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because he was an unpleasant person didn’t mean he was guilty. If personality alone determined the fate of anyone charged with a crime, the jails in Florida would be maxed out during snowbird season.
    After the guard escorted Larry back to his cell, I left the conference room but paused in the hallway. Directly across was conference room number one. Though it had been empty when I arrived, the guard had shown me inside the smaller second room.
    I hadn’t been inside number one since Borys had been murdered. Whenever I met a client here, I was always escorted to any room but one.
    Mom always said you get more with sugar than vinegar, and I applied that bit of philosophy to the staff at the detention center. Whenever here, I always paused to chat with the officers, whether it was about the latest Miami Heat win or their kids’ good report cards. Were the guards sheltering me from any bad memories of that night?
    The door was ajar, offering a silent invitation. The on-duty guards were probably watching my every move via the video cameras. Yet on the night I’d been shot, the camera in this hall had been disconnected. No matter. If they came scrambling, I could claim that I wasn’t feeling well.
    I crossed and pushed the door open. Taking a deep breath, I stepped inside.
    If I expected a repeat of yesterday’s unnerving experience in my home, I was disappointed. No blurring, no pain, no visions of the past. Nothing. Just a large conference room showing signs of wear and tear, with scuffed walls and a utilitarian table and chairs.
    I wandered over to a chair and placed my hand on its back. I would have sat there that night. People are creatures of habit and I was no exception. The chief public defender had instructed every new attorney to take the seat closest to the door in the event a client ever caused trouble, and I had followed the advice from day one. When you’re only five-three and on the slight side, you learn to use your brains as your primary defense mechanism.
    Plus I throw a mean left hook, courtesy of growing up with an older brother.
    I sat down. Although my back was to the door, I would have had easy access to it. Borys had been a nervous, non-threatening man, so over the course of meetings, he would have sat to my…left.
    I turned and studied the end of the table farthest from the door. I summoned up the image that had been haunting me since my latest hospital stay. Dressed in the jumpsuit color of the day—orange. Borys had worn orange—his skin, already pale, had been ashen. I could feel the waves of fear rolling off of him, filling the room.
    “The prosecutor is offering you a great chance, Borys. He’ll drop the charges if you give him information about the gang behind the money laundering operation.”
    I remembered that I had leaned forward toward my client. I did so now, letting the past unfold in the room.
    Although sweat beaded on his brow, Borys wore a set but hopeless expression on his face. “I’ll take my chances in jail. I’m probably already a dead man but as long as I keep my mouth shut, they may let me live.”
    “The state attorney, Jared Manning, is willing to put you into a witness protection program.” As required I had disclosed my relationship with Jared.
    Borys snorted. “Right. You have no idea how many paid eyes and ears within the police department and elsewhere belong to the Hedeon. They would know if I agree, just like they know that you’re sitting in here with me.”
    “For God’s sake, Borys, you make it sound like this Russian gang is all powerful.”
    I straightened. I needed to pace off my frustration. The jail population would devour someone like him alive. I needed to make him change his mind about the deal Jared was offering.
    Jared. Damn, I had it bad if even thinking about his name in a business context made my pulse race. I scraped back the chair. “Borys, please listen.”
    Borys wasn’t looking at me. White-faced, he stared at the door and held up a