I’m the first to arrive at the Hideout, so I order myself a latte and take a seat in a booth at the back of the shop to give us privacy. It’s a good table because I can still see the door when Grayson arrives.
I don’t have to wait long—only a few minutes. From the doorway, Grayson scans the coffee shop. His eyes land on me and he smiles.
And I feel that smile deep inside me, curling my toes.
I try to shake the feeling off, but it’s not easy when he’s walking over to me, his eyes clearly fixed on mine. Okay, so I’ll admit it now: I’m definitely attracted to Grayson Knight. But I’m also the assistant state attorney on the case, and my job is the most important thing to me.
I need to push this attraction down and ignore it.
“Hi,” he says. “I’m gonna order a coffee. You want anything else?” He nods down at my latte.
“I’m good, thanks.”
I watch as he walks over to the counter, orders his drink, and pays for it. He comes back over empty-handed. “Waitress said she’ll bring it over.”
He sits down across from me and there’s a moment of quiet. I curl my hands around my cup, unsure what to say. How to open the conversation. It’s very unlike me.
“So, you wanted to talk?” Grayson says, his voice soft.
I lift my eyes to him. “My boss wants me to up the charge against you to possession of a Section II drug with intent to supply.” I see a flicker of something in his eyes, but his expression doesn’t change. The words hang between us as the waitress comes over and puts Grayson’s coffee on the table in front of him.
He breaks his stare and looks at her. “Thank you,” he says. His eyes scan the coffee shop after the waitress has left our table.
Finally, he looks back at me. “Okay,” he says.
“Okay. That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say? The State Attorney wants you to up the charge. He’s your boss. I’m assuming you do as he says. So…okay. Thank you for telling me.”
I stare at him, perplexed. “How can you be so calm about this?”
“Why do you care so much?” he fires back. His words almost knock me out of my seat.
But he’s right—why do I care so much?
The question is almost like truth or dare.
I say the truth, I’m done for. I don’t and he takes on the biggest dare of his life.
“Because…” I lift my shoulder as I drag out the word and play for time. “Maybe I think you’re not telling me everything about what happened that night.”
“Even if I wasn’t, why would that matter to you?”
“Because I don’t want to put innocent men in prison when I can do something to avoid it.”
I watch his hand tighten around the cup. His eyes stare down into his drink.
“Tell me what happened that night in Liv,” I say softly, coaxing him.
He doesn’t speak for a long moment. When he lifts his eyes, I hope to see something in them. The truth, maybe. But what I see is nothing. His eyes are blank. “I told you what happened,” he says. “I got the drugs from a dealer in a bar. Then I went to Liv and the cops busted the place. I was arrested. End of story.”
He’s hiding something. His expression might be blank, but the small shift he just made and the way his eyes darted to the left—both movements tell me differently. I had a hunch that that was the case in my office the other day. But here in the coffee shop, I can see it clearly. And I’m not willing to let it go this time.
“How long were you in Liv before the cops showed up?” I ask. I want to question him to see if I can learn anything new.
“An hour, maybe.”
“And the search, how did it go down?”
“They came into the VIP area. We were one of the first to be searched.”
“‘We’?”
“My friends…and my brother.”
Interesting. I didn’t know he had a brother. I wonder if he looks like him.
“And you didn’t think to try to dispose of the drugs at any point?” I ask. Of course I don’t condone that type of thing, but I see it time and time again—dealers disposing of drugs before the arrest can be made. It’s hard to make a charge stick if the drugs can’t actually be found on the person. Especially in a public place like a nightclub.
I hold my stare and watch Grayson shake his head. I don’t know how else to push this, even though I know there’s something he’s not saying.
So I shift the conversation elsewhere—to football. He relaxes immediately, and we spend the next hour drinking coffee and talking sports.
One could call it a date. But it’s not. It’s definitely not.
But I won’t deny that I like talking to him. He’s smart and fun, and charismatic. He’s also nice to look at, which is always a bonus.
Once I get him relaxed, I try to swing the conversation back to the charge, but even then, he doesn’t give me anything to work with. After a few hours, my second coffee cup is empty. “I should go,” I tell him. “I’ve got an early start in the morning.”
Drafting up his new charges.
I feel my mood drop down like a rock in water.
“Yeah,” he says.
I note the flicker of disappointment in his eyes, and I wish it didn’t, but it lifts my spirits a little.
Okay, a lot. And, yes, I know how screwed up this is. I’m about to charge this guy with possession of a Schedule II drug with intent to supply, and some people could say that I’ve just been on a date with him.
Not a date!
Shit.
We both stand and leave the coffee shop.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says when we’re out on the sidewalk.
“I took a cab here,” I tell him.
“Then I’ll drive you home,” he says.
And I don’t argue.