Free Exit Strategy by L. V. Lewis Page B

Sheriff’s Department, ma’am.” He extends his hand which holds a single envelope. “You’ve been duly served to appear in court as a material witness in the case of the State of Illinois versus Byron Oswald McCaskill.”
“Why am I getting this so soon? I thought the trial would be in April?” I take the envelope from him and open it. “This says March eleventh.”
“The defense likely filed a motion for a speedy trial; even with that, it’s taken the better part of a year. You may call the prosecutor if you have any further questions.”
“Thank you, Deputy Carlson.”
He tips his hat and leaves as Jada comes around to peek at the papers over my shoulder. 
“This day couldn’t get any better,” I say. “Tristan came by earlier but left before I could talk to him.”
“Really? Nate said he might come by.”
“I think he saw me horsing around with Carmelo.”
Jada’s face falls out of the grin she’s rocking. “Oh.”
I refold the papers, put them back into the envelope, and throw it on my desk. “Now I’m about to face Byron in court.”
“Fuck Byron. That bastard’s going down for what he did to you,” she says with the same vehemence she’d demonstrated when she first learned what Byron had done.
“I hope so.”
“Well, did you try to call Tristan after you saw him leave?”
I walk around my desk and plop into my chair. “Yeah, several times, but he’s not picking up.”
“You want me to call Nate and have him deliver a message? He could explain what the deal is so maybe you two could talk.”
“No. Don’t get Nate involved. I don’t think Tristan would like that.”
“Who gives a shit what he likes? He needs to know what he saw was a goddamned fluke. You want to get back with him, right?”
“I don’t know what I want, Jada.” And that’s partially true. I want Tristan, but I don’t know how to finesse dealing with the panic attacks.
“You need to hurry up and figure it out. Tristan doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who’ll wait around very long for you to make up your mind.”
Jada’s right. I do need to sort my feelings out—and soon.
The day zips by, given the impromptu visit from Tristan, which didn’t go well, being served a subpoena to appear in court a month earlier than anticipated to face Byron, and multiple recording sessions. Before I know it, it’s closing time, and everyone is gone except Jorge and me. He swings by the studio where I’m furiously editing sheet music.
“I’m headed out, chica,” he says. “You need to come with me now unless you want another nightmare ride on CTA.”
“Oh, yeah. That would be a no,” I say. “Let me just shut everything down and grab my purse and my laptop.”
“All right. I’ll make sure the folks in retail have locked everything down, and I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” In addition to the apology to my staff the previous week, I’ve shifted some of my duties to Jorge so I can really capitalize on my creative energy.
By default, Jorge has also become my escort since I’m not Tristan’s submissive anymore and enjoying the perks of limo rides. I used to be able to take public transit unrecognized, but no more. Residual recognition from my association with Tristan is still in full effect.
People who don’t know me had been approaching me on the ‘L’ like we were old friends and they were somehow authorized to be all up in my personal business. After one pushy guy tried to follow me home one night, I ducked into a fast food restaurant and called Jorge, who thankfully had been working late and came to pick me up. Now he and Jada share escorting responsibilities.
That incident had me seriously considering buying a car, but I’m still kind of queasy about driving, so I haven’t acted on that impulse yet. I gather all my belongings, turn out the lights, and head toward the rear exit of KSR to the parking lot.
As I step out of the building, lights temporarily blind me. I guess Jorge must be eager to get