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He’ll try to keep her away from me. I know him. He’ll go full protective Alpha, tell himself he’s being reasonable, and put as much distance between my girl and me as he can without locking her in his office. He’ll come here himself, alone, and he’ll try to talk me out of it.

Let him try.

I lie back on the bunk and close my eyes.

Pretty eyes. Tears. Her small hand reaching for me. And Cillian’s voice, under the alarm, yelling…

Cole, behind me!

Cole.

Zahra Cole.

The wolf goes quiet. Really quiet. He lies down inside me for the first time in four years, and puts his head on his paws.

Yeah, buddy.

Four

Zahra

I’m not going back. That’s what I said Tuesday night. I said it again Wednesday, about forty times, while I stress-baked two loaves of banana bread at three in the morning and reorganized my entire damn closet by color. I said it to the file in the hall closet, which I did not open again. Mostly.

So obviously it’s Thursday morning, and I’m standing in front of my mirror, getting dressed for prison…

I went with my burgundy dress. A sheath one. High neck, hem below the knee, court-appropriate, but it does things to my hips and ass that have made opposing counsel lose their train of thought mid-objection. Black blazer. Black suede pumps. Gold hoops. Curls picked out big and glossy. And the deep berry lipstick I save for closing arguments.

I am a professional going to see a client.

I also shaved my legs for a man I’m going to be looking at through two inches of security glass, I put on lacy panties, and I am not going to examine any of that.

“You have lost your entire damn mind,” I tell the mirror.

Then I pick up my bag because I’ve got a plan, and for the first time in two days, the thing that’s been clawing at my insides goes quieter.

* * *

Walsh is at the gate. He looks at my bar ID card, looks at me, goes to the card again like it might’ve changed.

“Ms. Cole.”

“Officer Walsh.”

“Does Mr. Quinn know you’re here?”

“Mr. Quinn is aware I’m on Mr. Greene’s legal team.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I know.”

He sighs, big and deep, like a man who already knows how his day’s going to go. To shit. Then he hands my card back.

“Non-contact booth. Warden’s orders. You don’t go near him, he doesn’t go near you, and if his eyes change color, the visit’s over. That part’s not negotiable.”

“Understood.”

“Is it?”