Free Wild Thing (The Magic Jukebox Book 3) by Judith Arnold

the building, to breathe some fresh air, to learn how
much Caleb Solomon’s representation was going to set him back. To find Monica
and thank her for not erasing the phone message he’d left her that afternoon
and acting as if their paths had never crossed.
    He
didn’t have to look far to find her. As soon as he and the lawyer exited the
police station into the starlit evening, he spotted her sitting on the hood of
a car in the parking lot. She wore jeans and the zippered sweatshirt she’d had
on last night. The breeze gusting in from the ocean fluttered through her
straight, dark hair.
    She
didn’t appear happy to see him. He couldn’t recall ever feeling as happy as he
felt to see her.
    Exercising
more willpower than he knew he possessed, he resisted the urge to race across the
parking lot and sweep her into his arms. Instead, he remained at Solomon’s
side, the woven strap of his duffel digging into his shoulder, his hand fisted
around the handle of his laptop bag, and simply stared at her. She stared back,
her eyes chilly, her expression grim.
    “So
here’s what happens next,” Solomon explained. “You come into my office first
thing tomorrow morning—” he handed Ty a business card “—and we work out a
strategy. In the meantime, I’ll research this Wayne MacArthur and review the
police files. It sounds like all they’ve got is some informer telling them
there’s a shipment of a heroin on that boat. They won’t even tell me the name
of the informer, although we’ll get that in discovery if it comes to that.
Which, I assume, it won’t, because as far as I can see, Nolan’s got nothing on
you other than the fact that you were hired to sail a boat. Last I heard,
that’s not a crime.”
    “Okay.”
Ty took a deep breath. “How much do I owe you?”
    “I’ll
send you a bill.” Solomon’s smile was better than a shot of bourbon. It warmed,
it soothed. “Ms. Reinhart said you could afford me.”
    “I
can,” Ty assured him. “But my money is tied up in a trust fund. I can’t just
write a check.”
    “Not
a problem. Let’s get this mess straightened out, and then you can raid your
trust fund.” He patted Ty’s shoulder and turned toward a sleek black Beemer
parked a few spots down from the car Monica was perched on. “I’ll be in my
office early tomorrow. Don’t sleep late. I expect to see you there by
nine-thirty.”
    Ty
watched him stride across the lot to the Beemer, climb in, and rev the engine.
Only after he’d driven out of the small lot did Ty turn back to Monica.
    She
hadn’t moved. She remained planted on the hood of the sturdy Subaru like a
gorgeous hood ornament, her feet propped on the bumper, her chin resting in her
hands as she watched him. He started across the lot and she remained where she
was. She wasn’t running toward him with arms outstretched, but she wasn’t
fleeing in the opposite direction, either.
    A
few feet from her car, he halted. He didn’t want to impose on her any more than
he already had. “Thank you,” he said.
    She
gave her head a slight shake, more in bewilderment than rejection. “I don’t
know what I’m doing here. I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you’ve
done. I’m not like this, Ty. I don’t take risks—with people or anything else.”
    He
wanted to tell her he posed no risk to her. But he knew damned well he did. “I
haven’t done anything,” he told her. “Except be in the wrong place at the wrong
time, I guess. Or on the wrong boat in the wrong marina. I don’t know why the
cops suspect me. I’m not even sure what they suspect me of. All I know is,
they’re wrong.”
    “Ed
Nolan is a good man,” she said.
    “Even
good men make mistakes.”
    Her
gaze narrowed on him. Did she think he was speaking about himself, as well?
Hell, he’d made his share of mistakes over the years—and he wasn’t so sure he
was a good man. But he hadn’t made this mistake—whatever mistake Nolan
suspected him of.
    “Well,”
she