What had been brought out of holding by Shawn C. was about six feet, four inches of solid muscle. Her client was “dressed in,” which meant he had his prison garb on, and his hands and feet were shackled together and linked with a steel chain that ran up the front of his legs and went around his waist. His hard face had the kind of hollow cheeks that came with zero body fat, and his dark hair was cut short like a military man’s. Fading bruises were clustered around his eyes, a bright white bandage sat close to his hairline . . . and there was a red flush around his neck, as if he’d very, very recently been manhandled.

Her first thought was . . . she was glad good old Billy McCray had made her switch seats. She wasn’t sure how she knew it, but she had the sense that if her client chose to, he could have taken Shawn C. down in the blink of an eye—in spite of the cuffs and the fact that the guard was built like a bulldog and had years of experience handling big, volatile men.

Her client’s eyes didn’t meet hers, but stayed locked on the floor as the guard shoved him into the tight space between the vacant chair and the table.

Shawn C. bent down to the man’s ear and whispered something.

Growled something, was more like it.

Then the guard glanced over at Grier and smiled tightly, as if he didn’t like the whole thing but was going to be professional about it. “Hey, I’ll be right outside the door. You need anything? You just holler and I’m in here.” In a lower voice, he said, “I’m watching you, boy.”

Somehow she wasn’t surprised at the precautions. Merely sitting across from her client made her wary. She couldn’t imagine moving him around the jailhouse.

God, he was big.

“Thanks, Shawn,” she said quietly.

“No problem, Ms. Childe.”

And then she was alone with Mr. Isaac Rothe.

Measuring the tremendous girth of his shoulders, she noted that he wasn’t twitching or fidgeting, which she took as a good sign—no meth or coke in his system, hopefully. And he didn’t stare at her inappropriately or check out the front of her suit or lick his lips.

Actually, he didn’t look at her at all, his eyes remaining on the table in front of him.

“I’m Grier Childe—I’ve been assigned your case.” When he didn’t raise his eyes or nod, she continued. “Anything that you say to me is privileged, which means that within the bounds of the law, I will not reveal it to anyone. Further, that security camera over there has no audio feed, so no one else can hear what you tell me.”