Chapter 18

By the time Carmichael and McCoy walked out of the building together around 6:00, the wind had picked up and it had begun to rain. Thankful for the parking garage, McCoy saw her to her car and then found his own.

On the way home, he was sure he heard the sound of sleet on his windshield. He decided it was a perfect night for spaghetti and braved the cold to stop at the market.

He arrived home to an ice-cold apartment. Turning on the heat, he kept his coat on while he unpacked the groceries and sorted through the mail. It hadn’t even warmed up enough to shed his coat when he heard a knock on the door. He dropped a couple of bills onto the desk as he went to answer it.

When he opened the door, he stared in surprise.

"Calea!" he exclaimed, looking her up and down, "You're soaked!"

Morgan's hair was dripping and McCoy could clearly hear her deep quick breaths.

He stood to one side and beckoned to her, "Come in."

She took a few steps inside and stopped as he closed the door.

He stood in front of her, his surprise quickly turning to pleasure at her unexpected visit. "What are you doing out in this weather?"

Her breathing slowed somewhat. "I was running."

"I thought you were going to skip running today."

She didn't look at him as she spoke. "I was, but I was at my office and I needed some air, so I decided to go anyway."

McCoy wasn't sure if it was her voice, or her hesitant explanation, but he had a sudden feeling something wasn't quite right.

He studied her for a second. "You ran here from your office?"

She nodded, wiping her wet face on her sleeve.

"Your office is at least seven miles from here." He took a step toward her and she finally looked up at him.

At the look in her eyes, his vague feeling turned into definite concern. "Calea, what's wrong?"

Morgan stared at him so intently, he felt as if she were searching him for something. Then she blinked and it was gone.

"Nothing is wrong. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have dropped in on you like this."

"It's okay, I'm glad you did. Let me get you a towel," he said, taking a few steps toward the bedroom.

She turned back toward the door. "That's all right. I should go. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Returning to stand in front of her, he asked, "Where are you going to go?"

Appearing puzzled by his question, she answered, "Home."

"How are you going to get there? You can't run all the way back to your office tonight."

With a shrug, she said, "I'll take a cab."

"Do you have cab fare?"

She blinked and shook her head.

McCoy noticed she was starting to shiver. He was totally bewildered at her behavior and had no idea what was going on, but he was sure he needed to find out. He tried to sound as reasonable as possible. "Why don't you let me get you something dry to put on and then I'll drive you home."

Morgan was looking into his eyes again and he was sure he had her convinced. But she shook her head.

"I don't want to put you to any trouble. I shouldn't have come here. If you don't mind, could you lend me cab fare? I'll return it tomorrow." Her shivering was becoming more noticeable.

"It isn't any trouble and I'm not going to put you in a cab. Let's get you some dry clothes," he said a little more firmly, moving again toward the bedroom.

She stood shaking as he opened the bedroom door and turned to her. "Come on," he coaxed, "before you catch your death."

Morgan slowly walked toward him, hugging her arms to her. Hearing a squishing sound, he added, "If you take off your shoes, I'll put them in the dryer for a few minutes."

She stopped where she was, pulling one then the other off, and peeling off her socks as well.

"You can leave them there. I'll get them." He waited in the doorway and when she finally reached him, he could see her teeth chattering even though her mouth was closed.

Turning on the bedroom light, he suggested, "Why don’t you get in the shower for a few minutes and warm up." Walking past her to the bathroom door, he reached around the corner and turned on that light as well. She followed without saying a word.

"I'll leave some clothes on the bed." He tried to sound casual, as if the situation was perfectly ordinary. "If you can't find what you need, just look around."

She nodded and closed the bathroom door behind her.

McCoy stood for a second and looked at the closed door, then let out a pent-up breath.

After searching his closet for a few minutes, he still couldn't find anything that even remotely looked as though it would fit her. He thought briefly about the box of neatly folded clothes, tucked into the back of his closet. He was sure Claire's things would fit her, but he didn't want to have to offer an explanation to go with them. So instead, he rummaged through the drawers of his dresser, finally pulling out a pair of white sweat pants with straight legs that she could roll up, and a drawstring at the waist. He tossed a white sweatshirt onto the bed to go with them and started to walk out of the bedroom, returning to the bureau long enough to pull out a pair of white socks to add to the rest.

As he closed the door behind him, he could hear the shower running.

Picking up her shoes and socks, he carried them through the kitchen and opened a door to a small utility area, tossing them into the dryer. They clunked noisily until he pulled the door shut.

After shedding his coat, he busied himself in the kitchen, adding a jar of sauce to a skillet of ground meat and putting on a pot of water to boil for the pasta. By the time he heard the soft click of the bedroom door closing, his apartment was filled with the aroma of spaghetti sauce and garlic bread.

McCoy turned to look over the bar and found her walking hesitantly toward the kitchen. Giving her a smile he said, "I'm sorry I couldn't find anything that fits you better."

The sweatshirt swallowed her up. He could only see the tips of her fingers at the ends of the long sleeves even though she had rolled up the cuffs.

Morgan glanced down. "That's okay; they're warm. Thanks." She stopped a few feet from the doorway, looking as though she wasn't sure what to do next.

"Come and sit down," he offered, indicating the barstools. "I put on some water for tea. I seem to remember you saying you like hot tea after a cold run."

At her slow nod, he took a cup from the cabinet and placed it on the bar in front of her, along with a box of assorted flavors of tea.

"Someone gave me those. I'm not much of a hot tea drinker, but maybe you can find something you like."

As he filled the cup with hot water, she pulled out a bag, then dropped it in.

"I can't believe you run when it's so cold and wet. It's a wonder you don't catch pneumonia."

She dunked the tea bag in her cup. "I don't really notice it as long as I keep moving. It's only when I stop that I get cold. But I usually dress a little differently when it's like this. This evening, I just wore what I had at my office." She looked up at him. "I left my wet clothes in your sink. Do you have a plastic bag I can put them in?"

"I'll get you one later." He carried the teapot back to the stove. Returning to stand across the bar from her, he said, "I was hoping I could talk you into staying for dinner. I'm sure it can't compare to your stew, but I made spaghetti and I was about to start a salad. I'd really like you to stay."

Morgan shook her head. "Thanks, but I know you were counting on a quiet evening at home and I've already intruded enough."

"Actually, I was hoping you would save me from yet another quiet evening at home," he joked. "And you're not intruding. I'd enjoy the company," he added sincerely.

"Jack, I wish you would just let me catch a cab and get out of your way."

"I've already told you, I'm not going to let you take a cab home," he argued. Deciding to try a different approach, he said, "You know you really don't have a choice. Dinner with me is the price you have to pay for dropping in without having a way home, Counselor."

Even his usual teasing didn't seem to put her at ease. She looked at him with serious eyes, but finally nodded. "Okay."

McCoy gave her a warm smile. "Good. You can help with the salad."

Once the salads were made, he said, "I bought everything you said you put into the dressing you made at your place, but when I made it, it didn't taste the same. Maybe you can show me what I'm doing wrong."

He brought the ingredients to her and watched carefully as she mixed everything together. Once it was finished, he dished each of them a plate of pasta and came out of the kitchen to sit at the bar next to her.

After tasting the spaghetti, she said, "You underestimate your cooking skills. This is very good."

"It isn't as good as when I make the sauce from scratch, but that takes a while. I don't usually have the time, unless I make it on the weekend."

She nodded. "Sometimes I make a large amount of something on the weekend and have leftovers through the week. By the time I get home in the evening, I don't feel like spending a lot of time in the kitchen."

McCoy kept the conversation on neutral subjects, asking her about places she had eaten around town and other things she enjoyed about New York. But she wasn't very talkative and only answered his questions briefly.

He got up once to get them each a piece of garlic bread and to refill her tea cup with hot water. But they were almost finished eating before he finally felt as though she had relaxed a little.

Morgan had pushed her plate to the side and was dunking her tea bag absently when he finished his food. He carried both plates to the sink, asking if he could get her anything else.

"No, thank you. Everything was great."

After removing their salad plates and pouring himself a drink, he returned to sit beside her. He was quiet a moment, watching her wrap her long slender fingers around the warm cup.

"Do you want to tell me why you're here now?"

He immediately sensed her uneasiness return as her fingers began turning the cup nervously around.

When she didn't answer, he took a sip of his drink. "Not that I'm complaining, but running a good seven miles to get here can hardly be considered as dropping by."

Morgan continued studying her tea and shrugged. "I don't know what happened. I took a wrong turn when I was running and I sort of got lost."

His voice was kind. "I don't buy that; I know what I saw. When you came in, you were scared. I could see it in your eyes."

"That’s because it was dark out and I was in an unfamiliar neighborhood. I got a little spooked, that's all."

McCoy grew thoughtful. "You know, you're a lousy liar."

She turned to look at him in surprise. But after a second she looked back down, not even arguing.

"You've been distracted all day, Calea. I mean, you almost walked out into traffic this morning. I don't think whatever is bothering you started tonight." He paused a second, debating whether or not he should bring the subject up again. "It seems to me this started yesterday. If it has something to do with what happened with your ex-husband, then tell me. I'll do whatever I can to help."

Morgan sat forward abruptly, propping her elbows on the bar and pressing the heels of her hands into her forehead. "That has nothing to do with it," she said sharply.

"Then what is it?"

She folded her arms and leaned on them, turning to look at him. "Why don't we chalk tonight up to temporary insanity? I had a moment's lack of good judgment. I shouldn't have come here."

McCoy was a little taken aback. "Is that really the way you feel?" he asked quietly.

Closing her eyes, she turned away. He hadn't noticed the dark smudges under her eyes before.

"I don't know. I just want to go home."

The sound of total weariness in her voice made him want to reach out and pull her to him. But he wasn't at all sure how she would react.

He leaned toward her, his tone gentle and persuasive. "Whatever it is, tell me. You can trust me."

Morgan sat back and dropped her hands in her lap, looking down at them. Her tone was final. "I can't."

Watching her intently, he asked slowly, "Can't what, Calea? You can't tell me, or you can't trust me?"

She didn't answer. She just sat staring at her hands, fidgeting nervously.

McCoy sat back in his chair, suddenly not wanting to hear her answer. "If you'll give me a few minutes to put everything away, I'll drive you home."

Glancing at him briefly, she asked, "Can I help?"

He shook his head. "It's a small kitchen. Why don't you go make yourself comfortable on the couch. I'll get your shoes and a bag for your clothes when I'm done."

As he stood up, she slid off the stool and walked to the sofa.

After putting away the food, he retrieved her cup and wiped off the bar. He noticed she had taken a book from the small table next to the couch and was looking through it, feet tucked under her. He was glad he had removed a rather large stack of newspapers from the couch that morning to deposit them in the recycling bin on his way out.

It took several more minutes to clean the stove and countertops before he began rinsing the dishes and placing them in the dishwasher. Once everything was finished, he took her shoes and socks from the dryer and found a plastic grocery bag for her clothes. Turning off the light as he left the kitchen, he started for the sofa. "Your shoes are still a little damp, but..." He stopped halfway across the room.

Morgan’s arm was on the back of the couch and her head was resting on it, eyes closed.

McCoy continued walking toward her. Dropping the shoes and bag onto the loveseat adjacent to the couch, he moved to stand in front of her. "Calea?"

She didn't wake up, not even when he slowly pulled the open book on her lap from under her hand. After laying it on the table, he reached down to touch her shoulder. "Calea," he said again, but she didn't move. He stood for a moment, looking at her. Even without make-up, her skin was smooth and her lips were dark.

He knew he should wake her. She had been adamant about wanting to go home. But she looked so peaceful and she had seemed so exhausted, he couldn't bring himself to do so. Instead, he headed back to the kitchen to pour another Scotch. Returning to the living room, he settled into the chair beside the desk. He was sure she would stir soon, and then he would take her home. Picking up a book from amid the pile on his desk, he opened it to the place he had marked and began to read. After turning four pages, he realized it was a futile effort. With a sigh, he tossed it back onto the desk and picked up his drink.

Watching her sleep from his chair, McCoy thought about the evening's events. He was sure she had come to him for a reason, and he was reasonably sure she needed his help. But he had no idea what she needed help with, let alone what he could do.

When the grandfather clock behind him chimed eleven times, she still hadn't made the slightest movement. He got up to put his glass in the sink and return her shoes to the dryer for another few minutes. Then he went into the bedroom and came back with one of the pillows from his bed and a quilt. He propped the pillow against the armrest behind her and unfolded the blanket, placing it carefully over her. Looking down at the long eyelashes feathered against her cheek, he slowly pulled the hairband from her head and laid it on the table. He couldn't resist pushing a lock of soft hair from her shoulder before turning toward the bedroom. He shook his head as he turned off the lights. He didn't think she was going to be too happy with him when she woke up.

***McCoy wasn't sure what woke him. He opened his eyes in the darkness and frowned. He was about to roll over when he heard the muffled voice. Sitting up, he listened intently. When he heard it again, he pushed back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. Picking up his jeans where he had dropped them beside the bed, he pulled them on over his boxers. Then he walked to the chair in the corner, picked up the white shirt he had worn earlier, and slipped it on as well, buttoning it on the way to the door. He opened it quietly and looked toward the couch. He could see and hear movement. Stopping long enough to pull the chain of the lamp sitting on the desk, he made his way to the couch.

Morgan was moving restlessly, her breathing uneven. The quilt was on the floor, as was the pillow, and she was huddled facing the back of the sofa.

When he heard her panicked, "No!" he sat on the edge of the couch beside her.

"Calea," he said softly.

She didn't respond other than to move her legs uneasily.

McCoy put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her gently from the back of the couch. He could see her frowning in her sleep. Reaching to smooth her hair, he tried to quiet her, but she turned her head away from his hand.

"Calea," he called again, stroking her hair.

When his thumb brushed her cheek, she woke with a start. Upon seeing him, she gasped and sat up. In one quick movement, she pushed herself away from him until the small of her back hit the armrest of the couch.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he quickly assured her. Intending to brush the hair from her face, he reached toward her. "You were having a night..."

He paused mid-reach and slowly lowered his hand, shocked at her reaction.

Morgan had flinched, as if she thought he was going to strike her.

She was watching him warily. Even in the dim light, he could see the fear in her eyes.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep here," she said in a shaky voice.

He felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach. It took a second to find his voice. "I don't mind."

She was scrunched up, knees pulled to her, looking as though she might bolt at any second. "I should go." She reached behind her for the armrest, never taking her eyes from him.

McCoy looked up at the clock. "It's almost 3 A.M." Noticing that she was beginning to shiver, he reached down and picked up the quilt. "Why don't you stay here and try to get some more sleep. I'll take you home later." He slowly pulled the blanket toward her, stopping when his hand was a few inches from her knees.

He held it for what seemed like forever. But she finally reached out and took it from him, pulling it to her.

Picking up the pillow, he laid it beside her. She was still watching every movement he made, clearly tensed.

"It's okay," he assured her. Unsure of what else to do, he slowly stood up. "If you need anything, let me know."

She nodded slightly and he turned to make his way toward the bedroom. He stopped at the desk to turn off the lamp, and darkness flooded the room.

"Jack?"

Hearing the panic in her voice, he quickly turned it back on.

Morgan was looking at him with wide eyes. "Would you mind leaving the light on?"

It was all he could do to stay where he was and not return to wrap his arms around her. Instead, he simply nodded.

"Thanks."

"Good night, Calea."

She didn't answer, but he saw her reach for the pillow before he turned and headed into the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

He lay in the dark for a long time, listening for sounds coming from the next room. He was glad he hadn't left her shoes out. Even at that he half-expected to hear the entry door open and close.

Through the bedroom door he heard the grandfather clock chime four times before he fell back asleep.

***McCoy awoke to the sound of a garbage truck on the street outside his bedroom window. Turning to look at the clock on the nightstand, he sighed. 6:00. It was still dark in the room and he knew he had another thirty minutes before he had to get up, but he also knew trying to fall back asleep was a waste of time. So he pulled on his jeans and quietly opened the bedroom door. To his relief, in the lamplight, he could see her dark hair against the pale blue pillowcase. He quietly closed the door and headed for the bathroom.

After shampooing his hair, he closed his eyes and let the hot water run over the back of his neck. He hated waking up feeling tense. It wasn't a good way to start a day, especially when he had to be in court.

He sighed heavily. How could she be afraid of him? How could she possibly think he would hurt her? All the unanswered questions he had laid awake thinking about came back to him. Reaching up to grip the back of his neck, he tried to work out some of the tension.

He could understand her reaction when she first woke up, because of the nightmare. But he couldn't understand the fear she had shown for him afterwards. He had done nothing to deserve that.

Opening his eyes suddenly, he blinked the water out of them. He hadn't done anything. He had been so shaken by her reaction to him that he had missed it. He thought about the events of the previous two days. The remark Morgan had made Wednesday night came back to him clearly. She had said Tyler had come back to remind her why she should stay away from men. She had said it casually, and he hadn't given it that much thought, focusing instead on her other comment. But given the way Tyler had treated her, and the fact that she hadn't wanted to be alone with him, maybe there was some truth to it.

He tried to sort things out as he wrapped a towel around his waist and began shaving. But all he ended up with was more questions.

Once he had shaved and dried his hair, he left the bathroom to dress. After slipping on a freshly starched white shirt and a pair of dark gray slacks, he made the bed, then neatly laid his jacket and striped tie on it.

Morgan was still sleeping when he left for the kitchen, closing the bedroom door carefully behind him. As quietly as possible he filled the coffee maker with water and took a couple of mugs from the cabinet. Wondering if he should wake her, he turned to stand in front of the bar. But she was no longer on the sofa. McCoy looked around quickly and noticed the bedroom door ajar. He let out a small sigh, unsure why he kept expecting to find that she had left.

Retrieving the newspaper from outside the door, he took it and sat at the bar to wait for the coffee. Looking up at the sound of the bedroom door closing, he gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Good morning."

She took a couple of steps toward him. "Morning." Her tousled hair fell around her face and she reached up to pull it back self-consciously.

"I know you don't drink coffee, but I can put on water if you'd like some tea."

"Thanks, but I'm okay for now." She walked to the couch and folded the quilt, stacking it with the pillow. Spotting her hairband, she bent forward and slipped it into her hair. When she stood up straight her hair fell neatly into place.

McCoy got up to pour a cup of coffee. When he saw her approaching the kitchen he asked, "Can I interest you in a bagel for breakfast?"

"No thank you. I'm not hungry." She sat on the edge of the barstool, moving her foot restlessly.

He stood across the bar from her, feeling awkward. There were things he wanted to say, but he couldn't seem to find the words.

"I guess I should be getting you home," he suggested.

"If you don't mind, you can drop me at my office. I left the notes I need for court in my car."

He nodded. "I'll go finish getting ready. Help yourself if you want anything to eat or drink."

When he emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later he was completely dressed, other than the fact that the top button of his collar was unbuttoned and his tie was loosely knotted.

Morgan was standing at the window beside the clock, looking out at the street.

Setting the plastic bag he was carrying on the desk, he said, "Here are your clothes. I'll get your shoes. They're still in the dryer."

She took her shoes from him once he had retrieved them, thanking him as she did so. Sitting in his favorite chair, she quickly put them on and stood up.

He started to hand her the bag of clothes and stopped. "You’ll need a coat." He disappeared into the bedroom and returned a few seconds later. He held a jacket out while she slipped her arms into it.

"Thanks."

"It's big but it should keep you warm," he said, handing her the plastic bag and opening the door for her.

Once inside his car, he turned the heat on and started toward her office. They drove for a while with only the sound of the windshield wipers.

"It looks like it's going to be another ugly day," he observed, trying to make conversation.

"Yes, it does."

After another uncomfortable pause, she turned to him. "I want to thank you for everything you did for me last night, Jack."

He couldn't keep the dejection from his voice. "I didn't do anything."

She huffed out a breath. "Of course you did. You invited me in and gave me dry clothes, you fed me, and you let me sleep on your couch. It was a kind thing to do and I really appreciate it."

He glanced over at her. She looked so sincere, it gave him the opening to address at least one of the things on his mind.

"Maybe I'd feel more like I had been helpful if you had been able to tell me why you came to me in the first place, Calea."

She grew silent for a few seconds, then he heard her sigh. "I shouldn't have to tell you that it isn't always easy being an attorney. Sometimes it means putting aside what we want to do personally to do what's best for our clients."

"The reason you came to me has to do with this case?" The thought had never even occurred to him.

"As a matter of fact, you helped me in more ways than you know. I had a decision to make. You gave me the chance to get a good night's sleep and think about things a little more objectively."

He looked over at her but she was turned away from him, staring out at the rain.

"And did you make your decision?"

She sighed again. "Not entirely. But I'm sure it will come to me."

He turned in front of her office building, and at her direction, pulled up to her car.

"Thanks, Jack. I'll see you in court."

"Drive carefully," he admonished as she got out.

Nothing she had said made him feel better about the foremost thought nagging at him.

***McCoy saw Fairchild look back over his shoulder for at least the tenth time. He didn't have to look himself to know she still wasn't there. Fairchild's worried expression gave him the answer.

"She's never late," Carmichael said from beside him. "We start in five minutes. Where is she?"

McCoy checked his watch again. The tension he felt earlier had grown in leaps and bounds in the last ten minutes. He knew he had dropped her off in plenty of time to get to court by 9:00.

As the side door opened and the jury began to file in, Morgan finally appeared, quickly slipping into her chair. Fairchild's expression turned to one of relief as he leaned toward her. She said nothing to him though, but looked over her shoulder to confirm that Latham was seated a couple of rows behind them. As she began to quickly organize her paperwork, McCoy breathed a sigh of relief of his own.

When Judge Rivera entered and court convened, he requested the first defense witness of the day. Morgan called Latham and once he had been sworn in, she stood up and walked toward him.

"Mr. Latham," she began.

But instead of asking him a question, she paused, standing a few feet from him. After several seconds, she turned toward the jury. "Mr. Latham, can you please tell us..."

She stopped again, seeming to lose her tain of thought.

McCoy exchanged a look with Carmichael and sat forward in his chair, frowning slightly.

Morgan turned and glanced at Fairchild, then back to Latham. She walked to the defense table and appeared to consult her notes.

"Ms. Morgan?" Rivera prompted. "Do you have a question for this witness?"

After regarding him thoughtfully for a few seconds, she stood straight behind her chair and folded her arms behind her. "Your Honor, I respectfully request that a continuance be granted my client."

Carmichael and McCoy's looks of surprise were mirrored from the other side of Morgan by Fairchild.

"For what reason?" Rivera asked.

"In order for him to secure new counsel. In the best interest of my client, I am removing myself from this case."

Over the subdued murmur in the courtroom, one voice could be clearly heard.

"I don't want new counsel!" Fairchild was looking from Morgan to Rivera.

She looked straight ahead, eyes focused on the judge as he restored quiet to the courtroom.

"I'd like to see both counsels in chambers," Rivera decided. "And since you seem to be in the dark as much as the rest of us, Mr. Fairchild, I will allow you to join us."

Morgan was the first to head for the side of the courtroom, followed closely by Fairchild. Once McCoy had closed the door behind him and Carmichael, he heard Fairchild address Morgan angrily.

"What the hell are you doing, Calea? How could you pull something like this without telling me first?"

Morgan didn't answer as she walked quickly down the hallway.

Fairchild took her arm. "If I've done something, then tell me. At least give me a chance to explain."

When they had reached the door to Rivera's chambers, Morgan paused long enough to say, "You didn't do anything Peter. And you can't ask me any questions in here, you can only listen. You're not allowed to speak unless Judge Rivera asks you a direct question." She opened the door and walked in ahead of the rest.

Once inside, everyone sat down. McCoy looked at Morgan. She was chewing the inside of her lip, staring at the floor.

Rivera sat back in his chair, looking at her expectantly. "Okay, Ms. Morgan. We'd all like to hear an explanation for your unexpected request."

She took a deep breath. "Yesterday evening, I was visited at my office by two men and threatened regarding this case."

"My God!" Fairchild stared at her in shock.

McCoy was no less surprised. He was right; she had been scared.

Rivera sat forward. "Threatened in what way?"

"I was told that it would be in the best interest of my client and myself if I stopped the investigation I've been conducting into the death of Mr. Carpelli. I was also told to advise Mr. Fairchild to plead guilty to the charges pending against him so that the matter would be closed to any further police investigation as well."

"Have you reported this matter to the authorities?"

Morgan shook her head. "I was warned not to, but for the protection of my client, I felt I had to do something."

"And why do you think it necessary to remove yourself from this case?" Rivera asked.

"I think some of the evidence I've presented at least indirectly points to the person or persons who are really responsible for Mr. Carpelli's murder. I can't help but believe Mr. Latham is somehow involved. In the time it will take Mr. Fairchild to secure new counsel, maybe the police can quietly conduct an investigation and find the truth. But the fact is, whoever killed Mr. Carpelli believes I know something that will incriminate them. In the light of this, I feel it would be in the best interest of my client if I removed myself as his counsel."

"I don't agree," McCoy spoke up.

Morgan turned to look at him in surprise.

"I already have the police investigating Mr. Latham," he continued. "If he is involved, I'm sure that fact will be brought to light. I think a continuance while the police and my office conduct an investigation into that and the threats against Ms. Morgan would be in order. But I don't see any benefit in wasting time and resources bringing in new counsel at this late date in the trial."

Morgan turned to the judge. "I disagree, Your Honor. I think my further association with this case could put Mr. Fairchild's welfare in jeopardy."

"Fine," McCoy said, addressing her directly. "Then we'll drop the charges against your client while we conduct the investigation, with the stipulation that we can refile later if we see fit."

"You can't do that!" Morgan exclaimed, looking at McCoy dismay. "If the charges are dropped, whoever is responsible will know I haven't complied with their wishes. They could direct their next threats at Peter!" She turned back to Rivera. "I respectfully request that you allow me to remove myself from this case."

Rivera sat back and looked at Morgan thoughtfully. "I'm inclined to agree with Mr. McCoy on this. I don't see the value of bringing in new counsel. But given the circumstances, I don't think dropping the charges against Mr. Fairchild would be wise at this time either, at least not until we see what the police investigation reveals. I will grant a two week continuance, but I won't allow you to remove yourself from the case." He stood up, making it clear his decision was final. "I'll meet you all back inside to instruct the jury."

As McCoy got up he saw Morgan close her eyes, not moving for a second. He waited until she slowly rose, to allow her to precede him out of the room. Their eyes met when she turned toward the door and he clearly saw her anger, but she said nothing. Instead, they all walked wordlessly out of the office and down the hallway back to the courtroom.

When the jury had been given instructions as to their responsibilities and Rivera dismissed court, Morgan turned to Fairchild and they talked quietly and intensely for a few minutes. With seeming reluctance, he finally started for the door.

Carmichael and McCoy had been repacking their briefcases, and when Morgan began to pack her own, McCoy turned to her.

"This is the decision you were talking about this morning? Why couldn't you tell me about all of this last night?" he asked sharply.

Morgan looked over her shoulder, watching until Fairchild was through the courtroom door before turning to look at McCoy. He expected the anger, but he wasn't prepared for the look of betrayal he saw in her eyes.

"You can ask me that after what just happened in chambers? You coerced me into remaining on this case against my will by holding the welfare of my client over my head!"

"That was not my intention!"

"Wasn't it? I made a decision that I felt was in the best interest of my client. You had no right to second guess that decision and force me to do what you thought was best."

"If you had talked to me about it last night, I would've told you that it was a bad decision, Counselor. And given Rivera's ruling, it's obvious he agreed with me."

Morgan took a step toward him. "Judge Rivera wouldn't have opposed if you hadn't said anything. And it isn't for you to determine whether my decisions are right or wrong. You don't exactly have my client's well-being at heart. When it comes to his best interests, mine are the only decisions that count."

"I was trying to help you and your client," McCoy argued.

"Help?" she asked disbelievingly. Then she stopped and looked at him thoughtfully for a second. Her voice changed from angry to challenging. "You want to help? Then assign police protection to Peter and his family."

Despite her anger, he could see that she was genuinely concerned.

"All right," he slowly agreed. "And I'm assigning some to you as well."

She turned from him angrily and continued putting things into her briefcase. "I asked you to help my client, I didn't ask you to help me. I don't need your help. I got myself into this mess and I'll get myself out." She picked up the briefcase and looked up at him. "I don't want anything from you."

At that, she turned and walked out of the courtroom.

McCoy stood looking after her in astonishment.

Carmichael glanced at him, then went after Morgan.

She caught up with her before she made it to the stairs. "Calea, wait a minute."

Morgan stopped reluctantly.

"If Latham is involved, he already knows something is going on. He was right there when Judge Rivera granted the continuance. He may decide that not enough has been done to persuade you to do what you've been asked. You can't just walk out of here. It isn't safe."

"It's my problem. I'll handle it in my own way," Morgan said angrily.

"I'm not suggesting otherwise. But that doesn't mean you don't need protection," Carmichael argued.

"I can take care of myself," she snapped, turning back toward the stairs.

"Calea," Carmichael started, but Morgan continued walking away.

When Carmichael returned to the courtroom, she found McCoy waiting at the door with her briefcase as well as his own. He looked at her anxiously when she walked up.

She shook her head. "She left. She wouldn't wait."

McCoy let a breath escape. "What are we supposed to do now?" he asked in exasperation.

"She's scared, Jack. I don't think she knows what to do either."

"Then why won't she let us help her?"

"I don't know," Carmichael answered quietly.

They walked to the elevator in silence and McCoy tried to make some sense of the whirlwind of events that had taken place in the last half-hour. When they exited the building they quickly headed to the car, trying to escape the cold wind.

Once they were on their way to One Hogan Place, Carmichael turned to McCoy. "You can tell me to mind my own business if you want, but I get the impression the two of you saw each other after court yesterday."

He glanced over at her. "She showed up at my apartment last night. As a matter of fact, she ran in the freezing rain 7.4 miles to my apartment from her office." He sighed. "I knew she was frightened, but I couldn't get her to tell me why. All she said was that she had a decision to make."

"This morning," she said pointedly.

He gave her a quick puzzled look. "This morning?"

"When court was dismissed, you asked her if this was the decision she told you she had to make, this morning."

McCoy shook his head at his poor choice of words.

"Hey, I told you, just tell me to mind my own business and I won't say another word," Carmichael promised.

"She was soaked and she was exhausted. I made her change then talked her into staying for dinner, intending to drive her home afterwards. While I was cleaning up, she fell asleep on the couch." He glanced over to find her giving him an amused look. "If you don't believe me, you can ask her." The thought of the events of very early that morning put a convincing edge into his voice.

Noting it, Carmichael said sincerely, "I believe you."

After a few minutes of silence, McCoy spoke up. "When we get back to the office I want you to call Lt. Van Buren and have her send someone over to the Fairchild's apartment. I also want someone assigned to Calea's office and home, until we know where she is."

Carmichael nodded. "I'll take care of it."