HAZEL

Ridge pushed his chair back from the small table he where he sat at the bakery. Our position was diagonal to how it had been the last time he interviewed me, but I couldn’t ignore the familiar feeling. How many times would I have Ridge Jefferson interrogating me?

He and his men were here so long my nerves no longer shook as he asked me questions. Corbin clutched my fingers tightly against his, giving me one last reassuring squeeze. He never left my side, not ...