Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6)(7)

Mrs. Olander studied Morgan for a few heartbeats; then her mouth pressed into a bloodless line. “What do I owe you for your time today?”

“Today’s meeting was a free consultation.” Morgan wanted nothing from the poor woman.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Olander rose and tucked her purse under one arm. “You could have taken the case and run up a huge bill, but you were honest with me. I do appreciate that.”

She turned and walked out of Morgan’s office with the stiff, painful gait of a beaten woman. Needing air, Morgan escorted her into the hall.

The door to the next office was open. Lance sat behind his desk. He took in Morgan’s face and the client’s in one glance, no doubt also reading the hopelessness in Mrs. Olander’s body language.

Morgan saw the woman out. When she closed the door and turned around, Lance was leaning in his doorway. Six two, blond, and buff, he wore tactical cargos, a snug black T-shirt, and a Glock. He looked more like a SWAT team member than a PI. Despite his badass appearance, his blue eyes were soft and concerned as they met hers.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

Morgan nodded. She rented office space from Sharp Investigations. Since her cases often required the services of an investigator, the arrangement was convenient. The PI firm occupied the bottom half of the duplex. The firm’s founder, Lincoln Sharp, lived upstairs.

Morgan headed for the kitchen at the rear of the building. She poured a glass of filtered water from the pitcher in the fridge. She turned and leaned against the counter. The window that overlooked the backyard was open, and cool air wafted into the room, bringing with it the scents of falling leaves and woodsmoke.

“You look like you need something stronger than water.” Lance turned and leaned next to her. Their arms touched, his contact grounding her as always.

Morgan’s husband had been killed in Iraq a few years before. She’d spent two years burrowed under depression and grief. Last year, she’d reconnected with Lance, whom she’d dated briefly in high school. Their reconnection had blossomed into a relationship filled with love and respect. He’d asked her to marry him last spring. She was grateful every single day that she’d been given a second chance at love.

Morgan sighed. “That was a rough one.”

“What did she want?”

Morgan summed up the meeting in a few sentences. “I could have taken the case. It would have required a marathon of overtime, but I’m capable of filing an appeal. I would have charged her a fraction of what an appellate lawyer at a big firm would cost.” Doubt crept into Morgan’s chest.

As a former prosecutor, she was still adjusting to being on the defense side of the courtroom. When she’d first opened her practice, she’d been skeptical. Her years as a prosecutor had convinced her that almost all suspects were guilty. But her attitude had shifted. She’d proven a number of people innocent who had been charged with serious crimes. She could think of few things worse than going to prison for life for a murder one didn’t commit.

“We both know it’s unlikely that prejudice from one juror could cause an innocent man to be found guilty,” Lance said. “It takes all twelve jurors to convict. They have to reach a unanimous decision.”

“This is true,” Morgan agreed. “I felt terrible for Mrs. Olander, but I didn’t see an appeal going anywhere.”

“You were honest with her. You are a trial lawyer—and a damned good one at that. You don’t need to take every case you’re offered. You have other clients.”

“None of those are very challenging at the moment.”

“Every case doesn’t have to make headlines. That high school senior facing a month in jail for vandalism needs your help too. You need to listen to your instincts. If the case doesn’t feel right, there’s probably a reason.”

“You’re right.” Morgan finished her water and set the cup on the counter. “I have total control over which clients I accept, and routine cases are wonderful. I have no desire to work a hundred hours a week.”

“Damn right.” Lance turned to face her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “That’s the best part of being self-employed. I like being home for dinner with the kids.”

“So do I. Family dinners are important.”

Lance’s house had burned down six months before. He’d moved in with Morgan’s family and had bonded with her three young daughters. The girls had embraced him as their soon-to-be stepfather. Lance had even become the preferred bedtime story reader. He put serious effort into voice-acting every character, sometimes sending the girls into giggling fits that didn’t exactly encourage sleep.

The children didn’t miss their biological father the way Morgan did. Only her oldest, at age seven, had even the faintest memory of him. Morgan was glad her kids were happy. The thought of them not remembering their father made her sad, but she kept it to herself.

Lance let his fingertips slide down her arms until he was holding her hands. “We’re getting married in just over two weeks. We don’t have time for a long and complicated case.”

“No, we don’t.” Morgan put aside her morning meeting. She deserved to enjoy every moment of pre-wedding excitement. “Now tell me where we’re going for our honeymoon. I need to pack.”

“It will be warm.” Lance laughed. “And that’s all I’m telling you. The rest is a surprise.”