“Who was he?” she asked with a knowing smile.
My good mood faded. “What’re you talking about? I went for pizza. Must be the tomato sauce.”
Her brows shot up. “Honey, I work at Sephora. I know my men’s cologne. You never wear any, yet now you are.” She sniffed. “I’m thinking Tom Ford. He must be loaded.”
“Damn. Am I really getting the third degree ’cause I stood on line next to someone who wears that shit?”
Ambrose gave me a glass filled to the top, and I downed half of it and almost coughed up a lung. Ambrose cackled, and I glared at him. “Jesus. Warn a guy before you hand him a glass filled with almost straight tequila.”
“Busy today?” Ambrose sipped his drink.
“Yeah. Nonstop. I’m gonna sleep well tonight. This girl wanted a peacock with every fucking color on her back. Took hours.”
“You need this drink, then.”
I raised my glass in thanks. “What about you?”
“Visited Lucas. Have you talked to your brother about looking at his case again?”
No, and I wasn’t about to, but I couldn’t tell Ambrose that. “Not yet.”
Ambrose grew agitated. “You talk to him all the time. I thought you’d say something.”
“Babe, if Keston said he’d ask, he will,” Carly attempted to intervene. “You’ve got to give him some time.”
“All I want is for someone to pay attention. The Innocence Project rejected him. Probably not high profile enough for them,” Ambrose chafed and finished the rest of his drink. “I hate seeing him like that, locked up on bogus charges. It’s so damn unfair. His lawyer was fucking incompetent. You know how it goes, Keston. We’re not rich or connected, so we get the shaft.”
Over his bowed head, I met Carly’s eyes, and she shook her head. We both knew the score. Lucas could commit murder and be caught holding the smoking gun, and Ambrose would still say he was innocent and the cops had framed him.
I had another drink and managed a taco. “Thanks for dinner. I’m gonna peace out. See you on Monday.” After my farewells, I headed toward the train station and figured I’d send Bailey a text.
Everything okay?
Yeah, sure.
Feel like picking up where we left off?
It was late, and I was tired, plus a little buzzed, but I wouldn’t mind seeing him again.
Sorry. Can’t make it.
Fine. Whatever. Stupid of me to even try. There was always a new guy to take care of what I needed, and much as I had an itch I knew Bailey could scratch, it was better not to get too involved.
Chapter Eight
Bailey
“Okay, Lindee, tell me what happened.”
In her tiny apartment, I sat facing my scared half sister. Unfortunately, it was a scene played on repeat for years, but as big brother Bailey, I was determined to keep the promise I’d made to my father before he died.“Take care of your sister. You know your mother won’t.”
“I told you. I was out on a date, and afterward Jonas came by. First, he buzzed my apartment, but I didn’t let him in. Of course, some idiot in the building opened the door for him. You know he can be charming if he wants.”
Debatable. Jonas Thomas was many things—a bully, a fast talker, and a rude son of a bitch. Charming wasn’t on my list of adjectives to describe my sister’s ex.
“Go on,” I prodded.
She played with the ends of her hair. “Uh, well, he banged on the door, insisting I let him come inside and work on our problems. You should be proud of me. I didn’t. I listened to you.”
