Forthenextweek,Graham and I often worked together. I tolerated him because he didn’t talk much—and honestly, it wasn’t the worst thing having another human in my vicinity. Someone who wasn’t constantly shooting me death glares like the other locals.
Graham was always reading, and the books were constantly changing. I didn’t know whether I’d ever seen someone readso much nonfiction on so many different topics—psychology, criminal behavior, the human condition, even philosophy. I wondered whether he ever read for fun, or whether he liked any fiction at all.
When he wasn’t reading, he was on his computer or grading papers. He taught a class at the local college, I’d learned. He was a steady, calm presence when my mind was whirring and obsessing over the case. Though I’d never admit that I didn’t loathe him being there.
With the passing weeks, I was also meeting regularly with my client at the jail.
“What do you like to do? In your free time?”
I glanced up from my computer, meeting Graham’s intense gaze. The blue of his eyes seemed brighter today, but he was more anxious than usual. Perhaps he was somehow sensing my own unsteady energy. I’d been to the jail that morning. Nothing significant had happened—the visit had been routine—but I hadn’t been able to shake the strange heaviness that had followed me back.
Things had been much the same since the first meeting with my client, but the little comments he made that bordered on inappropriate were getting harder to ignore. The way his face lit up when he saw me made my stomach twist into a nauseating knot, no matter how much I rationalized it. I was safe in that jail. No one could hurt me there.
“Quinn?”
Graham said my name, and I gave my head a quick shake to clear it.
He’d asked me a question. He sometimes did that, asked random questions here and there. Sometimes I answered. Sometimes I didn’t.
I cocked my head to the side. “Free time?” I said it like I’d never heard of the concept.
He frowned. “I don’t believe there’s nothing else you’re interested in besides work.”
I grabbed a pen and rolled it between my fingers, watching the metal clip glint in the low lighting.
“I…” I hesitated. “I like to read.”
“Romance novels?”
When I looked back at him, his eyebrows were raised, but not in a mocking way.
He didn’t seem judgmental, just curious.
I nodded, my eyes narrowing. I supposed on that first day in the library, he’d found me bleeding in the romance section. I hadn’t realized he’d been paying that close of attention.
“Anything else?” he pressed.
My throat tightened. I wasn’t going to offer anything else, but as I cast my gaze back down, I mumbled, “I like football.”
There was a long pause. “Football?” he echoed, sounding surprised. “Do you like any particular team?”
I ran a finger over the face of my watch, already regretting telling him. “The Ohio Central Cardinals,” I said quickly.
When I chanced a look at him, he seemed pleasantly surprised. He didn’t ask anything else, though, and some of the tension eased as I focused back on my work.
We continued silently for about another hour before I decided I was tired enough to quit for the night. My stomach had been rumbling for the last thirty minutes.
Graham glanced up from grading papers as I packed up.
“Leaving already?”
I checked my watch. “The library closes soon, and I’m starving.”
Graham nodded. “I’ll be done in about five minutes. If you want to wait, I can walk out with you.”
Slinging my bag across my body, I thought about that. I didn’t mind the idea of waiting for him—but I didn’t want him knowingthat. I was an adult. I’d walked myself out countless times before.
“No, thank you,” I said tightly as I headed around the stacks, not waiting for his reaction as I left him sitting there.
