Buzzing.
Loud buzzing.
Something is vibrating close to my head. I force open an eye in my dark bedroom, which is now illuminated by the vibrating phone on my nightstand. Reaching out a tired hand, I retrieve my cell, catching a glimpse of the time as I do—3:00 a.m.—and see my boss’s name lighting up the screen.
Benedict Cross, State Attorney. He became state attorney twenty years ago at the age of thirty-five, youngest ever in the history of Miami. He’s a man I respect and admire greatly, and I want to be in the same position he is when I’m thirty-five, which means I have only four years left to make it.
Benedict isn’t going anywhere, so if I want to achieve my goal, I’ll have to move to a different city. And I’m completely fine with that. I have no ties here in Miami. My career is one of the reasons I keep myself attachment-free. And it’s also the reason I’m working myself into an early grave, answering work calls at three in the morning. It’s nothing new. I’ve always had to work hard to get everything. Nothing has ever come easy to me. And I prefer it that way. It makes success taste all the more sweet.
“Ben?” My voice is scratchy.
“Melissa, I’m sorry to call so late.”
“Or early.”
“Yeah,” he says with a laugh. He knows I’m usually in the office by six thirty. “I need you to go down to the police station on 62nd Street.”
It isn’t out of the ordinary for Ben to ask me to go to a police station. Early-morning calls aren’t strange either, but they don’t usually come in at this time. Being a state attorney comes with its perks—the satisfaction of knowing that I put the bad guys behind bars—but these visits to the police station can be tough.
“Okay,” I say, collecting my thoughts. “Who am I going to see?”
“Grayson Knight.”
That makes me sit up and wake up a little more. “The Grayson Knight?”
“The one and only.”
I’m surprised to hear the name. Grayson Knight, quarterback for the Miami Dolphins, is football’s golden boy and everyone’s favorite player, or at least everyone whose team isn’t playing against him.
He’s also seriously hot—not that it matters.
I run a hand through my tangled hair. “What’s he done?”
“Drug possession.”
My brows come up.
“He was arrested at Liv an hour ago.”
Liv is an exclusive club at the Fontainebleau Miami Beach, a hotel the rich and famous frequent.
“Grayson Knight is high-profile, and men like him think they’re above the law. We need to show him and the rest of the world that celebrities and sports stars are no different from anyone else who is caught with drugs. We need to make an example of him. I want you to go after Grayson with guns blazing. Getting a charge to stick to him won’t be easy. It’ll take my best. You’re my best, Mel.”
A burst of pride fills my chest at Ben’s compliment. I know he thinks highly of me. I know I’m good at my job—no, I’m amazing at my job—but still, it’s nice to hear it. And bringing down someone like Grayson Knight would be career-defining for me. It could be the case to push me up the career ladder sooner than I had hoped.
“I’ll get down there now,” I tell Ben.
“Call me when you’re finished.”
“Will do.”
I hang up. Pushing back my duvet, I turn my bedside lamp on and put my feet on the floor. I take a quick deep breath and then head for the bathroom to get ready.
Thirty minutes later, I’m ready to go, briefcase in hand. I’m wearing a black business suit and a white silk blouse, but my face is free of makeup and my long chestnut-brown hair is tied back in a knot.
I’m not out to impress here. I’m here to do my job: get the lowdown on Grayson Knight before he lawyers up with some hotshot from a big firm.
Leaving my apartment, I take the elevator down to the lobby. Earl, the night doorman, is sitting at the desk. He smiles at me. “Early start, Miss St. James?”
“Too early.” I smile back.
He chuckles. “Can I get you a car?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll flag a cab down outside.”
“Let me do that.” He gets up from his seat, coming around the desk.
I follow him to the front door of the building.
“Young girl like you doesn’t want to be out on the streets at night alone. You never know what kind of crazy is out there.”
The crazy that I fight against every day. The crazy that I’m trying to put behind bars to make the streets of Miami safer for other young women.
I don’t say that out loud, though.
I love being an assistant state attorney. There’s nothing better than putting away criminals and seeing justice served to up-their-own-ass jocks like Grayson Knight who think that just because they have money and fame, they’re untouchable. Yeah, well, I’ll show him just how touchable he is.
How touchable his body is.
I banish the thought from my mind. He is my opponent.
Earl flags down a cab. I thank him and climb into the backseat.
“62nd Street police station,” I tell the driver as I sit back.