“You’re working for Carly now,” he began.

“For the next four days,” I corrected.

“For the next four days.” He scowled. “Of course, it would’ve been nice if you could’ve avoided shoving your tongue down your employer’s throat.”

I was almost thirty years-old. I’d done eight years hard time. I’d committed crimes I’d just as soon not talk about. I could take a punch to the face, and throw an even better one. But at his blunt words, I felt my face go red.

I crossed my arms. “Is there a point to this?”

Instead of answering, Ryan stood up and went to the table over by the wall. He picked up a plate, and as I watched, he filled it with food. He returned and put the plate in front of me. My mouth started to water, and I had to swallow before I could speak without drooling. It had been a long time since I’d had a full meal.

“The point is, you don’t need to go hungry because you’re too damn proud to eat food you aren’t paying for,” he said quietly. “It’s part of the job, Bobby. Just like the clothes.”

I stared hard at the food. My skin felt tight, hot with shame. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take what I hadn’t earned.

“I’ve gone hungry before, too.”

Whipping my head up, I stared at him.

A faint smile crooked his lips up and he shrugged. “I spent half my life on the street, Bobby. My mom, she died when I was six. We lived in Los Angeles, an area called Compton.”

Shit. I figured he was about five or six years older than me, and while I wasn’t a news junkie, I paid enough attention to know what Compton had been like when I was a kid.

“I ended up in a foster home.” He paused, hesitated for a moment before he continued, “The first place wasn’t so bad, but then the woman got pregnant, and I went to another place. The guy there...” Ryan’s face tightened. “He was a sick son of a bitch. I ran away when I was eleven. Spent the next four years on the street, ended up in a gang. Then I lucked out. Ended up getting arrested.”

He leaned his hips against the table and crossed his arms over his chest as he looked at me. My respect for him was growing. When I’d heard he was a lawyer, I definitely hadn’t expected this in his background.

“Six months in juvie, then another foster home. The guy was a cop. Lucked out again. And yeah, I lucked out when I got arrested. If I’d stayed where I was, I’d probably have ended up dead. Half the guys I knew back then are either dead or behind bars now. And even the ones who’re still alive don’t have the kind of life I do. Getting arrested was the best thing that ever happened to me.” He laughed and the sound was soft, almost bemused, like he still couldn’t believe it. “The cop and his wife adopted me when I was sixteen. For the first time in years, I had a real home, a real family. They changed my life.”

Now he nudged the plate closer and my stomach gave a painful clench. I hadn’t had much beyond the hamburger the night I was hired.

“But that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be hungry, Bobby. Or to have pride. If you have to, think about it this way. Carly’s paying you to do a job, and that job comes with room and board. You aren’t any use to any of us if you end up with pneumonia, stomping around in sub-zero temps in that pitiful excuse of a coat or dropping dead because you don’t eat enough to keep a goat alive. Now eat, you stubborn son of a bitch.”

“Shows what you know,” I muttered. But I grabbed the plate.

“What?”

I shoved a mouthful of eggs into my mouth before I answered. “Goats will eat a whole damn lot.”

He chuckled. “You’re a smart-ass country boy, Bobby.”

“You’re a dumb-ass city boy.”

He went back to reading while I emptied the plate.

I’d no sooner finished the last bite when my cell phone rang.

I hated the stupid thing. If I had my way, I wouldn’t have one at all, but I needed a way for my parole officer to contact me, and the pay-as-you-go cellphone was the least annoying option. Especially since a landline in the dump where I lived wasn’t always reliable when it came to retaining messages.

If I were being honest with myself, I would’ve admitted I’d been waiting for the call since the second I’d seen Dale Mitchell last night.

The phone number that flashed up belonged to Detoine Sampson, my parole officer. Dread crowding my throat, I answered. “Hello.”

“Hey, Bobby. It’s Detoine.”

“Detoine.”

“Listen, man. I know we just met a couple weeks ago, but I need you to come in.” He sounded nice and casual, but I was good at reading people, and he wasn’t happy.

Perfect. I didn’t let my annoyance seep into my voice. It wasn’t Detoine’s fault, after all. “Sure. When?”

“Today. This morning, actually.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see Ryan watching me. The man was like a fucking hawk. And I had a feeling he knew who was calling. “I...uh...okay. I’ll make it work.”

“Make it work soon...okay, kid?”

“I’ll do what I can, sir. I just have to speak with my employer.” I knew a job wasn’t an excuse to skip, but it would at least give me bonus points when I got in.

The call ended without another word.

“Let me guess,” Ryan said, his gaze shrewd.

The doors swung open before he could say anything else.

Carly, clad in vivid blue and her face glowing, came in, Jake at her back. He was in workout gear despite the cast. So was she, now that I was actually noticing anything besides the bared skin and the flush on her face. Two more men in suits were at their backs, but they didn’t come into the room. The doors closed behind them, and Carly looked at me, a wide smile on her face. As I watched, it faded. I hated that I was the reason she wasn’t smiling anymore.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, darting her eyes towards Ryan.

“It was your PO, wasn’t it?” Ryan was still watching me.

“You read minds too?” My voice was rusty. Unable to look at any of them, I stood up and gathered up the few dishes I’d used, carrying them away from the table, only to stop. I didn’t see a sink. Maybe there wasn’t one. I stopped and put them back on the table. I kept my tone even. “I’m afraid I won’t be available this morning. Maybe not at all. I’m sorry.”

“What’s going on?” Carly asked.

I just shook my head and took a step toward the door, but before I could leave, Ryan cut me off.

“Was it your PO?”

“Yes!” I snapped. Not that it was any of his business.

“What’s a PO?” Carly asked.

Through gritted teeth, I answered her. Maybe this was what she needed for it to sink in. “My parole officer. I’m an ex-con, remember? I’m on a leash, Carly. The cop last night decided to tug on that leash. My PO got a call and I have to go in. That’s the way it works.”

“What does he want?” she asked.

“I don’t know!” I shouted the words.

She paled and I swore. Spinning away, I shoved my hands through my hair. Dammit! I just kept fucking things up. Yet another reason it would be the best for all involved if I was far away from her.

“I’m sorry,” I said, quieter this time. “Look, I tried to tell you this was a bad idea. This will all end up reflecting badly on you. It’s my fault. Just...we’ll call it quits now. No harm, no foul, right?”

Saying those words hurt more than I’d thought it would.

“Not so fast.”

I hadn’t even made it five feet before Carly’s voice, calm and controlled, split the tension.

I turned around and glared at her. “Don’t you get it? I’m trouble, Carly. As in big. Fucking. Trouble. With a capitol T. If I’m in the car with you and local cops know it, they just might pull you over for the fun of it now. For all I know, they’ll decide to start doing drug searches every time they see us. Ever had your car searched for drugs?”

She jutted her chin. “Yes.”

It took a few seconds for her answer to penetrate. “Ever had anybody...wait, what?”