#nolam

Samantha swiftly left McCoy’s office, but she walked without a destination in mind. She just had to get out of there. She felt numb but her mind screamed at her. Soraya and Injila were already back in Lebanon?

Something had to be done. Couldn’t it? That simple question brought her up short outside the door to her and Price’s office. What recourse did she have? The mother and daughter had been sent back to their country of origin after having been caught by authorities for entering the U.S. illegally. Sam could pick up the phone, call the immigration lawyer she had found, hash it out with them, and end up right back at the beginning. What was the use? Still, the bitter sting of the underhandedness of it all, along with her sense of having failed to help some decent people, propelled her to open the door in front of her.

Their office was empty. Nolan must have gone home for the night. Maybe he was consoling himself with the fact that Wise had been found guilty. They had won the case and thwarted a despicable, powerful man from harming anyone else. She felt marginally cheered by that fact.

With a sigh, Sam sat down on the brown leather sofa that she and Price shared, but which she privately thought of as his. Years of sunlight and use had worn and faded its cushions to a soft, cracked texture that yielded under her weight. She suddenly felt very tired. Slipping off her heels, she tucked her knees under her and lay on her side, turning her back to let it mold against the couch. She closed her eyes, trying to blot everything out.

-*-*-

Price found her there almost an hour later, after receiving a call from his boss while in a cab heading home.

“You might want to check on Miss Maroun,” Jack had said. “This was a tough one for her.”

The D.A. had read between the lines. He had heard about the fate of Soraya and her daughter through the fast-traveling lawyers’ grapevine, and could only imagine Sam’s anguish.

He had tried texting his colleague, and when that received no response after a few minutes, he gave her a call. It went to voicemail, which made him start to worry. He dutifully left a message and then decided that the best course of action was to retrace Sam’s steps. He asked his cab driver to pull over and wait for a few minutes, then called Jack and asked where he had last seen Sam.

“My office. You can’t reach her?”

“I’ll keep you posted.” Nolan ended the call and directed the taxi driver back to his office building. He ascended the steps going up to the building two at a time, navigated the interior stairs and hallways at a jog, then burst through his and Sam’s office door, which had been left partly ajar. He knew he had closed it behind him when he had left earlier.

His breathing was fast and shallow when he entered the room, only relaxing when he found Sam asleep on the couch he himself had often used to think or to catch a quick nap.

He sent Jack a text. Found her. He hesitated, wondering if he should add more. Maybe “I’ll keep an eye on her?” Or “I’ll make sure she gets home safely?” Finally, he settled for She’s resting.

McCoy simply answered, Good, which relieved Nolan for reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely.

The younger attorney let out a soft sigh as he put away his phone and stood looking down at the sleeping woman before him.

When he caught sight of Sam’s stocking-clad calves and feet, Nolan slid his arms out of his suit jacket and draped it like a blanket over her sleeping form. She shifted slightly, reflexively grasping his jacket and pulling it over her shoulder, but she didn’t awaken.