Back at Judge Jefferson's office, Nick clutched his phone like a lifeline, staring at the closed door with the expression of someone about to enter the lion's den armed with nothing but a pocket comb. His legs screamed at him to flee. The sensible part of his brain was in full agreement.
But Nick wasn't a coward. He'd survived years as Jared's paralegal—though barely—and he wasn't about to abandon him now.
Steeling himself, Nick slipped back into the room. Jared's glare snapped toward him like a predator spotting prey. "Where did you go? Scared?" Jared's voice was low, his tone laced with frost.
Nick froze. Jared looked like the Grim Reaper, except his scythe was made of pure ice, and his hollow gaze was devoid of the fiery determination Nick usually admired. Something was definitely off.
Thinking quickly, Nick raised his pinky in a sheepish gesture, silently implying, I went to the bathroom.
