There was no response that he could give her so he shook his head and went back to wiping the mud off her bag . . . even though she was probably just going to throw the damn thing out in the morning.

“You can trust me, Isaac.”

His reply was a long time in coming. “It’s not you I’m worried about.”

Grier stood on the far side of the island, the Humpty-Dumpty eggs scattered around and drooling on the granite, a red bowl full of yellow yolks and transparent whites ready to take a beating.

Her client was absolutely huge as he perched on her stool, his busted-up hands taking care of her Birkin. And yet in spite of his size and the regard he was showing her bag, she wanted to crack his head on something hard. The solutions were so clear to her: Stay in the system, come clean with whatever military agency he’d bolted from, sort out the repercussions, do the time . . . start over.

Whatever he’d done could be redressed.

Society could forgive.

People could move on.

Unless, of course, they were stubborn assholes determined to flout the rules and go it alone.

She picked up a final egg and slammed it against the bowl’s rim, shattering the shell. “Ah, hell’s bells.”

Isaac’s eyes lifted. “It’s okay. I don’t mind a little crunch.”

“It’s not okay. None of this is okay.” She bent over and fished out the little white specks with her fingernail.

When things looked acceptable in the bowl, she heard herself say, “Would you like to have a shower before we eat?”

“No, ma’am,” was his quiet, unsurprising response.

“I have clothes you could change into.” That got his eyebrow to peak briefly even if he didn’t look over at her. “My brother’s. He used to stay here with me sometimes—not exactly your size, of course.”

“I’m good. But thank you, ma’am.”

“You need to lose the ‘ma’am’ crap. We were over that the minute you got into my car.”

As that brow went up again, she grabbed a block of cheddar and started grating. Hard. “You know . . . you remind me of him. My brother.”

“How so?”

“I also want to save you from what your choices are doing to your life.”

Isaac shook his head. “Not a good idea.”

True enough. God knew she’d failed once at that already.

Shaking the cheese from the grater, she put the thing aside and diced up some Canadian bacon. As they both worked at their tasks, it didn’t take long before the silence got to her . . . but more to the point, it wasn’t in her nature to quit.

Which suggested that if she’d been born a car she’d be in the demolition derby.

“Look, I can try to help with more than just the charges against you. If you’re—”