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I help him out. “It’s tough stuff.”

“I’ve never met Derek Alexander.” His tone is serious. “I don’t usually take cases where I haven’t met the client. Her photograph changed my mind.”

“We’ve got a pretty sound case for defense of others.”

“If we can get around the premeditation and entrapment allegations.”

“Entrapment would be stronger if it’d happened on the first night. In terms of when it happened, Sloan propositioned her. He was offering her a job, giving her a trial run.”

Marcus exhales a laugh in my ear. “You’d make a good lawyer.”

“I just know my friend.” My stomach is tight, determination burning in my chest. “He doesn’t belong in prison. If he made the executive decision to take this guy out, it was the right call.”

“Only he wasn’t at war. He was at home, a civilian, committing a crime against another civilian.”

“Defense of others.”

“If that fails, we can go with objective reasonableness.” I hear pages flip in the background. “Derek was licensed to use deadly force. He didn’t work as a cop, but he was trained as one. He was also a decorated commanding officer, responsible for leading troops. His judgment should be without question.”

“It’s not the most popular defe

nse right now.”

“Still, it should gain more sympathy than an abusive suspected murderer who was in the process of trying to kill an escort while Derek was in the next room.”

Adrenaline surges in my veins. “I feel like we’ve got a strong argument.”

“I was going to suggest bringing Patrick in to testify, but at the moment, they have Derek acting alone.”

“He’ll do whatever it takes to help get Derek out.”

“I’m thinking of my little sister. If this doesn’t go well, I’d rather not be the asshole who put her husband behind bars.”

My fist clenches, and I look at the clock. It’s after ten. “They did the right thing. I’m holding onto that fact.”

“I’ll meet you in jail.”

Hanging up, I pace the room again. Bennett had better keep his ass far away from here. If I ever cross paths with that traitorous sonofabitch, I’ll kill him.

* * *

A suit isn’t my dress code of choice, but today’s business calls for a professional image. Tough, no bullshit. I skip the tie in favor of a black dress shirt unbuttoned at the top. Sliding the cuffs forward, I fasten the top button on my grey herringbone two-piece. I’m shaved, and my hair is brushed neat. I look like I’m in fucking Oceans 11.

It’s a far cry from jeans and Carhartt jackets, breaking horses on my uncle’s ranch in Montana, sleeping by a campfire under an endless sky, holding Mariska’s body next to mine as the winter wind rages outside that small cabin on the plain. Damn, I miss that.

I give the king suite where I spent the night one final sweep. Marcus is bringing all the paperwork. I have the photographs I’ll leave at the desk for Derek. It appears I have everything I need. Door card in my pocket, I head out to face this day.

When I agreed to return to Alexander-Knight, I never expected my first case to be fighting a murder rap against my best friend. I came back unsure what direction I wanted to take. Derek said I could have some time to find what interested me. One week back, and I’m fighting to keep him out of prison, going head to head against a life-sentence for murder facing experienced prosecutors. I haven’t been in a pre-trial conference in ten years. Turning my Silverado into the parking lot of the state correctional facility, I consider if this keeps up, I’ll have to trade my truck in for a sedan. Not happening.

Marcus is at the jail when I arrive, and he’s dressed in dark-grey sharkskin holding a black leather messenger-style satchel.

“Interesting,” I say, nodding at his suit.

“It’s my favorite for defending murderers,” he says with a smile. “Classic Rat pack.”

“Where the hell did you find sharkskin?”

“Brooks Brothers.” He nods at me. “Armani?”