Page 153 of Crash Course
She knew him well enough to know she’d get nothing out of him.
Perfect. If he couldn’t be man enough to admit what he’d done, she’d have no guilt over ending this useless conversation.
Slowly, Cilla pulled the blanket from her legs and folded it, aligning the corners the way she liked so the fringe would hang over the back of the couch. She set it back in place and smoothed the wrinkles before turning back to her parents.
"I’m tired," she said. "Going back to bed. Mom will show you out."
He reached for her, grabbing her hand. "Cilla."
She snatched her arm back, the movement too fast and sending her head spinning. "No, Dad. If you can’t be honest with me, we have nothing more to say. Now it’s up to the PD to figure out. I won’t help you anymore. Do yourself a favor and drop the charges against Cruz Blackwell."
"Now you think you can threaten me?"
"Don’t be so dramatic, Dad. I’m simply giving you legal advice. You pushed him. As I recall, three times. I saw it. I'll tell the police how you instigated that situation." She shrugged. "Or maybe Cruz will sue you. That would be a nuisance, wouldn’t it?"
She moved, took three steps, and when she didn’t get dizzy, kept going, moving away from her parents toward her bedroom.
"Cilla!" Her father thundered. "You don’t walk away from me."
"Actually," she called without stopping, "it’s my house. I’ll do what I want. Goodbye, Dad. And good luck. You’ll need it."
25
Cruz didas his mother suggested. Got cleaned up, spent the rest of the day in the Theater with his brothers working on two fresh cases, and then, dog-tired, walked to his suite, called Cilla for what had to be the eighth time and dropped into bed at midnight.
Seven hours later, after taking in a fantastic sunrise that had to be a good sign for the day, he grabbed a quick shower and tromped to the garage where he climbed into the Stutz.
He’d texted Cilla last night, letting her know he’d be in Charlotte today and if she were feeling up to it, he’d like to get her out.
What he didn’t mention was that he’d be driving the Stutz and ready to give her the promised ride.
Two hours into the drive, his phone rang. Cruz scooped it from the passenger seat, glancing quickly at the screen.
Tom Cleo. AKA his defense lawyer.
Pondering that, Cruz immediately returned his attention to the road.
A call from Tom so soon couldn’t be good. Could it? Just seeing the guy’s name made Cruz’s skin itch.
The phone rang again and already distracted, Cruz checked his rearview, found a few cars about half a mile back and safely pulled to the shoulder, shifting to park before picking up the call. He tapped the speaker button. "Hey, Tom."
"Cruz, hi. Got good news for you."
Good news. Excellent. That’d teach him to prejudge a situation. In his mind, though, lawyers tended to be cynical. Tom’s news might not be what Cruz considered good. "I could use some," Cruz said.
"I just spoke to the ADA handling your case. They dropped the charges."
Whoa.Cruz shook his head. Did he hear that right? "Come again?"
"The char-ges," Tom said, exaggerating every syllable as if they had a faulty connection. "Have. Been. Dropped."
The full power of relief bent Cruz forward. He rested his head on the steering wheel and let out a whooshing breath. "Wow. That’s fantastic."
He sat for a few seconds, absorbing it. Letting the reality flow over him. Everything would be okay. He knew it.Feltit.
His mother—brothers, too—could hold their heads high when facing Steele Ridge's gossipmongers.
"It is," Tom said. "Mr. Randolph has decided he's not interested in pressing charges. A couple of detectives also spoke with Priscilla, and she confirmed that her father instigated it. The DA has bigger fish to fry."
