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He stood, straightening his vest. “She is. I explained you were running behind schedule, and she was fine. She said she had her tablet with her and could read until you showed up. I gave her coffee, and we had a chat.”I lifted one eyebrow. “A chat?”He nodded. “I apologized to her for my assumptions, and we talked awhile. She is quite lovely.” He shook his head, pulling his jacket over his shoulders. “She is intelligent. Very gracious.” He pondered his next words. “Not what I would have expected from someone married to Scott Hutchings.”I tilted my head, remaining silent, but we shared a look of understanding. Rene had great instincts. If he trusted someone, then it carried a lot of weight with me.“Your sandwiches and coffee are in there on the table. Your favorite notebook and pens are on your desk. I started a file in the system and a paper one, which is waiting. Do you need anything else?”“No, go home. I have my laptop and recorder if I need it.”“I assumed you did. Call me if y
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Hal leaned back in his chair, still eating, although his pace had slowed. He didn’t push or ask any questions, allowing me the space I needed. He seemed to be lost to his thoughts, giving me the chance to study him again.He was a good-looking man. His dark brown hair was swept high off his forehead in a widow’s peak, short on the sides, and brushed until it gleamed. He had a moustache and short beard, carefully trimmed and neat. It emphasized the sharp angles of his jaw and full mouth. His eyes were a deep navy—so dark, at first, I had thought them brown, but up close, I could see the blue catching the light. His expression was serious, intense at all times, with shadows that seemed permanently etched under his eyes adding to the severity of his expression. Even when he smiled, he never seemed to relax. Yet, unlike my soon-to-be ex-husband, Hal’s intensity wasn’t underwritten with a general contempt for everything around him. There was kindness in his eyes—something I had been missin
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Halton“Where do you want me to start?” Fiona asked.I pulled my notepad closer. “At the beginning. I don’t want to hear every detail of your courtship, but I need your history.”She nodded, rubbing her arms as she looked around the room. “We met when I was nineteen. He was older and in law school. He had started late, so there was a six-year difference between us, not that it ever bothered me. I was going for my English Lit degree. I wanted to teach.” She frowned ruefully. “I never finished.”“Why?”“Scott was like a whirlwind. A tornado, really. He swept in and overtook everything. My dad had died not long before I met him, and I wasn’t myself. I was struggling. Scott sort of stepped in and filled that void.” She sighed and ran a hand over her eyes. “He liked to make decisions, and I was so lost at times, I let him. A year after we met, we were married. I stopped going to school and got a job. The deal was I would work until he became an established lawyer, and then I would go back
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“Why did you stay?”She was quiet for a moment. “I think for the longest time, I hoped. Hoped he would remember when he couldn’t wait to get home to me. That he would find that spark I had seen in him when we first met. I kept thinking it would get better. I did everything I could. I stayed busy volunteering, doing charity work with other wives at the firm since school was no longer an option. I helped out at dinners and functions until Scott informed me he had no desire to attend them anymore. I kept the house immaculate and tried to be a good wife. Anything he asked of me, I did, but it never seemed to be enough. The time just…slipped away while I waited for him. I lost so many years.” She blew out a long breath. “My identity was so wrapped up in his, it was as if I no longer existed without him.”I nodded, remaining silent. Once again, her story was familiar.“From the outside, I had everything. A big house, a successful husband. I drove a new car, I had nice clothes, no money worr
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I frowned. “I’m not asking you for a retainer. We can discuss all the expenses and come to an understanding we’re both comfortable with. I don’t gouge my clients.”She giggled, the sound unexpected in the office.“You find that funny?”“No,” she said, biting her lip to stop laughing again. “I wasn’t talking about paying your fee. My parents, my friends, they always called me Fee. I liked it better than Fiona. Scott thought it was silly and called me Fiona. I want to go back to the name I liked. I want to go back to being the person I liked.”I joined in her laughter at my misunderstanding and nodded in agreement at her decision. It was a small step to reclaiming her independence again.“Fee, it is.”Fee sat in the armchair again as I made lists of what I needed. Documents I had to have, copies of bank statements, taxes—hundreds of pieces of information I would need to make a case.“How will I get them?” she asked when I sat with her again.“I can subpoena them. I’d like to get a look
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BentleyI stepped outside and inhaled a lungful of air. After the past four days of steamy, oppressive heat, the rain that soaked the ground and broke the humidity had been a welcome relief. In the early morning hours, it was cool and fresh.“Your paper, sir,” Andrew, my houseman, said.I nodded and took my copy of The Globe and Mail, looking down the street, pleased to see my car approaching. As usual, Frank was on time, a fraction early, actually—the same as me.The car rolled up to the curb, and the rear passenger door opened. Aiden Callaghan, my head of security and right hand, eased his massive form out of the seat, and waved his arm with a flourish.“Your ride, Eminence.”Ignoring his tone and usual jibe, I slid into the back seat, snapping on the seat belt. I unfolded the paper, the newsprint still crisp and unblemished. Often, if Aiden grabbed the paper before I did, it was creased and smeared, the edges dark with coffee stains or sticky from whatever donut he was shoving in h
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It wasn’t one of the chain shops, but it was packed. I could smell the baked goods and rich scent of coffee in the air. People were everywhere, coming and going. All the tables were full, but I could see a few were getting ready to leave. I stood in line, tapping my foot impatiently, waiting my turn. I got my coffee in a takeaway cup, and added a cranberry-lemon scone to my order that looked tempting. After paying, I turned and scanned the room, scowling at the lack of an empty table. I walked farther into the store and rounded the corner, spying a vacant chair against the wall. At least I could sit and wait for a table.I strode toward the corner, cursing when my foot caught on something, sending me lurching to the left. Luckily, I kept hold of my coffee cup, but some of the contents spurted through the opening and landed on the table tucked behind the wall. My paper fell out from under my arm, and my cell phone skittered across the worn linoleum tiles.“Oh, shit,” a horrified voice
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I picked up my coffee. “I’ll find another place to sit. You can go back to studying.”Her hand shot out, grabbing my arm. I looked down at her fingers against the navy fabric of my suit—pale, small, and frail.“No, please, I was teasing. I do that when I’m nervous—make jokes and say things without thinking. I’m sorry.”I huffed and sat back down, unsure why I did so. She grimaced anxiously and plucked at the sleeve of her sweater.“I have a condition,” she announced.“I’m sorry?”“I get cold easily. I have really poor circulation. So, when you’re hot, I’m comfortable. When you’re cold, I’m freezing. That’s why I wear a sweater in the summer, and it’s why I’m sitting at this table. It’s sort of tucked away and the air conditioning doesn’t work well back here, so it’s not as popular.” She grinned, and a deep dimple appeared on her left cheek. “In the winter, it’s reversed, and it’s so hot here no one wants this table, but it’s perfect for me.”I realized she was trying to make up for he
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