Page 97 of Held-

Detective Simmons's face tightens, his mouth forming a thin line as he glares at my lawyer. “And you are?”

“Joseph Mendez, Ms. Montgomery's attorney.” He doesn't offer his hand, just stands there radiating expensive confidence. “I'll need a moment alone with my client.”

“We were in the middle of?—”

“You were in the middle of questioning my client after she repeatedly invoked her right to counsel,” Joe cuts him off smoothly. “Which means anything she might have said would be inadmissible anyway. So let's not waste any more time.”

I keep my expression neutral, but inside I’m practically singing. Joe Mendez carries the exact energy of a man who turnssmall-town detectives into cautionary tales before his first cup of coffee.

Simmons rises slowly, gathering his notes. “Ten minutes,” he says, as though granting us a royal favor.

“We’ll take as long as necessary,” Joe replies, setting his briefcase on the table and snapping it open with surgical precision. “And those cuffs come off. Now.”

“She's being held on assault charges?—”

“Alleged assault charges,” Joe interrupts, his tone making it clear how ridiculous he finds this. “Unless you believe my 135-pound client is going to overpower both of us and escape through the ventilation system, there's no security justification for restraints.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling as Simmons weighs his options. After a moment of silent standoff, he frees my wrists before trudging out the door. I rub my wrists where the handcuffs have left angry red marks on top of Ethan's bruises. The relief of having competent representation washes over me as Joe pulls out a chair and sits across from me.

“Ms. Montgomery,” he says, his voice lower and warmer than the professional tone he used with Simmons. “I'm Joseph Mendez. Brayden asked me to represent you.”

“Thank you.” I clear my throat. “How bad is it?”

Joe arranges several documents on the table, his movements deliberate and calm. “Let's start with the facts. Ethan Kincaid has filed a complaint claiming you assaulted him in the men's restroom at Tony's Pizzeria yesterday afternoon. According to his statement, you've been harassing him for weeks and became violent when he rejected your advances.”

“That's complete bullshit,” I say, anger finally breaking through my careful composure.

“I believe you, Ms. Montgomery,” Joe says simply, and the quiet confidence in those two words nearly makes me cry with relief.

“So what happens now?”

“Now we fight back,” Joe says, pulling out a legal pad. “I need you to tell me exactly what happened, every detail.” I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. Explaining what happened means reliving it, but Joe's calm presence makes it easier somehow.

“Ethan and his girlfriend were at Tony's when Brayden and I walked in. We tried to ignore them, but Ethan came over to our table and started making comments.” I trace a water stain on the table with my finger. “When I went to the bathroom—the women's bathroom—Ethan followed me in. He grabbed me by the wrists and started saying...things.”

“What kind of things?” Joe asks, his pen poised above his legal pad.

“That I was frigid. That's why he cheated. That I'm only with Brayden to get back at him.” The words taste bitter in my mouth. “When I tried to leave, he got more aggressive. That's when Brayden found us.”

Joe nods, writing quickly. “And the bruises on your wrists?”

I hold them up, the marks still vivid against my skin. “Ethan did this when he grabbed me. He was squeezing harder and harder while he talked.”

“And at no point did you enter the men's room?”

“God, no. He followed me into the women's bathroom.” I shake my head, disgust rising in my throat. “He's flipped everything around and made himself the victim.”

“Classic DARVO,” Joe mutters, writing something down. “Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender.” He looks up at me. “It's a common manipulation tactic used by abusers. They twistthe narrative to make themselves appear to be the victim while casting the actual victim as the perpetrator.”

“That's Ethan in a nutshell,” I say, feeling a bitter laugh bubble up in my throat. “He's had years of practice.”

“Mayor Kincaid's influence complicates things,” Joe continues, his pen moving across the page. “But power doesn't make them untouchable. It just means we need to be smarter.”

A knock at the door interrupts us, and Detective Simmons pokes his head in. “Time's up.”

Joe doesn't even glance up from his notes. “We'll need another twenty minutes, Detective.”

“Sheriff wants to process her,” Simmons says, his tone suggesting this isn't negotiable.