Page 107 of Wicked Games

“It was a long time ago,” I echo. “But you know Caleb—and you keep calling him Mr. Asher. That’s a lot of respect for someone you’ve known since he was ten.”

He shakes his head. “Listen, Margo. These things happened in the past. It’s best to just leave them buried.”

“I refuse to accept that.” There has to be more here.

He stands. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can give any suitable answers. Attorney-client privilege is a tricky thing to navigate.”

“One last question.” It’s weird to be open about the desperation clawing at me. I need answers—I’ll do anything to get answers. And Tobias Hutchins is my last hope.

He waves for me to continue.

“You were a public defender. And soon after that case, you left that office to come here.” I point to the framed newspaper clipping on the wall. “And you were made a partner in just two years? That’s a little fast, isn’t it?”

His face slowly turns red. “It’s time for you to leave.”

Riley takes my hand and squeezes. “We’re going. Thanks for speaking with us.”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes follow us to the door, which Riley yanks open. We get the hell out of dodge and don’t speak until we’re on the street.

“That didn’t answer anything.” I groan. “He didn’t give up any information about how he knew Caleb, or why he was afraid, or what happened with Dad’s case.”

“Except maybe…” Riley bites her lip. “I think itdoesprove something. It proves that he’s involved. And not in a good way. Did you see the way he started fidgeting when you brought up Caleb? And he seemed surprised about your dad’s charges.”

She still hasn’t been able to find anything about his trial.

Everything feels hopeless.

“Margo…”

I meet her eyes.

“I think you need to talk to your dad.”

Chapter 27

Caleb

“Tell me again,” I say evenly.

The receptionist and I stand in an abandoned floor of a high-rise. It’s Sunday, mid-morning. I got the call from her two hours ago, because the only thing left on her desk was my phone number scrawled on a ripped piece of paper.

Only twenty-four hours ago, this floor was occupied by Tobias Hutchins’ law firm.

And now it’s empty.

“I arrived for work like I always do. I work Sundays to catch up on paperwork and get some extra hours. Mr. Hutchins never minded.” She swallows. “I scanned my fob to get up the elevators since the building isn’t open on Sundays. That’s normal. But everything was dark. The door”—she’s talking about the glass doors right off the elevator—“wouldn’t open. I had to call maintenance, who let me in. I propped open the door just in case.”

“And everything was cleared out?”

“Just like this. No one’s been here. I saw the number on my desk and called you.”

“Did you leave early yesterday?”

She nods. “He let everyone go after he had a drop-in visit after lunch.”

Interesting.

“Who was the visitor?”

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