Lines of Defense

Ch. 3

AMELIA HART 

The clock on my desk ticks past midnight, the silence of the nearly empty office pressing in on me. The stack of files in front of me feels insurmountable, but I push through. Every piece of evidence, every testimony, needs to be airtight if I want to win Winter's case. I can't afford to make mistakes. Not with what's at stake.

The dull ache in my temples reminds me that I haven't eaten since lunch, but I ignore it. I'll eat when I win this case, when Winter's rapist is behind bars where he belongs.

A sharp knock on my office door startles me from my thoughts, pulling my attention away from the paperwork. It's late—far too late for anyone else to be around. My brow furrows as I rise from my chair, crossing the room to open the door.

And there he is. Ethan Cole, leaning casually against the doorframe, his lips curving into that infuriatingly smug smile that I've come to associate with every loss I've suffered at his hands.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I snap, the hostility I feel for him seeping into my question.

He raises an eyebrow, stepping into my office uninvited as if he owns the place. Typical Ethan. "Nice to see you too, Hart."

I close the door behind him with more force than necessary, crossing my arms over my chest. "It's after hours. I'm busy. So unless you've suddenly developed a conscience and are here to turn yourself in for obstructing justice, you can leave."

Ethan chuckles, settling into the chair across from my desk like he's perfectly comfortable. His tailored suit and the way he carries himself reek of the arrogance I've come to despise. "Obstructing justice? Come on, Hart. We both know I've done nothing illegal."

"Just immoral," I mutter, moving back to my desk. "What do you want?"

He leans back in the chair, his gaze studying me with a level of seriousness that feels out of place. "I'm here to help you win your case."

I freeze, my fingers hovering over the files in front of me. I must have heard him wrong. Slowly, I turn to face him, narrowing my eyes. "You want to help me?"

He nods, that maddening smirk still on his face.

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" I demand. "Is this some kind of sick joke? You're defending Beckham, the man who raped Winter. You've been throwing roadblocks in my way since this case began, and now you suddenly want to help me?"

Ethan holds up a hand, as if to placate me. "Calm down, spitfire. I'm not here to mess with you."

"Oh, sure," I scoff, crossing my arms tighter over my chest. "I'm supposed to believe that the man who twists the law to help the guilty wants to help me put one of his clients behind bars?"

His expression shifts, growing more serious. "Let me rephrase that. I'm here to help you because Mr. Beckham can't afford to pay what I'm demanding for this case."

I blink, my mouth opening and closing as I try to process his words. "What?"

Ethan leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know me. I'm in this for the money. And Beckham? He's... let's just say, he's not exactly swimming in cash. He offered me a fraction of what I usually charge for a case like this."

"So?" I say, still not understanding where this is going.

"So," he continues, "if I'm not getting paid what I'm worth, I might as well let him rot in jail for his crimes. No point in working this hard for a guilty man who can't even cover his legal fees."

The sheer audacity of his words leaves me momentarily speechless. I stare at him, dumbfounded. "You're serious," I finally manage. "You're really saying that because Beckham can't pay you, you'd rather help me win?"