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  “Where are my Doritos?” demanded the man who had talked to Brandon as he went in. He stepped away from the wall as he spoke.

  Brandon didn’t respond and kept walking.

  “What, did you forget ’em?” the man said, moving in front of Brandon.

  Brandon wanted to shoulder the man aside, but he kept his mouth shut and swerved to go around him. The man shoved Brandon toward the wall as he passed, then snatched the Goldfish as Brandon stumbled. “I’ll take these instead.”

  Anger flashed through Brandon. He grabbed for the Goldfish, but the man held them out of reach, a sardonic grin on his face. “You need to learn how things work in here, pretty boy.”

  A guard watched from farther down the corridor, but showed no sign of intervening. Maybe this was how things worked behind bars. The strong preyed on the weak, and the guards did nothing, at least as long as the inmates weren’t killing each other.

  The bald inmate stood with his feet apart and his arms loose, ready for a fight. Brandon could tell by the man’s stance that he wasn’t a trained fighter, but he was experienced. He was also strong and almost Brandon’s size, though not as fit. Three other inmates stood along the wall. They weren’t as formidable, but they were potential backup for Brandon’s opponent.

  After a second, the man relaxed and barked a laugh. “Thought so.” He turned away, apparently concluding that Brandon wouldn’t fight back.

  He was wrong.

  The condescending, mocking, cruel look on the man’s face was the last straw. Brandon’s rage burned through his restraint.

  As soon as the man’s back was turned, Brandon stepped forward and punched him hard in the left kidney, middle knuckle extended to drive deep into his enemy’s back.

  The man grunted in pain and reached behind him. Dropping his toiletries, Brandon grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it behind his back and up. His opponent stumbled and flailed with his free hand, dropping the Goldfish.

  Brandon hooked the man’s right foot with his heel and shoved, sending the man sprawling. Brandon scooped up the Goldfish and stepped back.

  The other inmates were just starting to react. One began moving toward Brandon, but the other two appeared uncertain what to do. Brandon tossed the Goldfish behind him and stepped toward his new opponent, hoping to put him down before the other two joined the fight.

  “That’s enough!” the guard shouted, now running toward them. “Break it up!”

  The other inmates backed away warily, helping the first man to his feet. Brandon retreated, picking up his Goldfish and other purchases on the way.

  “Back to your cells,” the guard ordered. “Now.”

  More guards appeared as if by magic and got between Brandon and the other inmates, pushing them farther away from each other.

  The man who had stolen Brandon’s Goldfish caught his eye and gave him a stare full of hate. Brandon refused to be intimidated. He held the man’s eye until a guard guided him around a corner.

  CHAPTER 15

  Nate braced himself and walked into Peggy Hanratty’s office. Peggy was the managing partner for B&B’s San Francisco office. She was also a member of the firm’s executive committee, which meant she had more clout than a typical office managing partner. And she and Nate had never gotten along particularly well. They had butted heads on a major case when they were both junior partners, and she had never really forgiven him for winning that argument. The two of them had to work together and had maintained a brittle cordiality for the past decade, but Nate feared that was about to end.

  Peggy gave him a thin smile as he walked in. “Hello, Nate. Please shut the door.”

  He did so and sat in one of her guest chairs. He rested his right ankle on his left knee, intentionally adopting a relaxed posture. “Hello, Peggy. What can I do for you today?”

  She held up a list of cases. “I see that you opened a new pro-bono case, People v. Ames. Did it come in through the pro-bono committee?” She asked the question in a way that made clear that she knew it hadn’t.

  “I brought it in myself.”

  “I see. I’m guessing it’s criminal, from the caption. What kind of case is it?”

  “The son of my best friend was accused of murder.”

  Her eyes widened. “A murder case? We’ve never handled one of those. What makes you think we can take this? We’d have to talk to our malpractice carrier, and who knows what they would say.”

  Her worry wasn’t entirely unfounded. Neither Nate nor anyone else in his thousand-lawyer firm knew how to defend a murder case. Bingham & Brobeck had a criminal-law practice, of course. All big firms did. But they specialized in crimes of the rich, particularly rich corporations. They could handle a complex international tax-evasion case featuring millions of documents in dozens of languages. Billion-dollar securities frauds were their bread and butter. But a simple stabbing in an alley was beyond their abilities.

  Not that he could concede any of that, of course. “A trial is a trial,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll work with our criminal-law group to make sure we don’t step on any land mines.”

  She shook her head. “No, you won’t. I’m sorry, but we can’t take this case. We have procedures for how we decide which pro-bono matters to take. They all go to the pro-bono committee, which evaluates them and votes on which ones we’ll accept. We have to control the process. If we just let lawyers freelance and take on whatever they want, we’ll get in serious trouble. You know that.”

  “I’m sorry, Peggy,” he said in a mollifying tone. “I’ll keep that in mind for future cases, but I already filed an appearance and agreed to represent him.”

  “Well, you’ll have to unagree.”

  He sighed. “Peggy, I can’t do that. I’ve known this kid since he was a baby. I’m like an uncle to him. And I was best friends with his dad from the time we were in college until he passed away three years ago. The family doesn’t have the money to hire a lawyer, and the public defender made some very questionable decisions at a court hearing I watched. I have to help, especially since I told his mother I would. I’ve already filed an appearance. Pulling out simply isn’t an option, not after I promised to represent him.”

  Her face flushed and hardened. “You may have promised to represent him, but Bingham & Brobeck didn’t. That’s your problem, not ours.” She paused for a moment, looking him in the eye silently. He returned her gaze, doing his best to keep his face neutral.

  She appeared to reach a decision. “You’re going to write a letter to Brandon Ames and his mother,” she announced. “And here’s what it’s going to say.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Jessica missed Nate’s calls because she had forgotten her phone in her car while she was home-staging. Staging was a fun side job. A few well-placed lamps and pictures, rearranged furniture, maybe fresh paint in a room or two—and voilà! A nondescript house became a dream home. Plus, it brought in a little extra money, which she needed these days.

  It also reminded her of better times, when Tim was alive and his construction businesses were humming along. Three or four times a year, he would have her stage a home in a new subdivision that he and his partners were building. Good memories.

  She finished the kitchen and dining room and decided to call it a day. She said goodbye to the woman who was helping her and walked out, feeling happy and a little tired. It was the first time she had felt happy since Brandon’s arrest almost two weeks ago.

  Her phone was waiting on the console of her Honda CR-V, tethered to its charger. It showed two missed calls from Nate and two text messages from him. The first message came two hours ago and said, Call me ASAP. Twenty minutes ago, he had sent a second message: We need to talk about the letter I just emailed. Don’t worry too much.

  Unnerved and curious, she checked her email. There was one from Nate titled “Representation of Brandon Ames.” Attached to it was a stilted and vaguely hostile letter informing her that Bingham & Brobeck wasn’t representing Brandon, despite what Nate had said.
There were signature lines for her and Brandon at the bottom of the last page.

  She reread it twice, her tension level going up each time. How could she possibly not “worry too much” about this?

  She dialed Nate’s cell phone.

  “Jess, thanks for calling,” he said.

  “I got your letter,” she said. “And I read it, but I’m not sure I understand it. Are you saying that you won’t represent Brandon after all?”

  “Just a second,” he said. She heard the sound of a door closing. “I said I would represent Brandon, and I will. But the firm won’t. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He sighed. “Our firm has rules and procedures for bringing in pro-bono cases,” he said, sounding a little tired. “I didn’t follow those. Also, the firm has never handled a murder case, which made them uncomfortable about representing Brandon. So, the bottom line is that the firm refused to take the case. I explained that I had already promised to take it, so the firm agreed that I could—but only on my own. I can’t use firm time or resources or put the firm name on anything I file. I’m not on the firm’s malpractice insurance. I can’t even work on the case while I’m in the office. I’m on my own—and they want you and Brandon to agree to that in writing. That’s why there are signature lines for both of you on that letter.”

  Jessica felt a twinge of remorse. “I put you in this position, didn’t I? I guilt-tripped you when we were walking around the lake.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Jess.”

  Which meant yes, of course. “I’m sorry, Nate. I don’t want you to get in trouble with your firm over this. At least let me help you,” she said. “I can interview witnesses or copy cases, whatever it is that the B&B people would usually do for you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Jess,” he said again. “I do appreciate your offer, but I can take care of this myself. And if I need help, I can afford to hire someone.”

  “Please don’t,” she said. “If there’s something I can do, I’d like to.”

  “I don’t know,” Nate said, hesitation in his voice. “This is a murder case. Winning it may mean finding a murderer. I don’t want to get you mixed up in that.”

  “I am mixed up in it, Nate. You’re fighting for my son’s future, maybe his life. I don’t want to be on the sidelines if I don’t have to. If there’s something—anything—I can do to help, I want to. Really. I’ll feel better if I can be involved somehow.”

  “I won’t.” He sighed. “But I know better than to try to say no to you.”

  CHAPTER 17

  After his call with Jessica ended, Nate frowned at his phone for nearly a minute. He had to admit that having her involved would help, particularly now that Peggy had cut him off. He would need someone to whom he could delegate background research, organizing the case file, taking notes during interviews, and all the other stuff he would ordinarily assign to a paralegal or secretary. He didn’t think Jessica had ever worked in a law office, but she was smart and organized. She would very likely do a great job. Plus, she was an old friend and they got along well. So why did having her involved bother him?

  It was true that she might wind up in danger. But he could probably limit her to tasks that involved minimal risk—online research and that sort of thing.

  The real threat he feared was to himself, he realized. Working on a case with Jessica—particularly under these circumstances—would inevitably mean being together a lot. They would be a team of two, and they couldn’t use B&B’s offices for anything. They would have to use someone’s home for meetings, working on motions, and preparing for hearings. That meant there would be plenty of evenings and weekends spent in his apartment or hers. They would need to travel together to interview witnesses. They would eat bad takeout together, develop inside jokes, learn each other’s personal quirks. In short, they would bond.

  And what exactly would bonding with Jessica Ames mean?

  He flinched away from that question. It brought up a welter of conflicting thoughts and feelings—genuine and deep affection for Jessica; uncertainty over how she felt about him—and how he felt about her; anticipation at the thought of spending long hours alone with her. And underlying them all, fear. He had cared deeply for two women in his life, and both times he had been left with wounds that never completely healed. He could not bear the thought of going through something similar again. Which is precisely what would happen if she learned too much about the darker chapters in his history.

  He turned back to his computer and pulled up his email inbox. To his relief, there was a red-flagged email from Fortuna’s lawyers, who were trying to play hardball on the minutiae of the settlement agreement. Nate smiled. They were playing a weak hand badly. A moment later, he was happily working on a response, his job wrapped around him like a protective blanket.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Dude, you fought Tony Cruz?” Mo asked when he came back to the cell.

  Brandon leaned over the side of his bunk, where he had been brooding since his early return to the cell. “I don’t know, did I?”

  “That’s what they’re saying. Big Latino guy, bald, all inked up?”

  “Yeah,” Brandon said, trying to keep his voice tough and casual. “He tried to steal my Goldfish. I wouldn’t let him. I hit him once and then the guards broke it up. It was no big deal.”

  Mo shook his head. “You wish, man. He’s the Los Reyes shot caller.”

  That didn’t sound good. “What does that mean?”

  “It means he’s like the head of Los Reyes in here. You know who Los Reyes are, right?”

  “Uh, I’ve heard the name,” Brandon said. “They’re a gang, aren’t they?”

  Mo rolled his eyes and sat down on his bunk. “They’re a gang, all right. They and the Tigres are the two biggest gangs in this jail. Fighting the Los Reyes shot caller would be bad enough if you were part of a gang. At least you’d have someone watching your back, and Los Reyes couldn’t retaliate without maybe starting a war.”

  “Are you part of a gang?”

  Mo lay back in his bunk. “Nope. I’ll bet that’s one reason they put us together.”

  “Should I join a gang? Maybe the Tigres?”

  Mo laughed, loud and harsh. “You don’t know nothing, do you? You’re white. The Tigres are Latinos. So are Los Reyes. The only gangs you can join are the Aryan Brotherhood and outfits like that. And you don’t want to do that. They’re psychos. Besides, they’ll make you do stuff to join.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “You don’t want to know. Besides, once you’re in, you can’t get out. Ever. If you try, they’ll cut you—slice your face open from your mouth to your ear. That’s how all the gangs deal with dropouts. And that’s just the start. You’re a marked man after that. They’ll always be looking for you. They’ll jump you—maybe even kill you.”

  “So what do I do?” Brandon asked.

  “Watch your back, man.”

  “For how long?”

  “Long as you’re in here.”

  A wave of anger swept over Brandon. All he had done was mind his own business and try to stay out of trouble. But that wasn’t enough. Now he had a gang after him. Why? Just because he wouldn’t let himself be robbed. This was so unfair.

  But what did fairness have to do with life in jail?

  He leaned over the edge of his bunk and looked down at Mo, who was on his side with his eyes closed. “Will you help me watch my back? I can pay you.”

  Mo rolled over and opened his eyes. There was sympathy in his face, but he shook his head. “Sorry, man. No can do. I always stay out of everyone’s way. That’s how I survive in here.”

  “I’m not asking you to fight,” Brandon said. “Just let me know if anyone is about to jump me or sucker punch me or something.”

  Mo hesitated. “I won’t always know. It’s not like Los Reyes tell me when they call a shot.”

  “But you’ll see if a bunch of them are comin
g up behind me or something,” Brandon persisted. “You’ll know if there’s a weird vibe in the pod or out in the yard, right?” he asked, using the Tassajara term for cellblocks.

  “Maybe,” Mo admitted. “Look, I’m not gonna do anything that’ll get me in trouble with Los Reyes. So if there’s a fight, you’re on your own—even if it’s five to one.”

  Brandon would love to have an ally at his shoulder if a fight broke out, but he would take what he could get. “Okay, fine. All I’m asking is that you watch my back and help me figure out how things work in here.”

  Mo hesitated. “I guess I could, you know, keep an eye out for my celly. It’ll cost you, though. Five bucks a day.”

  The muscles in Brandon’s shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t realized they were clenched. “Deal. Thanks. I’ll owe you one if they come after me.”

  “It’s not if,” Mo said. “It’s when.” He rolled over. “Sweet dreams.”

  CHAPTER 19

  December

  Nate walked into the Public Defender’s Office, bracing himself for a meeting with Sofia Acuña. She had been gracious enough, when he emailed her, to arrange a time when they could get together. And she’d had several days to adjust to the idea of having him on the case. Still, it couldn’t have been pleasant news.

  She probably resented him right now—he would, in her shoes. A big-firm partner with two Harvard diplomas on his wall coming in to take over from her after only one hearing. He didn’t even practice criminal law, so what could he possibly know that she didn’t? Nothing. Which was why it would be clear to her that he was being brought in because Brandon and his mother didn’t trust her. And he was doing it pro bono, which meant he didn’t trust her either. Those would be bitter pills to swallow.

  But he would need her help. He was not a criminal lawyer, and he knew it. If she sullenly did the bare minimum required by her ethical duties, he would lose. He needed her to be enthusiastically on board, giving him intel about the judge and the DA’s Office, helping him navigate the written and unwritten rules governing a murder case, and so on.