His gaze met hers. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen him, not after the way she had reacted.

She nodded. “Mr. Owen.”

He could not control his shock, either. “Ms. Lange.” He hurriedly pushed the elderly man toward the reception desk.

Kate continued walking, her face now expressionless, her mind racing. Why was Harry Owen here?

And on today of all days?

As she opened the glass door leading to her office, she heard the Honorable Harry Owen say, “Please tell Mr. Barrett that Harry and Mel Owen are here.”

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

8:59 a.m.

The waiting area of McGrath Woods struck a note that was entirely familiar to Harry: power and privilege. Before he had been elected to Parliament, he had practiced law in a firm much like this one.

But the very atmosphere that comforted Harry unsettled his father.

“This is too rich for me, Harry,” he whispered. “I can’t afford a lawyer from here.”

Harry patted his father’s arm. “Dad, he promised to give you a reduced fee.” That was a lie, but he’d say anything right now to allay his father’s agitation.

“Why do we need a lawyer, anyway? We haven’t done anything wrong.” His father glared at the receptionist, as if she had pointed an accusatory finger at him. She turned to her computer monitor.

“We need to make sure the police understand that, Dad. And it’s more complicated since I’m an elected official—”

“Harry, good to see you, although I am sorry about the circumstances.” Randall Barrett strode to where Harry sat with his father. Harry hadn’t seen Randall for several years. He had followed Barrett’s criminal case closely. He should not have been surprised to see the toll it had taken on the famed litigator: his once gleaming blond hair was dull, streaked with silver. Grooves—not just lines—marked his forehead and the sides of his mouth. Yet Barrett’s in-your-face bullish masculinity had not diminished one iota. He still inspired confidence. And made any alpha male within throwing distance bristle.

Harry rose from his seat and shook Randall’s hand. “This is my father, Mel Owen.”

“Mr. Owen. My deepest sympathies on the loss of your wife,” Randall said, his tone somber. “It has been a trying night for you both. Let’s see what I can do to help you through this ordeal.”

He led them to a conference room. A space at the table for Mel’s wheelchair had already been cleared. Harry pushed his father to the table, and then sat in the leather chair next to him.

Randall held out a thermal coffee pot. “Coffee, Mr. Owen?”

“Yes. With cream.” Mel Owen croaked out the request.

“Same for me,” Harry said in response to Randall’s querying look.