out in the field as much. It’s a stable job. We’re a newly established branch, but we’ve been doing pretty well, and I think we’re here to stay.”

  “Do you think Ms. Bane would make a fit parent?”

  What the hell kind of question was that? I bit back the words, though the swell of anger in my gut almost pushed them out, anyway. “Of course.” I couldn’t keep the sharp edge all the way out of my voice. “I would trust her with my life and isn’t that what parenting is? Protecting a child’s life with everything you’ve got?”

  “It’s a lot more than a single, grand, life-saving gesture,” the judge said, looking down her nose at me. Her glasses were on a slim chain that had caught on a strand of hair, and she tugged at it irritably. “It’s little things like showing up to things and providing stability and being there when they wake up and when they go to bed. Do you believe Ms. Bane would make a fit parent in the simple ways that actually count?”

  “Of course,” I said again, but the judge was still speaking.

  “Because Ms. Bane has uprooted her family three times to follow her job and has a history of moving around every few years. She’s missed concerts and sporting events for her cases, and she’s even missed birthdays. She’s stayed out all night, and her daughter has been late to school because of that. Do those sound like the actions of a fit parent to you?”

  “Those sound like things that have all happened in the past,” I said, struggling to hold the lid down on my anger. “Rachel--”

  “That will be all, Mr. Greyson,” the judge interrupted.

  I bristled. “It’s Agent Greyson,” I corrected. “And I wasn’t finished.”

  “That will be all, Agent Greyson,” the judge repeated and gestured toward the bench behind me. My mouth dropped open, unable to believe that I was being dismissed so abruptly, but I swallowed my pride and anger and made my stiff way back to the bench, not wanting to make things worse for Rachel. I gave her a squeeze on the shoulder as I went by. Her face looked pinched and pale, and she checked her phone, which still lay on the table in front of her. The judge noticed the action.

  Each of my coworkers took the stand—or the podium—next. The judge asked them all the same questions, and they tried to vary their answers so it wouldn’t sound like we were all parroting each other. Lex mentioned cops she had worked with who also had kids and who were able to craft a work-life balance that kept everyone happy.

  “Yes, it’s hard,” Lex added. “But it’s worth it, and Rachel has been trying so hard to find that balance and make it work. She told us that she took this position both because Mr. Harrison and Malia were already down here and because she wants to put down roots here. For Malia.”

  “That will be all, Agent Martine,” the judge said, and Lex floundered just as I had, hoping to say more, but the judge had already turned her attention to other matters. “Rachel Bane, come up.” She waved Rachel forward. Rachel checked her phone one last time before she flipped it over so it was screen-down and stood. The judge’s jaw twitched.

  “Why do you keep looking at your phone?” the judge demanded. “Is there something more important than this going on?”

  “Of course not, Your Honor,” Rachel promised. “I just… I received a bit of news before I came in here, and I’m waiting for a follow-up.”

  I was still trying to place the name Simon Ward. I thought it sounded familiar, but it was just out of range of recollection. I glanced around, making sure no one’s attention was on me, and then I slid my phone from my pocket.

  “What news?” the judge asked Rachel.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s not important to this hearing,” Rachel insisted. She sounded anxious, her voice tight, but I couldn’t tell if that was due to the proceedings in general or whatever it was that she didn’t want to say to the judge. I googled Simon Ward and waited, the reception in this building terrible.

  “Clearly, it does, or you wouldn’t be so distracted by it,” the judge said.

  “It’s about an old case from before I became director of the New Orleans branch,” Rachel admitted. “But it will have no effect on my plea for partial custody. I won’t say anything more on the matter.” Steel colored Rachel’s voice and coiled along her spine, and the judge looked taken aback for a moment before she nodded, accepting Rachel’s answer and seeming to take it as a good thing.

  The search results finished loading. I glanced down, hiding the phone between my legs. Lex noticed and nudged me. “What are you doing?” her eyes asked me.

  “Simon Ward,” I mouthed, but she shook her head, confused.

  I looked back at the headlines, eyes flicking across the tiny text. A man named Simon Ward had been put away for human trafficking ten years ago. But what did that have to do with Rachel?

  Oh.

  “Mr. Harrison has made the argument that you’re unable to change,” the judge said, drawing me away from my phone screen and back into the courtroom. “He says you’ve promised to change before but have quickly fallen back into old patterns and habits. He claims that you’ve only ever let Malia down. Why is this time any different?”

  “Only ever let my daughter down?” Rachel snapped, jerking around to stare daggers at her ex-husband. At the last second, she remembered that Malia was seated beside him and softened the expression, smiling at the little girl. She took a deep breath and schooled her emotions back into place before she faced the judge again. “That’s not true. Yes, my job is very involved, and yes, it can be dangerous, and yes, I’ve lived an unconventional life, but…”

  She trailed off and then shook her head and sighed. “That’s what this is really about. This is about the fact that I won’t conform to certain societal expectations. This is because I won’t put myself in a box. I love my daughter, I love my job, and yes, I have loved moving around as much as I have. These are facts that can all exist simultaneously. I won’t give up my daughter, and I won’t give up my job. I shouldn’t have to do either. Yes, I’ve made mistakes. Of course, I have. Who hasn’t? But I’ve learned from them, and I’ve adjusted, and I w
on’t let Jack’s problems with me come between Malia and me.”

  Once again, she turned to look at that right side bench, locking eyes with Malia and smiling. Malia smiled back and waved with her rabbit’s paw. Rachel ignored her ex completely, but he was trying and failing to keep his expression neutral, and anger colored the lines of his face. “I want what’s best for her, and I genuinely believe that’s with me with partial custody.” Rachel’s voice shook as she finished speaking, and from this angle, I could just barely see the tear fall from her eye. She let it fall without dashing it away.

  “Mr. Harrison, your response?” the judge asked.

  At this point, I was impressed with how unaffected she appeared. Rachel’s speech was powerful and impassioned, and most everyone around the room was nodding or rubbing at an eye that suddenly had something in it, but the judge remained unmoved and would stay that way until she rendered a verdict.

  Jack Harrison stood and exchanged places with Rachel. Rachel smoothed the front of her blazer as she returned to her seat so that she could hide the trembling of her hands. I leaned forward as far as I could to put a hand on her shoulder, Lex doing the same on the other side. Rachel patted our hands but didn’t look at us. Her gaze caught on her overturned phone, but she didn’t touch it.

  “Rachel’s life is chaotic,” Jack began. He had a smooth, spider-silk voice that I instantly disliked. “Our child doesn’t need that when she’s still growing up. Malia needs stability, and that’s simply not something Rachel has ever been able to provide.”

  All along the bench, Ramirez, Cal, Lex, and I bristled as one, and I cracked my knuckles. How dare this tall sweater vest of a man disparage our friend like that? I saw myself leap over the partition to slug him right in his long nose. I sat on my hands instead, focusing on the way the hard wood pressed into my bones.

  “I’m happy to give her visitation, of course,” Jack continued, acting as if that was such a magnanimous offer. “Malia should see her mother. I don’t want to cut the two of them off. But I don’t think split custody would be good for Malia.”