Page 109 of Dirty Judge

(I have no idea what you’re talking about. You think I would place THAT shit in a text message?)

I’m talking about you to a reporter this weekend.

I’m aware.

How?

I have my ways…

Anything in particular you want me to say on your behalf?

No comment.

I’m being serious.

As am I.

I hope you manage to do some REAL research between now and then, though…

I have.

I’ve researched Grant Jenkins’ case inside and out. Trust me.

I believe you.

Have you looked into his father?

EYEWITNESS (N.):

A PERSON WHO HAS ACTUALLY SEEN AN EVENT AND CAN SO TESTIFY IN COURT.

OLIVIA

That weekend

There were five bouquets of roses sitting in the passenger seat of my car, and ten sitting tall in the back.

All of them featured tags that said one of the same three things.

“I’m not sure what to say to get you to come back to me.”

“I’m sorry for how I spoke to you the last time you were at my place.”

“I’m tempted to send out a bench warrant to make you come see me.”

I honestly didn’t know what to say to any of those messages, but I felt the same way he did. I just knew that in romance books, he was supposed to come to me.

Not vice versa.

Right?

I leaned over and opened my glovebox, rummaging through old bills and tickets until I found two old mass market paperbacks.

I flipped to the ending pages, skimming.

Yep. It’s on HIM.

I tucked them back into their place and smoothed my hair. Then I took one last look in my visor’s mirror before stepping out and heading into a hole-in-the-wall café.