“But you just said you did. You said he looked like a dealer.”

He clenches his jaw, and a frustrated breath leaves him.

“Grayson, I can’t help you if you aren’t truthful with me.”

His eyes flash to mine. “I thought it was your job to put me inside—not to help me,” he says, and I have to admit that he has a point.

So why do I feel the incessant need to do it?

“You’re right. And based on what you’re telling me, there’s no plea deal that I can offer you.”

“So we’re done here?” he says without meeting my eyes.

I put my pen down, sigh, and say, “Yes. We’re done.”

Grayson stands. I feel a weird pull at the thought of him leaving right now. Once he reaches the door, he stops and looks back at me over his shoulder. “Thank you for your time. See you, Mel.”

His words and stare hit me in the gut. And then Grayson Knight is gone, my door closing softly behind him.

Chapter 8

“Pass the salt,” Tori says to me.

“Who puts salt on pasta al forno?” I say, frowning.

“I do,” she says, giving me a cocky smile. “Now pass it over.”

Tori is my best friend. I met her at law school. She works at a private practice, specializing in family law. Honestly, I don’t know how she does it, dealing with people getting divorced, fighting the custody battles.

As a child of divorced parents who hated each other and fought over who got to see me the most, I’ve had my fair share of that pain. No way would I want to deal with it on a daily basis like she does.

Give me criminals any day. But I’m not really sure what that says about me.

I hand the salt to her and say teasingly, “Does my cooking not taste good enough for you?”

I had made dinner, and though I’m not the best cook, I can rustle up some decent al forno. Tori and I make sure to have dinner together at least once a week. Tonight we were supposed to go out, but I didn’t much feel like being social, so I changed our plans and said that I would cook.

“It tasted just fine,” she says with a grin, bringing a forkful of some salt-covered pasta to her mouth. “But now it tastes even better.”

Picking up my wineglass, I give her a sly middle finger, grinning as I do.

“So classy,” she says, laughing.

“I learned from the best.”

Then it’s her turn to flip me off, causing us both to laugh. And it feels good to laugh, after the past few days I’ve had. After the laughter has settled, I tuck back into my pasta.

“So why didn’t you want to go out tonight?” Tori asks.

“Just didn’t feel up to it,” I say, lifting my shoulders.

“Work getting you down?”

“You could say that.” I put my fork down on my plate.