Next to the sentencing, the Pines evidence trial was a downright snoozer. Cops had found the kiddie porn in Pines’s backseat, partially shoved under an old copy of Variety. The “partially” was the sticky word that had granted Pines’s defense attorneys a hearing. Just how much had been exposed? Enough that the police had seen it was young boys, or just a naked person? Did they have probable cause for investigating the car?

I had to hand it to Pines’s lawyer—the guy had a way of asking the same question so many different ways that the arresting officer began to doubt his own story. As the afternoon dragged on, he went from, “Yes, sir,” to, “I really can’t recall now.” I feared just how fuzzy his memory might get by the time the actual trial started.

In the end, the magazines were allowed into evidence. Not really a shocker. We all knew there was no way Pines was getting off that easily.

As soon as the gavel fell, I stood and stretched my legs. Four hours on a hard, wooden chair had caused my right foot to fall asleep. I stomped on it as I made my way from the courtroom with the rest of the news hounds.

“That was so freaking cool!”

I turned to find Allie at my side, eyes shining. Throughout the entire boring proceeding, she’d been scribbling in a pink floral notebook like a demon.

“Cool? We’re lucky we didn’t go into a coma.”

“But the way they got down to every little detail. Didn’t you find that fascinating?”

Was she for real?

“Sure. Fascinating. Like paint drying.”

We pushed our way outside, blinking back the assaulting sunshine. I squinted and noticed Cal’s Hummer right away. He was semilegally parked at the curb, leaning against the passenger side, his eyes covered in dark sunglasses that reflected the glass courthouse building back at me in blinding clarity. He looked like a hitman. Or The Rock. Either way, the pedestrians on the sidewalk were giving him a wide berth.

Allie pulled a pair of designer sunglasses from her bag and slid them onto her nose, turning to me. “So, Felix told me this was originally your story.”

“It is my story,” I agreed, emphasizing the present tense.

“Right. And I don’t want to step on your toes or anything.”

“Thank you.” I think that was the first smart thing she’d said.

“So, when I type up our notes tonight, I’ll put your name first on the byline, ‘kay?”

I felt my eyes narrow. “What do you mean you’re typing up our notes?”

“You know, the ones we took during the hearing just now?”

“That was a no-brainer. Evidence in. I didn’t take any notes.”