CHAPTER 4
I DROPPED THE yellow legal pad filled with Lyle’s chicken scratches onto the dining table. My coffee mug was still half full, but what I needed was a shot of tequila, preferably served up by a man with abs hard enough to distract me from the task at hand.
“Jay Skinner’s prosecuting?”
“The rising star of the Eastern District of Virginia?” Lyle gave a hollow laugh. “Yep, I found out just before I left last night. You know him?”
Oh, yes, I knew Jay. Intimately. Jay had been the solitary exception to my “never more than one night” rule. First Emmy had settled down, then Mack, and Jay had come along at exactly the right time. Or, as it turned out, the wrong time. Asshole.
We’d both been busy and career-driven—still were—but a couple of times a week, it had been unexpectedly nice
