Chapter 3

Grayson stares at me and doesn’t say anything.

“Can you run through the night’s events for me?”

“I already told the officers,” Grayson says. His tone is almost bored, bordering on condescending.

Leaning forward, I rest my forearms on the table between us. “And now I want you to tell me.”

He sighs. “I was in Liv. I had some coke on me for recreational use. The cops raided the club. They found the coke. They arrested me and brought me here. End of story.”

“You’re telling me the amount of drugs you were carrying was just for…recreational use?”

“I’m a big guy. What can I say?” He lifts one of those aforementioned giant shoulders.

When I look at Grayson, I immediately know the guy doesn’t have a drug habit. I’ve seen enough addicts in my career to know the signs. This guy looks as clean as they come. Besides, if he was addicted to drugs, it would have been flagged in one of the many tests they do in the NFL these days. His team might have covered it up, but they also wouldn’t have a high tolerance for him if he was a user. Addicts are generally unreliable and unpredictable. Grayson’s contract wouldn’t have been renewed, or his team would have found a way to get out of it.

Grayson Knight is their star player. And he was found with drugs. None of this is making sense to me right now.

But I don’t need it to make sense. He broke the law. I’m here to see that he goes away for it.

“You waived your right to an attorney.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need one.”

“You might want to reconsider, Mr. Knight.” I stand up and walk to the door. Before opening it, I turn back to him. “Your release papers are being drafted up.”

His eyes widen. “I’m free to go?”

“For now. I want you in my office in the morning at ten thirty sharp for your plea bargain. That’s where I’ll explain the charges against you, and you’ll tell us how you’d like to plead in court. And, Mr. Knight, bring a lawyer to that.”

He stands and moves to the side of the table. “That’s it?”

“For now.”

Something flickers in his eyes. Then I watch as his gaze drags up my body until it rests on my face.

I feel a surprising but delightful chill run through my body.

“I expected more.” His tone is low and cuts through me, putting me off-balance.

“More?” I ask. My head feels suddenly foggy.

“Yes,” he says, taking a step toward me.

He’s still staring at me. Something in me wants to step back, yet there’s another part that’s urging me to go a step closer.

He’s intense. And there’s a raw magnetism in him that’s drawing me in. I guess that’s what makes him famous. That and the fact that he’s an unbelievable football player.

There’s a knock on the door behind me, bringing me back to my senses.