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his hand, and he doesn’t like it one bit.
    “Flight leaves at eight a.m. on Friday. A car will pick you up at six and take you to Reagan National Airport.”
    “You don’t have to—”
    His brow rises along with his voice. “ I’m not picking you up. The firm’s sedan service will. Our travel office will issue your ticket.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I don’t expect you to say one word during the inmate interview. If I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you. Is that clear?”
    “Crystal.” Haranguing me, berating me. Lashing out. I hate it. I hate him. How could I have ever believed I was attracted to him? “Are we done?”
    “Yes.” He stabs the letter opener into his black leather desk pad.
    On wobbly legs I emerge from his office, glad the big bad wolf didn’t take a bite out of me. Well, at least now I know where I stand with him.

CHAPTER 5
    Trenton
    I meet Mitchell Brooks for dinner at our usual haunt, an Argentinian charcuterie located on Pennsylvania Avenue. My mentor since I was a kid from the wrong side of the tracks, Mitch saw something in me all those years ago at the Boys & Girls Club where he volunteered to sponsor at-risk youth. Because of him, I got into a good college and a decent law school. Not Ivy League. Couldn’t afford the tuition, and my grades weren’t quite at the level they needed to be, but good enough.
    As we follow the hostess into the main seating area, someone hails him. He stops long enough to introduce me and exchange pleasantries with the woman, a professional acquaintance of his. She’s not shy about tossing an appreciative glance in Mitch’s direction or chiding him for not giving her a call. Taking it in stride, he apologizes and promises to ring her up. Mitch may be in his midforties, and his gold hair may have strands of gray, but he still commands a great deal of attention from members of the opposite sex.
    Given our hectic schedules, we haven’t seen each other for a month. After he bids his friend good-bye, the hostess leads us to our table, where we order our usual and settle into our catch-up phase.
    “How are things at the firm?” he asks. Not a casual question. He was a partner there until three years ago. Something happened. Something he never shared with me that caused him to abandon a very lucrative career and move to the Securities and Exchange Commission. The SEC welcomed him with open arms. He’s always been a straight shooter with a reputation for honesty, intelligence, and hard work.
    “Fine.”
    He fiddles with the cutlery, a nervous habit of his. The man loves order above all things. “Heard Holden’s granddaughter is doing a stint as a criminal law intern.”
    “Just for the summer. She starts work as an assistant prosecutor at Arlington in the fall.”
    He steeples his hands over his plate. “The internship is Holden’s doing, I suppose?”
    “Yes. He wants her to learn the defense side. He’s hoping she’ll give up on the prosecutor’s job and come work for him.”
    “Ummm. Not so sure that’s a good idea.”
    “Why do you say that?”
    “Holden likes to exert control over all things. Living in his house and working at his firm might stifle her professionally and personally. She’s young, impressionable. It would be better if she didn’t work in the same place as Holden.”
    I’m surprised he knows so much about Madrigal. “You’re closely acquainted with her?”
    A slight hesitation before he answers. “Yes. I know her and her sister, Madison. I attended the same prep school as her mother.”
    “You never mentioned that before.”
    “There was never a need to do so.” His tone implies a reluctance to pursue this particular subject, which makes me curious as hell. He and Holden’s daughter attended school during their teen years. Could there have been more than simple friendship between them?
    The waiter appears with our appetizers—beef empanadas and chicharrones —interrupting my train of thought.
    After we’re