CHAPTER EIGHT
“Hang on, hang on, you don’t have to take me anywhere. I’ll talk.”
Sawyer paused, hitting the brakes where he’d been backing out of the driveway. Ilse looked in the rearview mirror. She was met by a panicked, wide-eyed gaze.
“Talk about what?” Sawyer said.
“I didn’t kill anybody. I know what happened to Tiffany. That sucks. But I had nothing to do with it.”
“We’ll just take you at your word for it, then. Case solved.”
“No, man. I’m not asking you to take me at my word. I’m telling you, I had nothing to do with it.”
Ilse said, “Did Tiffany get you fired?”
Devon shifted in the backseat. “I didn’t know who got me canned. I didn’t care, either. I had that gig just to shelter...” he trailed off, and glanced out the window, biting his lip.
Sawyer was frowning. “Mr. Gibson,
