Page 54 of Demon On Deck

Chapter 18

Case Dismissed

KALLIE

“Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!” I yelp, dancing around the kitchen as boiling hot coffee soaks into my blouse. Another shirt bites the damn dust.

I set the coffee cup in the sink and grab some paper towels and dab at my now-soaked shirt. Tossing the paper towels, I give up the half-hearted attempt to clean up my blouse and head back to my bedroom to change.

Again.

This morning seems to be an exercise in Murphy’s Law. If there is even a remote possibility it can go wrong, it most certainly will. To disastrous and unfortunate measures. It started with the sleepy tea I brewed at midnight because the jitters over today’s court date had me tossing and turning for hours. Once it was brewed, I brought it to my room to sip on while reading a book and trying to relax. One minute I’m turning the page of my book, the next I’m dumping half my tea into my lap and on my sheets.

After furiously stripping the bed and tossing the now certainly tea-stained bedding into the laundry, I crawled back into the bed with only the fitted sheet and my favorite blanket, which I normally use to relax on the couch.

As I lie down and pull the blanket over me, I catch a scent. The faintest hint of smoke. Tears spring to my eyes as I remember the last time I used the blanket. Evren had come over for dinner. He surprised me with frosted heart sugar cookies that he had gotten from Bite Me Baby, Grace’s catering company. He had her make extra when they catered lunch for his staff. We’d eaten, then sat on the couch to watch tv and nibble on the cookies. I grabbed it off the back of the couch and wrapped it around us as we cuddled together.

My heart aches as I pull the blanket up to my nose and inhale deeply. I miss him so much. I wish more than anything he would be with me in court. But lying there, even in the depths of my grief, I let Evren’s scent wrap around me. I imagine it’s his arms, so big and strong and gentle, that embrace me and give me comfort.

And that’s what eventually lulled me to sleep. Not a restful sleep, but enough that I’m not a useless zombie when I wake up. Regrettably, that's where things went downhill.

I took a spill in the shower, bruising my tailbone. After I got dressed, I started doing my hair and makeup, nothing fancy or elaborate, my simple style. Yet somehow, I managed to knock over my foundation bottle, spilling half of it down the sink. When straightening my hair, the straightener slipped off the counter. I reflexively reached out and grabbed it before it could hit the ground. White-hot pain pulsed from my fingertips to my palm.

A long string of hissed curses poured out of my mouth as I tossed the offending hair tool into the sink, chipping the plastic housing. As soon as the cursed thing was unplugged, I went in search of my first aid kit and burn cream. Fortunately, I discovered I do still have the ointment, and it’s miraculously unexpired.

That’s where my luck ran out. Upon squeezing the tube, it burst, sending ointment all over the burn as well as my newly-purchased professional pantsuit for court. With a resigned sigh, I finished bandaging my hand and cleaned up the mess before heading to change. Clearly, coffee was needed to steady my nerves.

Which is how I ended up where I am now—back in my closet searching for yet another professional-looking outfit after ruining outfit number two with the coffee that was supposed to help settle me down. After what seems like an eternity of trial and error, I finally settle on a pair of khaki dress pants and a cream knit, cap-sleeve top with navy strips on the bottom half, paired with navy sandals.

The outfit is neutral, unassuming, and entirely too wrinkled for all the work I’ve been doing to prepare for today. I feel like a wilting flower whose leaves are turning from thirst. Look like one too, in this outfit devoid of color and personality.

Why the hell did I buy this?

Having no time to try and find something else, I resign myself to looking like a wrinkled, fading bloom. If I don’t go now, I’ll be late, and I refuse to give Matt the impression he’s intimidated me. Grabbing my files and keys from the side table by the front, I take one last look in the mirror.

If you look close enough, you can see the dark circles creeping out from beneath a metric ton of foundation and concealer. My chest aches with the weight of a million tears of grief. And my hand is sporting a fabulous bandage.

“Get your shit together, Kallie. Don’t give that fucker the satisfaction.”

With a curt nod to myself, I head out the door.

I don’t remember the drive. One minute, I was putting the car into gear and contemplating how my life took such a violent detour from thriving romance and business to brokenhearted and fighting for my business in court against my low-life ex-husband, and the next, I’m parking the car in the lot of the courthouse.

The primary evidence of my journey is the cramps I have in my hands from death gripping the steering wheel, and the fact that there are no flashing lights behind me as I exit the vehicle.

Files in hand, I head for the courthouse. Long security lines. Dreadful fluorescent lighting. And an unending echo of doom as sounds bounce around the marbled floor. There’s an overpowering scent of disinfectant, as if the faculty tries to use industrial cleaner to wipe away all the vile energy that congregates here every time a case concludes. The air feels thick and heavy, almost oppressive, as I finally make it through the security line and into the main courthouse.

I glance at my messages and confirm the directions to the courtroom that Neeve sent over. She and the forensic accountant, whom I will be meeting for the first time, will meet me outside the courtroom. I was hoping to meet the accountant before today, but our schedules never lined up. With Neeve’s assurance that this guy was the best, and my utter trust in her, I let that detail go.

Winding my way through the crowded hallways, my anxiety begins rising. It bites at my already fragile nerves, and its icy fingers bury themselves into my spine, causing my skin to erupt in goosebumps and chilling my bones.

I wish Evren were here to wrap me in his warmth. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I swat it away. There’s no time for emotions right now. Now I have to focus on keeping my business out of the hands of my conniving, manipulative, microdicked ex-husband. Straightening my spine, I turn the corner and stop dead in my tracks, heart stopping.

Standing next to Neeve is a demon who could be Evren’s older doppleganger. All the internalized self-talk I just did evaporates as I try to take a deep breath to calm the tidal wave of pain that surges in my heart. Neeve picks that moment to look up from her phone and spots me, waving me over.

With a breath that does nothing to soothe the raging water of agony swelling in my chest, I walk over with as much confidence as I can muster.

“Morning,” Neeve says, giving me a quick embrace.