Her Name Is Knight(Nena Knight #1)(43)

Neither of us hears the creak on the steps until it is too late. I am readying the shower, wanting the water to be as hot as it can. Fortunately, it is very hot.

The gasp behind me makes my heart skip a beat. It is not from me and surely not him. I spin around at the same time Monsieur looks up from his worktable. His face is a blank canvas.

She is halfway down the steps, has long, tousled dark hair, and is wearing a glittering dress that reminds me of Bridget’s. A sizable green leather purse loops over her shoulder. Her eyes are as round as saucers as she takes in me, wrapped in my too-short towel, and Monsieur in his half-opened robe.

We stare at her, and she stares back. She is pretty, a bit overly done with the makeup. She is older, more voluptuous, and the lights do not complement her sallow skin.

Silently and with a foreboding that deepens within my gut, I twist the faucet knob until the water drips to a stop. And I wait for what comes next.





33


AFTER


Georgia ditched the adults to finish homework. Nena and Cort sat together on the living room couch in awkward silence while she nervously played with the hem of her shirt. Her behavior, her shyness, was different than it’d been the night they’d met, and she worried he was disappointed. She should have told Elin where she was going. Maybe Elin would have given her some pointers—after Elin laughed so hard she peed herself and called their mother.

Nena blurted, “Why Georgia? I mean, it’s a lovely name; don’t get me wrong. But why Georgia and not Dakota or Arizona or Virginia?”

He settled into the couch. “I was born in Haiti, my wife, Donna, as well. We grew up together in a little town that was . . .” He trailed off. “We had a difficult life.”

She nodded for him to continue, folding her legs beneath her.

“Donna and I said we’d come to the States to go to school and have the all-American life. We worked hard, really hard, saved everything we had, and bought our way here when we turned eighteen. We worked our asses off while we got our degrees—hers in nursing and mine in law. Atlanta was the first real vacation we ever took. We were always going without to make ends meet. Finally, one day, I was like, ‘Let’s go somewhere.’”

He shrugged. “We chose Atlanta and fell in love with the city. I mean, we came back broke as hell. Had to play catch-up for months, but it was worth being able to have fun for a few days. Not long after, Donna told me she was pregnant, and when we found out it was going to be a girl, Georgia was the only name that made sense.”

“The nickname makes sense to me now too.”

His laugh was a deep, boisterous, belly-rumbling laugh that reminded her of Papa. “Yeah, she’s my peach.”

Nena pursed her lips.

He laughed again. He beamed talking about his daughter, reminding Nena of how Noble doted on her and Elin. She realized she really liked Cort’s laughter. It was like being at home, settled and secure. Even more, she liked being the cause of his laughter.

“Why become a federal prosecutor?” she asked, hoping to tamp down the sudden assault of emotions. She was worried about what she was starting to feel and whether she could control it.

Cort chuckled as if to say, Where do I even start? “I was a cop for a few years. Loved it and worked with my best friend, Mack. Then I got my law degree and had been working in the Economics and Environmental Crimes Section at the US Attorney’s Office for about seven years by the time Peach’s mom died.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Don’t be.”

“Economics and Environmental Crimes?” she asked. “A mouthful.”

He laughed. “I work General Frauds, which handles investments, securities, Ponzi schemes, to name a few.” He thought some more. “Suddenly I was a single parent to a little girl, trying to make a name for myself, which was—is—tough, especially for a Black man, you know? They’re so busy thinking you don’t know as much, or you won’t work as hard, or you got where you were because of affirmative action or to check a diversity box. Or they stereotype you. I had to know more, work harder, and be more of a hard-ass than my White counterparts. The work is how I got to where I am now, handling cases like the one prosecuting Dennis Smith. And I enjoy it because I like serving up a piece of the justice pie. Which screwed with me when the guy was shot right in front of me. That easily could have been me.”

If Nena made it through the night without exposing herself to Cort, she deserved a damn Emmy.

“You like taking down the bad guys.”

He shrugged. “There are laws, rules, in place that people have to adhere to.”

“But what about when people do things outside your rule of law for a good cause?” Was she really having this conversation with him, a federal prosecutor, about what was just and what wasn’t? She was playing with fire.

“What do you mean?”

She tried finding the right words. “I mean justice by your own rules, but for the betterment of people.”

“Justice is not just black or white, you know. There are shades of gray. I get that. Still. We have a justice system in place for a reason. People should leave judgments to them.”

“Or there is chaos.”

He squinted an eye. “Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I guess.” He held up his hands in surrender. “There is no perfect system. Mistakes happen.”