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general.”
    With Matt’s words weighing heavily on me, I typed out the sincerest apology letter I could, which Matt then e-mailed directly to the judge. It was rejected three times, so I suppose my sincerity needed to be
slightly
more earnest. The fourth time was the charm. Or the judge just got tired of reading about how very, very, very, very, very, very,
very
sorry I was.
    Twenty minutes after the judge lifted the contempt-of-court charge against me, I was free and racing out the door to throw my arms around my BFF, Candice Fusco. “FREEDOM!” I shouted after hugging her and stepping back to raise my arms high.
    Candice laughed. “Goofball,” she said, nudging me with her shoulder.
    I looked around. “Where’s my hubby? And for that matter, where’s yours?”
    Candice snaked an arm around my shoulders. “The boys send their regrets. They were here earlier, but it took you so long to write an apology to Schilling that they got called back to work by Gaston. He wants them to get cracking on finding some other evidence to nail that son of a bitch Corzo.”
    â€œIs he back on the streets?” I asked.
    â€œLast night,” she said grimly.
    I hung my head. “I feel like it’s my fault he’s out.”
    â€œShocking.”
    I glanced up at her. “You think it’s my fault too?”
    She gave my shoulders a squeeze. “No, honey, but in any case we lose, you always assign the blame to yourself. You gotta stop doing that. It’s not healthy.”
    â€œI’ll work on that,” I said, shushing my inner lie detector.
    â€œYou probably want something to eat, huh?” she asked.
    â€œNope,” I told her. She raised her brow. “I want
many
somethings
to eat.”
    Candice chuckled again and tugged me toward the parking lot. After leaving county, we shot over to one of my favorite Mexican joints, Mi Madre’s, which serves THE best giant burrito ever put together, and you can order it at any time of day, which meant I’d be able to have at it even though it was only ten a.m. I’ve never been able to eat a whole burrito in one sitting, but that has never stopped me from trying.
    While we waited on our food, Candice and I nibbled on chips and salsa. I did my best to restrain myself from gobbling down the entire basket. “So tell me,” Candice said with a slight twitch of her lips. “Anyone in county make you their bitch?”
    I suppressed a grin. “No,” I said with an exaggerated sigh. “Do you think my looks are fading?”
    â€œYes,” Candice said without hesitation. I narrowed my eyes at her and she broke out into a hearty laugh. “You’re too easy, Sundance.”
    Sundance is my nickname. Well, one of my nicknames. Candice calls me Sundance, Dutch calls me Edgar, and I’m Abs to my sister. The guys at the bureau call me Cooper, but the director almost always calls me Abigail. To our handyman I’m the Abster, but when I look in the mirror, all I see is me. Abby—a girl with long brown locks, a nice enough nose, high cheekbones (thank you Gram!), and mildly moody sea blue eyes.
    Our lunch arrived and I tucked in with relish (but not before requesting more chips). “So how was it, really?” Candice asked.
    â€œWhat?” I said after savoring the mouthful of my giant burrito (spicy beef, French fries, avocado, lettuce, tomato, and creamy chipotle sauce all wrapped in a light flour tortilla). “You mean, jail?”
    Candice nodded, having just taken a bite of her modest egg, cheese, and potato taco.
    I shrugged. “It was fine. I mean, I knew I wasn’t staying long, so it didn’t freak me out much. But I did meet someone who left quite an impression on me.”
    â€œWas she pretty?” Candice asked, with a bat of her eyelashes.
    â€œWill you quit it?”
    Candice chuckled. “Sorry. I’ll stop. Who was it you