It was almost midnight, and Donovan looked like he hadn’t yet changed from a long day of work, which meant he probably hadn’t sprayed on cologne since this morning, yet he still smelled sinfully good. He held my hand in his for longer than an acceptable business handshake, and his eyes stayed fixed on my face. The air around us seemed to crackle with that same electricity as the first time we met, and I had to look away to cool off. But diverting my eyes to our joined hands only made me notice the monogrammed initials on his black dress shirt and the expensive-looking watch wrapped around one very masculine wrist. This was most definitely a no-win situation.
I withdrew my hand and tucked it safely into my pocket. “You’re here for Storm?”
He nodded. “I am indeed.”
“So that means you work for Kravitz, Polk and Hastings?”
“Correct again.”
I mumbled under my breath, at least I’d meant to keep it under my breath. “I had no idea.”
He tilted his head. “How could you? It’s not like you left me a number so we could get to know each other better.”
I normally wasn’t a person who blushed, but I felt heat travel up my face. I looked away, needing to disentangle from the web I felt caught in. “Umm…did you get to speak to Storm yet?”
“No. They wouldn’t even tell me what he was brought in for.”
I sighed. “Fighting. Again.”
“I take it this isn’t his first rodeo?”
I shook my head. “Definitely not. He’s gotten into quite a few fights, and then one time he was picked up for shoplifting.”
Something shifted in the man standing before me. He still had the light in his eyes, it just didn’t feel focused on me in the same way anymore. Donovan put his hands on his hips as he slipped into lawyer mode. “How old is he?”
“He’s twelve, or he will be in less than a week.”
“That’s good. Thirteen is a magic number here in the City. So I’m glad he’s not there yet.”
I nodded. “But the judge threatened to move him last time. He lives at Park House, which is one of the better youth group homes. The judge said if he saw him back in front of him again, he would move him to a juvenile detention center. That can’t happen. It’ll only make things worse for him.”
The door leading to the area where all the cops sat in the back opened. “Storm!” someone yelled.
Donovan put his hand out for me to walk ahead of him.
At the door, the policeman lifted a clipboard. “Name?”
“I’m Autumn Wilde, Storm’s social worker.”
Donovan spoke from behind me. “Donovan Decker, legal counsel.”
We were led through the bullpen and down a long hallway. The officer opened the last door on the right. Inside, we found Storm handcuffed to a bench against the wall.
“Are the cuffs really necessary? My client is not even twelve,” Donovan said.
The officer shrugged. “Broke the nose of an adult. He’s considered dangerous.”
“I’ll take the risk. Uncuff him.”
The officer shook his head, but did as Donovan asked. Storm rubbed his wrists as soon as the cuffs were off.
“Thanks, pig,” Storm spat.
Donovan brushed past me and stood in front of his client, looking down. He pointed to the officer and spoke with a stern and steady tone. “Augustus, apologize to the nice officer.”
“But he…”
“Now.”
Storm rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. I’m sorry you’re a pig.”
“Not like that, Augustus,” Donovan warned.
“Fine. Sorry.”
The officer looked at us on his way out. “Good luck with that.”
The minute the door shut, Storm stood and started to say it wasn’t his fault. Donovan simply raised his hand and shot him a warning look. Shockingly, Storm closed his mouth.
“Sit down and answer only the questions Autumn and I ask.”
Storm sulked, but he also shut up and took a seat at the table. Donovan pulled out a chair and nodded for me to sit in it.
“Thank you.”
I spoke to Storm as Donovan dug into his bag and unpacked his lawyerly stuff. “You know what the judge said last time, Storm.”
“It wasn’t my fault. The dude started it.”
Donovan clicked his pen and readied a yellow legal pad. “Let’s start there. Does the dude have a name?”
“Sugar.”
“How about an actual name?”
Storm shrugged. “I don’t know. Everyone around the neighborhood calls him Sugar.”
“Fine. Tell me what precipitated you and Sugar getting into it.”
Over the next twenty minutes, Storm wove some elaborate tale that started with his bike being stolen and ended with him getting into a fight with an eighteen year old. I’d known him for three years now, so I knew better than to take him at his word when he was scared. And he was scared being at the police station, whether he would ever admit it or let me see a glimpse of that vulnerability or not.
Donovan made some calls, asking I have no idea who at midnight about a guy named Sugar, and then he left the room to speak to the police.