I follow his gaze to where a car pulls onto the drive. It’s an old sedan I don’t recognize. It pulls to a stop a few yards away from us. A woman steps out. At first I only get the impression of a slender body in a suit. It covers her almost completely, the pencil skirt reaching down to her knees, a white collared shirt buttoned to the top. Despite the coverage, or maybe because of it, it’s undeniably sexy.

The heels would make me fall over, but she navigates them across gravel like a pro.

Only when she’s a few feet away do I recognize her. Lauren Michaels, the prosecuting attorney in Joe Causey’s case. I sat in her office once, while Beau had a meltdown and ultimately declared his love for me over corkboard furniture and tepid instant coffee.

“Ms. Mendoza,” she says with a professional smile.

She reaches out a hand, and I start to shake it. Then Brian steps between us. “I’ll need to see some identification, ma’am. What’s the nature of your visit?”

From the way her blue eyes flare, she’s definitely one of those women who does not appreciate being called ma’am. She looks Brian up and down in a leisurely way, and he stiffens. “Who the hell are you?”

“It’s okay,” I say from behind Brian. “I know her.”

He ignores me. “Private security. Identification?”

With a sigh of exasperation, she turns around and reaches into her car. Which means she’s bending over with her behind in a tight skirt. I’m one-hundred percent straight, and even I can notice it’s a great ass. Judging by the way Brian’s jaw works, he’s noticing, too.

Lauren whips around, holding up a card attached to a lanyard. I’m assuming it confirms her position in the District Attorney’s Office.

Brian studies it with a concentration that borders on insulting, as if she perhaps had it forged. “Lauren Montgomery Michaels, first assistant district attorney.”

With seeming reluctance, Brian hands the lanyard back. “Montgomery?”

“They wanted a boy,” she snaps.

He’s definitely hiding a smile in his dark eyes when he steps aside so she can talk to me. Lauren raises her eyebrows. “I can see Beau Rochester is doing a good job of protecting you.”

I shrug, feeling shy about it. The whole security thing is strange. Most of the time it feels like overkill. But then other times, the constant presence of the guards is a reminder that I’m not entirely safe, either. “Are you looking for him? He’s out.”

“Actually, I came to see you.”

My eyebrows go up. “You have my statements.”

“Yes, but statements are just words on paper. We need you to testify.”