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a drug mule. When I was caught with contraband, he’d been the attorney assigned to my case. After a fifteen-minute conversation, he’d personally vouched for me, promising the judge he’d keep me out of trouble. When the judge agreed, Mitch sat me down and told me in no uncertain terms exactly what I would have to do. Terrified as I was of going to juvie hell, I agreed to his plan.
    He worked with social services to find a foster care family that actually gave a damn about the kids they took in, and then he followed up with me twice a week, checking to make sure I went to school and did my homework. He hauled me into a Boys & Girls Club where he not only helped me with my homework but also taught me what it would take to make it in life. After I met him, I did my best to stay out of trouble, but trouble found me one day. When I refused to join their gang, some crackheads almost beat me to death. If it hadn’t been for Bernie, I would have met the grim reaper that day. So, yeah, I owe both of them—Bernie and Mitch. And I always pay my debts.

CHAPTER 6
    Madrigal
    A management committee meeting keeps Gramps at the office, so I head home by myself. I want to figure out what to wear the next day to prison. The absurdity of such a thing is not lost on me. But, of course, it’s not just concern about what to wear to prison but what to wear around him. Trenton Steele.
    As I’m digging through my closet, someone knocks on my door.
    “Come in,” I yell.
    Olivia strolls in, looking worried about something, but then she always is. Between managing the house, keeping up with Maddy and me, and dealing with Gramps’s occasional flare-ups, both emotional and physical, she’s got her hands full. “Your grandfather didn’t come home with you?”
    “No.” I explain what kept him in the office.
    “Should we delay dinner?”
    “No. God only knows when the meeting will end. If it goes long enough, they’ll have food brought in.” Not the first time that’s happened.
    I grab a navy-blue pantsuit and hold it in front of me while glancing into the vintage full-length mirror I inherited from my mother.
    “Figuring out what to wear tomorrow?” she asks, wringing her hands.
    “Yes. I’m flying to North Carolina. With Trenton Steele.”
    “Why?”
    “He has to interview a death row inmate, and Gramps wants me to go along.”
    “It’s just the two of you?”
    “Yes.” I stop looking in the mirror to glance at her. Her brows are scrunched together. Clearly, she doesn’t approve.
    She’s such a worrywart. When I was a teenager, she worried about my interaction with boys. I chalked it up to her mama-hen side coming out. Now that I’m twenty-four, though, her attitude rankles. Still, I know she’s coming from a good place. “Don’t worry, Olivia. It’s only a one-day thing. We’ll go down in the morning and fly back in the afternoon.”
    “I don’t understand why your grandfather wants you along on this trip.”
    “He thinks a visit to an inmate in prison will somehow sway me to the criminal defense side.”
    “But it’s so dangerous.”
    I toss the outfit I’m previewing on the bed and hug her. “Don’t worry so much. The prisoners are behind bars. And there are lots of guards.”
    “Sometimes those prisoners manage to break out. And it’s not just them I’m worried about.”
    “You’re worried about Trenton Steele?”
    “I’ve . . . heard stories about him.”
    “Such as.”
    “He loves women.”
    I grin. “As most men do.”
    “He has quite a reputation.”
    “And how do you know this? He’s never attended any of Gramps’s picnics.”
    “People . . . talk at those picnics and the holiday dinners.”
    “Who talks?”
    She looks down at her hands. “I’d rather not say. It would be tattling.”
    “And it’s not tattling to talk about Mr. Steele behind his back?” I don’t know why I’m defending him when he was such a troll at the office.
    “That’s different. I’m trying to look