Prince Charming Wears A Badge. Lisa Dyson

I have a moment with my client?” Harvey asked.

      “A moment,” the judge said. “I have other cases pending.”

      “Yes, Your Honor.” Harvey turned to Callie and lowered his voice. “I’m recommending you take the deal.”

      “What!” She whispered but several heads turned in her direction. “I can’t take the deal. I’m not guilty.”

      “If you don’t, then you could end up in jail. You know he’s going to get the other woman to testify against you.”

      “Will this go on my record if I accept the plea?” She’d made a name for herself in the financial world. This could ruin her career.

      “I’ll ask for it to be expunged after you complete your therapy and community service,” Harvey said.

      Community service. You’ve got to be kidding. She pictured herself in a reflective vest as she picked up trash along I-270 on a hot July day.

      “I can probably get your community service limited to some pro bono tax returns for struggling businesses,” Harvey told her.

      That didn’t sound so bad. And she could probably handle a few sessions with a shrink. Heaven knew she had enough childhood stuff to fill a few hours.

      “Okay,” she finally said. “As long as it all gets expunged when I’m done.”

      Harvey addressed the judge. “There are two conditions we’d like to attend to, Your Honor. The matter of expunging Ms. James’s record and some kind of proof of the value of the vase.”

      Nice touch, Harvey. Paying for half wouldn’t be a financial burden for Callie, but the principal of paying for it definitely irked her.

      The judge made notes. “Those conditions are acceptable.” Then she turned to Andrew. “Mr. Slater, can you provide the court with a proper document?”

      “I’d be happy to do that, Your Honor.”

      Callie was tempted to wipe that smirk off his face but instead breathed in and out, in and out.

      The judge turned to the clerk. “Have both parties sign the appropriate documents.” She banged her gavel. “The court is in recess for fifteen minutes.”

      Everyone stood until the judge exited the courtroom through her private door. Loath to speak to Andrew ever again, Callie whispered to Harvey, “Get me out of here.”

      “Callie!” Andrew came up behind her as she hurried down the courthouse hallway.

      She slowed her pace but didn’t stop completely. “What?”

      Andrew hesitated a few seconds before blurting out, “I want my key back.”

      Of course he did. She stopped, dug through her hobo bag and struggled to remove his key from her ring. Instead of throwing it at him like she wanted to, she very smoothly held it out to him.

      He tossed it a few inches in the air and caught it, his pleasure at her expense almost more than she could bear. “You know I only want the best for you.”

      She stared at him, curious why he felt the need to say anything to her.

      “That’s why I suggested the judge add therapy to the plea.”

      He’d suggested it? Then she was right about them all being in cahoots. She kept her tone neutral. “So you think I need to control my anger?”

      He shook his head. “No, I think you need to start expressing your feelings.” He looked down the hall to where his bed partner waited and then back at Callie. “You’re a wonderful person, Callie, but you’re as emotionally reserved as a rock.”

      * * *

      SEVERAL WEEKS AND anger management therapy sessions later, Callie’s therapist harrumphed and scratched his head. Nearly halfway into today’s session and he was clearly frustrated. Callie suspected he was trying to bring out some anger in her, or at least some kind of emotion. In her defense, she’d spent years bottling up those emotions and she wasn’t sure she knew how to unleash them. Or wanted to.

      Dr. Hammond seemed perfectly nice. He was a middle-aged man of average height, average weight and above-average intelligence as far as Callie could judge. Just not the person with whom she was comfortable sharing her innermost thoughts.

      “Let’s get back to your mother,” Dr. Hammond said in his monotone voice. “She died when you were very young?”

      “Yes.” A pink bathrobe and fuzzy pink slippers constituted her faint memory of the woman who’d died when Callie was three. She didn’t even remember her face, forced to consult one of the few faded pictures she’d held on to.

      “Were you upset when she died?”

      “Of course I was upset,” she said evenly. “Who wouldn’t be? I was young and had no mother.” Callie’s pulse sped up, so she took control of her breathing. In and out. In and out. “But I couldn’t do anything about it and it wasn’t her fault that she was killed.”

      “Are you still angry?”

      Callie’s brow furrowed. Her mother had been gone twenty-six years. She missed her or, more specifically, she missed having a mother figure. She didn’t know what it was like to have a mother to turn to in tough times. Like when she’d caught Andrew cheating.

      She spoke calmly. “Car jacking is a horrific act of violence, but I don’t dwell on it.”

      “Are you close to your father?” Dr. Hammond shifted in his seat and crossed one leg over the other.

      “No.”

      “When was the last time you two spoke?”

      Callie did the math in her head. “About eleven years ago.”

      Dr. Hammond’s eyebrows rose. “That’s a long time.” When Callie didn’t comment further, he asked, “What was the circumstance that led to your loss of communication?”

      Callie nearly smiled at Dr. Hammond’s formal turn of phrase rather than simply asking why she’d shut her father out of her life. “I left for college.”

      “I see.”

      No, he probably didn’t, but Callie couldn’t disclose her personal demons to this stranger, no matter how soothingly he spoke.

      “Did you and your father have an altercation?”

      “No.”

      “Would you like to rekindle a relationship with him?”

      She hadn’t even considered it. “That’s not an option.”

      Dr. Hammond cocked his head and asked, “Did he molest you?”

      Callie’s eyes widened and she straightened in her chair. “No, of course not. He’d never do that.” Her father was the sweetest man she’d ever known. Maybe too sweet, blinding him to the deceit surrounding him.

      Dr. Hammond watched Callie through narrowed eyes and finally nodded as he made notes in his file. “Let’s move on to your stepmother,” Dr. Hammond suggested.

      Let’s not. “What about her?” Breathe deeply. In and out.

      “How old were you when she came into your life?”

      Callie’s stomach churned. “She was my mother’s friend, her maid of honor when my parents married.”

      Dr. Hammond made another note. “How would you characterize your relationship?”

      Callie couldn’t do this. She couldn’t discuss her stepmother. “She’s my father’s wife.” She took a halting breath. “Can’t we talk about something else?”

      Dr. Hammond was silent for several minutes. “Callie, I’m at a loss here. The court sent you to me, but I can’t help you if you insist on burying your