Hidden Summit

I can’t get you off my mind. And you didn’t call.”
    He sighed. “I thought maybe I shouldn’t tonight. I’m testifying tomorrow morning.”
    “Oh, Conner, why couldn’t you call? Did they ask you not to?”
    “No, but I didn’t want to drag you into this drama. Les, I’m not coming back this weekend. I’m not going anyplace I can be followed until it’s all over. Until there’s no chance I’ll be recalled.”
    “I understand. Conner, I saw him on TV. The man you’re testifying against. Talking to reporters.”
    “I saw it, too,” he said. “Apparently I’m testifying against a sainted soul whom the police have been trying to trap for one reason or another for years....”
    “Oh, Conner…”
    “He’s convincing before he even opens his mouth,” Conner said. “And then he’s even more convincing. Max says we have to trust the system. He says there’s good, solid evidence. But they’re going to claim I couldn’t have seen his face.”
    “But you did....”
    “I did. He looked rumpled and messed up that night. He didn’t have that classy, sophisticated, starched look to him. He looked like a furious guy who didn’t have an ounce of guilt about what he’d done. He was covered with blood from moving the body. I’ll never forget it. And when he was walking back to his car…he moved slowly. Leisurely. Like the whole thing had been just another chore, like he was completely justified.”
    “Conner…”
    “He’s got a good game face,” Conner said. “I’m working on mine.”
    “I hate that you’re going through this alone,” she said.
    “Alone is the only way I want to get it done. I don’t want anyone I love even close to this mess. And it is a mess.”
    “I’m staying home from work tomorrow, watching the news from Brie’s house because she has better reception than I do. So if you’re looking for me, that’s where I’ll be. And, well, if it means anything, I’m really proud of you.”
    “It means everything, Les.” He paused. “I want you to get some sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow after it’s over.”
    After Conner called Max and told him about Samantha’s veiled threat, the D.A. said that he’d already heard from the police officer escort, and, unfortunately, she was going to be taken into custody. “I just want to make it clear, Max, I’m sure she wasn’t acting on the behalf of the defense team. I’m sure that was meant to manipulate me. She’s been trying to reconcile with me for two years and I’ve been ignoring her.”
    “Sadly for her, her motive isn’t an issue,” Max said.
    Conner was told exactly what to wear to court—a light blue oxford button-down without a tie, and tan pants, pressed with a sharp crease. Brown shoes. Ordinary clothes on an ordinary guy. The irony was—he already had those clothes, and it was exactly what he would’ve chosen. Max, who was very well turned out, wanted him to look like a blue-collar kind of guy whom the jury would believe and empathize with.
    Conner was a blue-collar guy. Since the crime and the fire, he’d had occasion to look over his net worth, trying to figure out what to do next, and while he had quite the nice nest egg to start over with, it wasn’t as though he had brilliantly built a fortune. He’d worked a business he’d inherited and had a pot of money from insurance—not his first choice of how to become financially sound. The sale of the lot and two houses would put him in a higher category, even after splitting it with Katie—but he couldn’t claim much of that came from his business prowess.
    He did have some business savvy, however. He was giving more and more thought to a small hardware store in the area between Virgin River and the coast. He could get Paul and his subs anything they needed; he could provide building and repair items for the town and outlying areas. He might buy a motorcycle to take Leslie for long rides in spring and summer.
    He hoped to God he’d get to the point of making some of those decisions soon. This hiatus for the sake of a testimony was getting old.
    Today’s cop was Scott, a homicide detective getting a little overtime. They had room-service breakfast together in Conner’s room and made small talk. Scott was a sports nut, never missed a televised ball game. When breakfast was done, and it was time to head for the courthouse, Scott asked, “You doing okay, buddy?”
    “Ready for this to be over,” Conner said. And then, for no particular reason, he