We made tracks toward the courthouse, stopping at a newsstand along the way just long enough to pick up copies of Playboy, Penthouse, and some magazine called Naughty Bits that Cal swore Pines would love.

“It’s the best,” he said.

I cocked an eyebrow at him.

He shrugged. “You know, so I’ve heard.”

“Uh huh.”

“Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

I paid for the magazines and hopped back in his Hummer, making our way through town to the courthouse. We pulled into a spot in the lot and quickly jogged up the steps and through the metal detectors. I felt my cheeks heat as the guy manning the x-ray machine got a load of the stash in my bag, but we cleared security and hit the lobby at two on the dot.

As did a perky blonde in a miniskirt and knee-high boots with four-inch heels.

Right. I’d forgotten about Allie.

“I’m not late, am I?” she asked, all breathless like a porn star.

I shook my head. “No.” Unfortunately.

“I just talked to the clerk. Pines is in conference room 4A with his lawyer,” she informed me.

“Great. Let’s go talk to him.”

We made our way up the stairs and past the courtroom, where shortly Pines would be sitting behind the defendant’s table, to a small wooden door to the right that served as chambers for the prisoners to meet pretrial with their counsel. A bailiff stood outside 4A, a sure sign that a prisoner was inside.

I threw my shoulders back and walked up to the guy like I owned the place.

“Excuse me,” I said, doing my best imitation of a Harvard Law grad. “My client is inside. I need to speak with him.”

His eyebrows ruffled. “He’s already with his counsel.”

“Right. I’m second chair.”

“And I’m third,” Allie piped up behind me.

Cal had the good sense to remain quiet, instead taking a seat on a bench against the wall.

The bailiff shrugged, then stepped aside and let us through the door.

Pines and his weedy-looking lawyer were sitting at a large oak desk, papers strewn across the top. Both were deep in conversation as we walked in, and again I was struck by how pale and thin the lawyer was. I almost couldn’t tell which of the men had spent more time locked in captivity.

The lawyer’s head popped up as we entered the room, his expression immediately contorting into outrage.

“What the hell are you doing here? This is a private meeting room. I’m here with a client.”

He jumped out of his seat, but Pines put a hand on his arm, calming the man down. “Don’t worry,” he said, a slimy grin taking over his features. “They’re here for me. You got what I asked for?” Pines asked, nodding to my bag.