“Colin told you to meet him at Central Booking?” His eyes flamed with anger, and he pulled his phone back out. “I’m going to have to have a talk with him.”
I grabbed the phone out of his hand and held it out of his reach. “You’ll do no such thing!” I said. “He’s my boss, and I’m on your case. If he tells me to meet him at Central Booking, I’ll meet him at Central Booking.”
I thought Noah would be mad at me for defying him, thought I might have to pay for it later, and the idea sent a warmth flowing through my center. I flashed back to what he’d just done to me in the restaurant bathroom.
Show me your tits, Charlotte.
But Noah actually didn’t seem to care that I was contradicting him. In fact, he seemed almost bored, the way you’d be when a child was having a tantrum and you were just waiting for them to burn themselves out so you could put them down for a nap.
“Please give me my phone back, Charlotte.”
“No,” I said, not because I thought he was actually going to call Professor Worthington, but because I felt like being difficult. I was acting out because I wanted Noah’s attention, or at least some acknowledgment of what was going on. He’d just been arrested for murder. He’d been handcuffed, thrown into the back of a police car, brought to Central Booking like a common thug. And now he was standing there lecturing me about how I shouldn’t have come to such a dangerous place, like that was the most important thing happening right now. “Where is Professor Worthington, anyway?” I asked.
“He’s not coming.”
“He’s not coming?” I frowned. “Why not?”
“Because it pays to know people,” he said cryptically, and held his hand out. “Please return my phone to me now, Charlotte.”
I handed the phone back grudgingly. “What does that mean, it pays to know people?”
“It means that I know a lot of the right people who are able to get things done. And so I didn’t need Worthington.”
My jaw dropped. “You were able to get a judge to sign an order letting you out on bail?”
“Yes.”
“By acting as your own lawyer.”
“Yes.” He glanced over at me. “Don’t look so surprised, Charlotte, I am a lawyer. And in this great country of ours, you’re allowed to represent yourself.”
“Yes, but it’s always considered a bad idea.”
“Not when you’re the best.”
I shook my head. How could he have negotiated his own release so quickly? And on a murder charge? I wasn’t naïve enough to think that there wasn’t a certain level of politics involved in the court system – getting the right judges, knowing the right lawyers, payoffs and back room deals. Some of it was just how things worked, and some of it was dark and against the rules, the kind of thing the people lost their careers over. Was that what Noah had done? Had he called in some kind of favor with some shady judge?
I took in a deep breath. “Does Worthington know that you acted as your own counsel and negotiated yourself out on bail?”
“Yes, Charlotte. I called and let him know.”
“And he didn’t care?”
“The contrary. He was very upset. Even so, he should have called to let you know you wouldn’t be needed at Central Booking. It was very irresponsible of him, and I don’t like the fact that he put you in harm’s way.” His jaw set in a line, and I saw him grind his teeth ever so slightly.
“I wasn’t in harm’s way.”
“The fact that you think that makes it even more apparent to me why you shouldn’t have been there.”
“Please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “There were cops all over that place.”
“And vagrants.”
“Yes, and cops.”
He laughed a little bit, his laugh making it clear he thought I was naïve not only for not realizing how bad the vagrants were, but for thinking that the cops could protect me. His car pulled up to the sidewalk then, and he held the door open for me. I hesitated for a minute before sliding in.
When we were settled inside, Noah folded his hands in his lap and looked at me.
“Are we going to talk about the fact that you just got arrested?” I asked.
“Are you saying that’s what you’d like to talk about?”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want it to have happened. But since it’s a pretty big deal, you’d think we’d have some kind of discussion about it.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what people do, Noah, when something huge like this happens. They discuss it, they talk about it, they tell each other how they feel.”
“Fair enough.” He shifted on the seat and regarded me across the car. “How do you feel about me getting arrested, Charlotte?”
“How do I feel about it?” I exclaimed.
“Yes. You obviously have strong feelings about it, if you’re feeling the need to bring it up.”
“I don’t… Yes, I have strong feelings about it Noah, you just got arrested for murder. Murder, Noah. Do you know what happens to murderers? They go away for life. They get the electric chair. They – ”
“There is no death penalty in New York, Charlotte.”
I shook my head. “I can’t believe you’re being so callous about this.”
“Is that what you think this is, callousness?”
“Yes! How can you not be freaking out?”
“Freaking out?” he repeated, like the term was completely foreign to him. “What good would that do, Charlotte? To freak out? You think this is a surprise to me? Please. They should have arrested me six years ago when Nora died. The only thing to freak out about is how obviously incompetent the police department is that they’d let me roam the streets for this long.”
I shook my head and turned to look out the window. I blinked hard, telling myself not to cry. What was it he’d said back at the restaurant, exactly? Something about how he’d had to learn to shut his emotions off in order to survive? Was that what this was? Was Noah really terrified, but just not showing it because he’d had to learn to repress his emotions in order to survive? Or was it possible that he didn’t have emotions, that he was a cold sociopath who didn’t care about anything, including the consequences of his actions?
I almost couldn’t decide which was worse.
If he was a sociopath, it would be a clear cut answer that I shouldn’t have anything to do with him. But if whatever trauma he’d experienced had caused him to become so shut off that he couldn’t express his feelings, I might be tempted to try and “fix” him, to become like the countless other stupid women who met a damaged man and thought they could make him into what they wanted him to be.
And I had seen glimpses of it here and there, glimpses of the man he could be.
But did I really want to spend days, months, years, trying to convince him I was worthy of more than glimpses? Putting the responsibility on myself was a losing proposition, and I knew it.
And yet when we pulled up in front of his apartment, I was hoping he would invite me inside, was feeling like I needed and wanted to spend more time with him, was afraid he would send me back to my apartment. I wanted to be in his presence.