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me. “You did? And what exactly did you find?”
    “I read about how you’re the defense attorney from hell, how nobody wants to go up against you—and you’ve kept a lot of vile people on the streets instead of behind bars where they belong.”
    “So what?” he asked.
    “So,” I continued, my temper rising, “I think you’re slime, and I don’t know why my brother would associate with you, anyway.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Okay.”
    “Now that we’re straight,” I said coldly, “I’m still unclear as to what you want from me. Care to share?”
    He laughed. “I’m here to make sure nothing bad happens to you, Anabel. Your brother doesn’t like how possessive Jonathan’s gotten over you, and he wanted me to assess the situation. If necessary, we’ll pull you out of here. If you make me mad, I’ll recommend you stay.”
    I glared at him. “You would really do that out of spite?”
    “Those are the breaks, babe.” He stood up. “I have seen plenty of spoiled brat children much like you who expect the world to be handed to them. Just because you’re Sam Sallinger’s sister, don’t think that everyone is going to bow down and worship you.”
    Is that so? “I think we’re done here.”
    “Retract your claws, Princess,” he replied. “I see no reason why you and I can’t get along.”
    “Why is that?”
    “You’re not a bad looking girl. At least my trip won’t be a total waste.”
     
     

Chapter 4—Jared
    Anabel was interrupted by her brother’s scoffing. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, glaring at me. “If I had any idea that you would have been trying to flirt with my barely legal sister that early in the game, I would’ve yanked you out of there and you would have been careerless faster than—”
    Anabel cleared her throat. “Enough, Sam. What’s done is done.”
    I had actually gotten to the courthouse early that morning so I could wait and watch Anabel get here. I hadn’t seen her in almost five months, and I wondered how she was holding up, if she was spending her days pulling out her hair (a nasty habit she had), if she was getting on with Alexis (who I was sure hated her), and how someone like her, who had lived in such utter seclusion, was adjusting to life in these United States . . .
    If nothing else, it should be noted that I do care about her. I adore her, truth be told.
    I did something most regrettable to her, and I doubt that she will ever forgive me. Again, I don’t blame her, especially with how terrible I was to her on the first day of these hearings.
    She’s talking again, relaying our flirtation in the beach house. She calmed down, got me some ginger ale, and we chatted some more. And then I started to back off. I shouldn’t have lost my cool earlier, but there was something about her that aroused my temper. In her artless manner she began to open up to me and verify the things that Sam suspected. She was miserable and lonely. She had absolutely nothing to do during the day. Jonathan ignored her, and Anabel was suffering from his neglect. I noticed the desperation that filled her voice, which she tried to cover up with jokes. More and more, I vowed to get her out of this situation. She was endearing, and you couldn’t not care about her—I was trying really hard not to do so, but she was tearing away at my resolve.
    “Can I ask you something?”
    “You already did,” she replied. “But you can ask me another question if you so desire.” Her eyes brightened.
    “How are you and Sam related? Because I know Jonathan’s not his father, he’s much too young.”
    “Ahhhh,” she said, “you want to know that story—but wait.” She looked at me, eyes beginning to fill with distrust. “I thought you already knew about all that.”
    “I’ve heard bits and pieces,” I replied. “But I’ll level with you, Anabel. Sam has always been known to me as Kristin Sallinger’s son. It’s embarrassing to not know the particulars of your