She nodded warily. “Yes.”

“I’m Elliot Byrne. Your attorney.” He held out his hand, and she stared at it warily before forcing herself to reach out and squeeze.

She sat on her hand as soon as he released it. Then frowned. “How do I know?”

“Pardon me?”

“How do I know you’re my lawyer and not another police officer pretending to be my lawyer?”

His lips quirked—the first hint the man might have a sense of humor. He pulled out his wallet and showed her his driver’s license, then tossed her a business card. It was plain white, silk-laminated cardstock with his name boldly embossed on the front in no-nonsense black lettering.

Elliot Byrne. Attorney At Law.

She turned it over. On the back were his contact details.

“Good for you.” He nodded approvingly like she was a child who needed to be built up with praise.

Inside she tensed. She was a smart woman who wasn’t so easily manipulated, but this situation was difficult. This was really difficult.

“Don’t take anything at face value, especially not any perceived kindness from the police department here. They are supposed to treat you with respect, but remember they want to get this case off the books as soon as possible and you are their prime suspect. In fact, right now, you’re their only suspect.”

That didn’t sound good.

He undid the buttons of his fine woolen coat and slid out of the garment, draping it over the chair beside her. He walked around the table and drew out the chair opposite. It screeched across the floor. She flinched.

Detective Torgerson had sat in that same spot moments earlier with her unrelenting gaze and persistent questions. Where was Torgerson now? More importantly, where was Eban?

He’d told her not to mention that he was on his way, just to wait for the lawyer. Quentin had insisted on much the same thing. She wasn’t good at lying, but she could win gold medals for evasion.

Now the lawyer was here, and she felt more nervous than ever. Because he was supposed to help her, and she didn’t know if he could. She wasn’t sure she deserved any help and didn’t want to waste his time.

His heavy, expensive-looking, stainless-steel wristwatch caught the light as he lifted his leather briefcase onto the table. He withdrew a yellow legal pad and set it on the table. Laid a fancy fountain pen neatly on top. This guy probably charged more per hour than she earned in a year. She licked her lips. “I think there’s been a mistake. I can’t afford to pay you very much, Mr. Byrne.”

“That’s been taken care of.” The confidence in his voice was almost hypnotic and casually bulldozered aside her reservations. This was a man who was used to getting his own way.

She cleared her throat, suddenly uncertain. “Look, I know Haley probably insisted, but I’m not sure I can accept this sort of charity.”

“Ms. O’Roarke, can I be frank?” He met her gaze unflinchingly.