Themetaltablebetweenus gleamed under the fluorescent lights, so polished I could see my reflection in it if I cared to look. I didn’t. I kept my gaze fixed on the man across from me—my client.
Amos Anderson was known to the media—to this town—as the Shadow Stalker. Someone who still haunted this place even from behind bars.
To me, he was nothing more than a job. A client I had to serve. I couldn’t allow him to be anything more, or less, than that.
He sat motionless, cuffed at the wrists. A chain was secured around his waist and bolted to the table. Even so, there was something loose about him, like he was comfortable here. Like he could belong anywhere because the world was his.
This was only the second time I had seen him in person after the hearing last week. In the courtroom, he had looked expressively blank. His body language had been neutral, if not slightly passive.
Today was different entirely, and I tried not to let that bother me.
I’d done this before. More times than I could count. I’d dealt with violent offenders, accused killers, and men who swore they were misunderstood. You learned to separate the person from the case. To stay objective. To remember that everyone was innocent until proved guilty.
That was the code I lived by.
Mr. Anderson hadn’t spoken since the guards locked him down and left. The silence stretched thin between us. Finally, I threw my shoulders back and broke it.
“What can I help you with today?”
He smiled—a little too wide, his teeth shockingly white. “I was so impressed with you in that courtroom the other day,” he said, his voice soft but authoritative. As if he were used to people listening to him when he spoke. “You were…captivating.”
I forced myself not to react, uncertain how to take that. Compliments from accused serial killers weren’t exactly comforting.
But in this room, when I was acting as his lawyer, he was nothing but my client. I had to remember that.
“Well,” I said evenly, flipping open the folder set before me, “I’ve been working extremely hard on your case. The firm is giving this their all.”
His smile didn’t budge. “I expect nothing less.”
He leaned forward, eyes raking over me in a way that made a thread of unease shoot up my spine. I ignored it. This was part of the job. I needed him to trust me, to believe that I believed him.
I poised my pen over my legal pad, pretending not to notice how the chain around his wrists rattled when he shifted. “So,” I continued, “what would you like to accomplish with our weekly meetings? What can I do for you?”
His face brightened. “Oh, I’m sure there’s so much you can do for me.” He leaned back again, the metal links scraping against the table. “But mainly, I want you to keep me updated on the case and what you’re working on. That’ll be enough, I think—for now.”
That I could do.
I began going through my notes, outlining strategies the firm was considering, motions the team was drafting, and ways to frame discovery. He listened—or at least, he seemed to. His focus was unnerving in itself, steady and sharp.
As the minutes passed, I began to relax. I lost myself in the technicalities of law, of everything I spent my days working on.
When I allowed a pause to go on a little too long, he finally spoke again.
“How are you liking Ember Hollow?”
I froze, pen hovering above the notepad. “I’m sorry?” I glanced up.
He smiled again, casual, as if we were old friends chatting over coffee. “The town. Do you like it?”
It wasn’t the question I’d expected. Had he been listening at all to anything I’d been speaking about for the last fifteen minutes?
My jaw tightened. “It’s…fine. I’ve been busy.”
Busy was an understatement. It had been a week since I’d arrived, and I was still living out of my overnight bag, waiting for my things to be delivered. I’d almost driven back to Cincinnati more than once, but Preston kept assuring me they were on their way.
I was thankful to Raleigh for letting me use the laundry multiple times and even loaning me some clothes. It had been absolutely mortifying when I woke up one morning to find her standing outside my door, holding a neatly folded pile and offering them to me. She’d framed it as if she were getting rid of some old things, but I didn’t really believe that. She’d probably noticed that I wore the same court-appropriate clothes every single day.
I both hated and appreciated the little bed-and-breakfast. It wasn’t the kind of place where I felt like I belonged, but it was quiet at night and comfortable enough. Most days, I spent my time working at an isolated table in the library, hidden deep between the stacks of the study where no one would bother me. I’d only come across Graham a few more times since that first day, and each time, I’d made sure to keep myself occupied with work. I kept moving until I was too tired to think, or do anything but fall straight into bed.
