Somebody to Hold (Tyler Jamison #2) - April Wilson Page 0,18

adult, but his mother and I still worry about him. We’re afraid that, if he’s put on the witness stand, the prosecution will tear him apart. We already know he feels responsible for you getting into a fight with Turner. If the prosecution drives that notion home, it could trigger him and put him right back in that dark place he’s worked so hard to escape.”

Listening to Martin describe Ian’s tormented childhood chills me to the bone. In some ways, Ian reminds me of a butterfly—beautiful, captivating, and yet also fragile. One dusting of his wings, and he’d lose his ability to fly. I don’t ever want to be the reason he suffers further damage.

I feel the impact of Martin’s weighty gaze. “I’ll do everything in my power to keep your son off the witness stand.”

Martin nods in relief. “Thank you.” He opens an engraved wooden box on his desk, removes a cigar, and offers it to me. “Care for one?”

“No, thank you.”

He cuts off the cap and lights the cigar. “Cigars are one of my few vices. Ruth’s been after me for years to quit.” He puffs on the cigar and blows out smoke. “From what Ian has told me, Turner has video evidence that shows you beating him. You have nothing. It’s your word—and Ian’s—against Turner’s. And in addition to the video evidence, I understand that Turner has multiple eyewitnesses who saw you beating him. It sounds to me like the evidence is stacked against you.”

I maintain a neutral expression. I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but I won’t let him rile me. “I’m well aware of the facts, Your Honor. I was there.”

Martin chuffs with amusement as he pours himself another shot. “Don’t take it personally, detective. My wife and I are just looking out for our son.”

“So, what do you recommend I do?”

“Simple. Plead guilty, thereby avoiding a trial altogether, and hope the court shows you mercy. You have an excellent history with Chicago PD. I hope the judge presiding over your case will see that and be lenient.”

“If I’m convicted of a felony, then what?”

Martin frowns. “For a felony, the mandatory minimum sentence is two years. But, if you can get a plea deal—offer to plead guilty in exchange for getting the charge reduced to simple battery, then based on your work history, you would get either probation or at most a short jail sentence—a week or two in the Cook County jail. I think that’s your best option.”

“But there’s no guarantee.”

The judge polishes off the last of his liquor. “No guarantee, I’m afraid. But if you plead guilty, it’ll save Ian from being called upon to testify.”

My chest tightens. None of us wants Ian testifying in court, but I also have to consider what it would do to him if I went to prison. He already blames himself. “Understood.”

As much as I dislike the idea of pleading guilty, I don’t blame Martin for wanting to protect his son. On that score at least, we’re on the same page.

On the upside, he hasn’t repeated his threat to me for dating his son. I think we’re making progress. “I love your son, Mr. Alexander. I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect him.”

The man nods. “I believe you will. In fact, his mother and I are counting on it.”

* * *

Martin and I rejoin the others, who’ve moved back to the living room. Ruth is seated on the sofa, with Ian beside her. Layla is seated on an adjoining sofa.

When she spots me, Layla jumps up, grabs my hand, and pulls me to the sofa to sit beside her. “So, tell me about how you and my brother met.”

All eyes are on me, and I definitely feel like I’m on the hot seat. I glance at Ian, who’s eagerly awaiting my answer. His mother looks just as interested.

“There’s not much to tell,” I say. “We met in a bar.”

Layla frowns. “And then?”

“And then we ran into each other again later that night at a crime scene.”

Layla sighs. “What are the odds of that happening? I mean, meeting twice in one night? Come on, Tyler, it had to have been fate.”

The conversation continues as we talk about everything from boating on Lake Michigan to Chicago baseball to a lively debate on who serves the best pizza in Chicago.

After a while, I notice Layla zoning out on us, her gaze drifting away as she stares at a blank wall. She pulls a pair of earbuds out of