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Chapter 1
Jonah
I shake my head at the kid sitting across from me in the Mercury Ridge Detention Center’s interview room. Nineteen-year-old Jake Potter looks pitiful in an orange jumpsuit that’s two sizes too big. Arrested just twelve hours ago on felony drug charges, he’s already started to exhibit symptoms of withdrawal. He’s as white as a sheet and twitchy as hell.
I’ve been a police officer long enough to know exactly where he’s going to end up: in a prison cell or the morgue. Unless he enters the drug court program. He’s young enough to change the course of his life, and I’ll help him do it if he lets me.
“I know you’re hurting, Jake,” I say in a sympathetic voice. “Jail is no place to detox.”
He crosses his arms. “I’m not on nothin’,” he lies.
“You’re not really a dealer,” I continue, ignoring him. “Nah. You’re just a user in over your head. If you’re ready to get clean, I can work with the prosecutor to get you into drug court.”
He picks a small speck of lint off his jumpsuit. “How quickly can you get me out of here?”
I say a silent prayer of thanks that he’s open to having a conversation. That’s an excellent first step. A lot of defendants don’t even get that far.
“The first thing we’ll do is find you a bed at an inpatient rehab facility. A nice, safe place to detox. When you’re released from treatment, you’ll start reporting to the drug court team. You’ll have to submit to random drug tests, and you’ll be expected to go to school or maintain employment. The drug court team can help with all that.”
“What happens if I fail a drug test?” he mumbles.
“We have a support team in place to help you stay on the right path, but if you test dirty, you may get a sanction—for example, a weekend to serve in jail—or you could eventually get tossed from the program if you continue to violate the rules.”
He listens as I explain the requirements. When I tell him that his felony charges will be dismissed if he completes drug court, he sits up straighter. Good… maybe my words are getting through to him. He at least seems to acknowledge that having a felony record will make his life harder.
He runs his fingers through his sparse beard. “I want the charges to go away, but I’m not going to rehab.”
“Jake—”
He shakes his head. “No, listen. I know stuff. I could be useful to you as an informant.”
Barely an adult, hooked on methamphetamine, and now he’s volunteering to be a snitch?
I sigh. “You’re bound and determined to make piss-poor life choices, aren’t you?”
Angry red splotches form on his cheeks. “You don’t know me.”
“True, enough,” I say, pushing my chair away from the table and standing. “I’ll send another officer to talk to you about being a C.I.”
I’d bet my left nut that this kid doesn’t know anything important enough to tempt the prosecutor into cutting a deal, but that’s not my problem. I just came to assess his potential for the drug court program, and unfortunately, I can’t help defendants who don’t want to be helped.
As I leave the interview room, I spot a petite brunette storming down the hall in my direction. Despite the fire in her hazel eyes and her obvious animosity for me, my face stretches into a smile. Cressida Bridwell is the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Before I met her a month ago, I had no idea that pencil skirts and pantsuits could do it for me. But when the young lawyer crosses a courtroom with her wide hips swaying and her breasts straining against the buttons of her blouse, it’s like I’ve stepped into a real life porno.
Apparently, she has the same effect on me in jail, too. Even surrounded by cinder blocks, steel, and the harsh glow of fluorescent lighting, she’s a knockout. She stalks toward me, slamming her hands to her hips. Fresh from law school, she’s full of passion for the law—and a whole lot of naïveté. It’s like catnip to me. There’s so much I could teach this gorgeous woman… in court… in life… in bed…
“Howdy, Counselor,” I say, tipping an imaginary hat.
She scowls at me. “Were you just talking to Mr. Potter without a lawyer present.”
“Yep.”
Her mouth falls open with indignation. “You can’t do that!”
I grin at her. “Is that so?”
“Stop smiling at me,” she says through gritted teeth. “He has the right to an attorney, and he’s been granted a public defender. I’ve been assigned to his case.”
“He waived his right to an attorney.”
