Page 106 of Wicked Games

“Yes. Under Amy Lawson.”

I snort and quickly cover it with a cough.Lawson? Really?

The receptionist eyes me with disdain.

“Margo?”

I spin toward the voice.

The lawyer.

Tobias.

Oh, shit. He’s the right one. And he recognizes me.Again.

“Mr. Hutchins?—”

“It’s okay, Sandy. I’ve been expecting Ms. Wolfe.” He looks… defeated. Maybe he was hoping I wasn’t me. Wouldn’t be the first time someone wished that. “Follow me, girls. It’s best if we talk in private.”

The receptionist makes a vague noise in the back of her throat.

Riley and I trail him down the hall. There are private offices and conference rooms, and then the hall opens into a bullpen. Some are empty, but the greater majority are occupied. On a weekend.

That’s dedication.

He stops in front of an open door and waves us in. He has a view of the city. Not a corner office, but nothing to sneeze at. Ifigured he would be one of the ones in the center, fighting with his colleagues for elbow room. His name is on the glass door in gold lettering, the wordpartnerjust under it.

“The couch?” he directs, closing the door behind us. He busies himself with drawing a shade down over the door, giving us another layer of privacy—or secrecy.

There’s a framed newspaper article on the wall from five years ago about Tobias’s promotion to partner. It’s surrounded by other accolades and family pictures. A bookshelf on one wall holds law books and plants. In the corner by the floor-to-ceiling window—one of them anyway—there’s a cozy setup of two couches and two armchairs, a glass coffee table between them.

We take a seat on one of the couches, and Tobias relaxes into the armchair next to me. He crosses his legs. He seems the picture of ease, and it irks me.

“You know who I am,” I say.

“You resemble your dad a bit.” He nods. “And I figured you would track me down after I ran into you and Mr. Asher.”

“How do you know Caleb?”

Now he fidgets. “Through the trial, of course. He was present, even if you weren’t.”

I sit up straighter. “I was kept away. But… He was at my dad’s trial? Why?”

Tobias pauses. “Why wouldn’t he? It involved his family?—”

“Because my dad was dealing drugs while living there?”

He stares at me, his expression contemplative. “Right. What did they tell you?”

“He went away on drug charges. My social worker wouldn’t let me go to the trial. I didn’t get to see him again after he was arrested.”

“I’m afraid that was your father’s doing.” Tobias’s expression morphs into practiced sympathy. “He was adamant that you not see him like that.”

I exchange a look with Riley. Would he have done that? Our last interaction was horrific. Wouldn’t he have wanted to reassure his terrified daughter that everything was going to be okay?

“Can you walk us through the case?” Riley asks.

“It was a long time ago.” Hesoundsapologetic, but he doesn’t seem it. The sympathy is glued on his face like a mask. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

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