“Am I?” Jackson says, and across the table, Damien chuckles.
Evelyn raises a brow, and she reminds me of a mom trying to keep her kids in order. The thought makes me smile.
“You hit him—that’s fine to admit, it’s not like we can hide it—but the rest of it? Well, you toss it back to Harriet and Charles. Damn attorneys making you stay quiet, otherwise you’d spill all. Just like talking to your best friends. Got it?”
“Got it,” Jackson says.
“You have a temper, young man,” she says once again, as she firmly meets his eyes. “Keep it under control. You don’t, and you’re fucking the case and yourself. Do you understand?”
His jaw tightens, and I know he’s fighting back a retort. Because of course he understands. But all he says is, “Yes, ma’am.”
And it’s that “ma’am” that breaks the tension. Evelyn tilts back her head and guffaws. “Good lord, Jackson, that wasn’t meant to piss you off.” She lifts a shoulder in an apologetic shrug. “This, though . . . well, this may rile you up a bit.”
As she speaks, she’s pulling a photograph out of her folio and sliding it across the table.
I gasp at the same time Jackson says, very firmly and very evenly, “No fucking way.”
The picture is of Ronnie.
“We need to get ahead of it,” Harriet says gently. “She’s in your life. And, honestly, there’s not much the press likes more than a single dad fighting for his kid. You want the press to love you? Let them see you caring about that little girl.”
Jackson says nothing, but he puts his palm over the photo, as if doing that can keep his daughter safe from all this.
For a moment, no one says anything. Then Damien stands, circles the table, and leans back against it beside Jackson. “It’s going to come out.” His voice is firm, but gentle. “And when it does, everyone will see the connection between your daughter and the movie—and it will be crystal clear why you didn’t want the movie to go forward. Get on top of it, and we can soften the impact. Wait, and it’s going to be brutal.”
“I’m not throwing my daughter to the wolves.” He is tense, as if one wrong word from anyone in this room will cause him to bolt. “Not until it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Jackson—”
But Evelyn cuts off Damien’s protest. “No, we can make this work.” She glances at Harriet, who nods almost imperceptibly, then turns her focus back to Jackson. “But you keep your eyes on the prize, okay? And that’s staying out of jail. That’s being around to watch that little girl grow up.”
Jackson says nothing, but he’s watching Evelyn with interest.
“We’ll play it your way for now, but that might change. I need to take the media’s temperature. See if they warm to you, or if that ice in your eyes spills over. Too icy, Mr. Steele, and we may need to attach a sweet little girl to your image. Do you understand that?”
His jaw clenches, and one hand grips tight to the edge of the table. But all he says is, “Yes.”
Evelyn nods, satisfied.
“What is going to happen tomorrow?” I blurt out the question, as much because I want to know as because I want to change the subject. “Are they going to arrest him? Can Jackson post bail?” I can hear the panic in my voice, and I’m touched when Jackson takes his hand off his daughter’s photo so that he can grasp mine.
“They might arrest,” Harriet says, as if she’s commenting on the possibility of rain. “Normally in a high profile case like this I’d assume not, but in this case Jackson did assault both the screenwriter and Reed, though we don’t know if the police are aware of the first incident. And he did visit Reed the day of the murder. The prosecution may not know that. But maybe they do. Maybe they’re going to disclose it tomorrow. And maybe they’re going to parlay that into an arrest.”
Jackson nods, looking a little bit shell-shocked.
My mouth is completely dry, and though I’m holding tight to Jackson’s hand, I can’t feel his fingers. It takes me a couple of tries, but finally I can form words. “You said normally you’d think not? Why not?”
“As a rule, the police don’t want to act prematurely because once they arrest, the clock starts ticking. And especially in a high profile case, they like to have time to get their ducks in order.”
“But don’t they want to order those ducks here, too?”
Harriet looks straight at me, and though I hate the way she doesn’t pull punches, I can’t deny that I respect it. “My fear is that the ducks are already all lined up.”
