Lines of Defense

Ch. 9

ETHAN COLE

She's crazy. Either crazy or terminally ill, because this is not the Amelia I know. I watch her storm out of Havers' office, her entire demeanor screaming that something is wrong. Amelia would never drop a case like this, not willingly. She's too stubborn, too driven. There's something off, and I can't just sit here and pretend I didn't see it.

Havers glances at me, his face tight with confusion. "Do you know something I don't?" he asks, his tone edged with concern.

I shake my head. "No." And it's the truth. I don't know what the hell's going on, but I'm about to find out. Without another word, I push myself out of the chair and rush after her, my heart pounding in my chest. My feet carry me faster than I intended, driven by a gut feeling I can't quite place. I catch sight of her at the staircase, her shoulders hunched, wiping at her face like she's trying to erase the evidence of her tears.

"Hart!" I call sharply.

She doesn't stop. If anything, she speeds up, moving down the stairs as if she can outrun me—or whatever is haunting her. But I'm not letting this go. I follow her, taking two steps at a time until I'm close enough to grab her wrist. She flinches and whirls around, her eyes blazing with something I don't recognize.

"Let go of me," she snaps, her voice sharp and breaking at the edges. "Mind your own business. Don't you have better things to do? Or are you really that less busy that you have to bother me?"

I don't let go. "Yeah, I'm that less busy, apparently." I sound harsher than I want to, but I can't help it. "What the hell is going on with you? Why are you dropping the case? Did someone threaten you?"

She avoids my eyes, her jaw tightening as if she's trying to hold something back. When she finally speaks, her words cut deeper than I expect. "Don't act like you care. You're not my friend. Just keep being the cocky bastard you are, and leave me alone."

Her words hit me, but I don't flinch. I know her better than this. Or at least I think I do.  "I'm not pretending to care," I say, my grip loosening but not letting go entirely. "But I'm not going to stand by while you throw away your career for whatever this is. I'm here because I want to face you in court. You're the only prosecutor who makes me want to walk all over them, Hart. The thought of winning against you fuels me. I'm not letting you back out of giving me that satisfaction."

Her laugh is bitter, cold. "Go fuck yourself." She rips her arm out of my grasp. "You think this is about your ego? You think I give a damn about what fuels you? God, you're pathetic." She shakes her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, and then she storms off, leaving me standing there like an idiot.

I stand frozen for a moment, replaying everything I just said. Did I say something wrong?

Because, somehow, I don't think this is about the case at all.

Before I can stop myself, I'm running after her again. She's almost at the door, her hand reaching for the handle when I cut her off, standing directly in her path. Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, I swear she looks like she's about to completely fall apart.

"It's extremely rude of you to tell me to go fuck myself," I say, my words flat but pointed. I'm pushing her, and I know it. I just don't know how far.

She glares at me, her eyes red and swollen, but her shoulders are trembling like she's barely holding herself together. "Move," she says, the words strained.

"No," I say firmly. "Not until you tell me what the hell is going on with you. This isn't you, Hart. This isn't—"

"Not everything is about you, Ethan!" she snaps, cutting me off. Her voice cracks, and she presses her hands to her temples like she's trying to hold her head together. "For once in your life, stop making it about you!"