“E-mail me the agreement as soon as it’s ready,” he said. “I’ll call the clerk and have him put us on the docket for a change of plea.”

And that was that.

Rylann watched Quinn and Channing go, thinking that it was almost a shame they’d given in.

She would have rather enjoyed kicking both their asses at trial.

THE REST OF the week flew by, a flurry of motion calls, witness interviews, and meetings with various FBI, ATF, and DEA agents. Before Rylann knew it, on Friday morning she was in court for the entry of Quinn’s guilty plea.

Afterward, she walked out of the courtroom feeling good about the resolution of the case—and even better twenty minutes later in her office, when Cameron stopped by to congratulate her.

“I just saw the press release Paul is putting together regarding Adam Quinn’s guilty plea,” Cameron said, referring to Paul Thompkins, the office’s media representative. “Well done. The official word from the U.S. Attorney’s Office is that this case demonstrates that we will vigorously prosecute law enforcement officials who abuse the trust individuals—including inmates—place in them.” She smiled. “And we have you to thank for that.”

Rylann waved off the praise. “Agent Wilkins deserves the credit as well. And for what it’s worth, Kyle Rhodes really stepped up to the plate.”

“The Twitter Terrorist comes through for us. Who would’ve thought?” Cameron asked. “I heard from Cade that Quinn and his lawyer were both jerks during the plea negotiations.”

Rylann had talked to Cade about the case during one of their afternoon Starbucks runs. He was quickly becoming her go-to guy in the office, which was nice—it was good to have a friend she could trust in the special prosecutions group.

“You should’ve seen how sanctimonious Quinn was,” she told Cameron. “It’s fortunate we caught him now. If it hadn’t been for the tip from that undercover FBI agent, this might’ve gone on for years.”

“I suspect Quinn’s tune will change quickly now that he’ll be on the other side of those prison bars,” Cameron said.

“Very true.”

A few minutes later, after Cameron had left, Rylann called Rae.

“Are you free tonight?” she asked Rae. “Drinks are on me—I feel like celebrating.”

Rae sounded excited. “Ooh, let’s make a night of it. What are we celebrating?”

“The end of a very long workweek.”

Rae laughed. “I hear that. Since you mentioned it, I was just reading in the Trib about this new bar, Firelight, that’s opening tonight. Supposedly, it’s the place to be this weekend. Want to check it out?”

Rylann thought about that. “Opening night at a hot new club? Think we’ll get in?”

“If we look good enough, we will.”

Rylann laughed. “I like your confidence, Mendoza. I’ll cab over to your apartment at nine o’clock to pick you up.”

Nineteen

KYLE STOOD AT the black onyx bar in the corner of the room, surrounded by a group of his friends. Firelight was packed to the gills, with everyone dressed in their Friday finest. By all accounts, the nightclub’s opening appeared to be a huge success, and for Dex’s sake, Kyle was thrilled.

Too bad he, personally, wasn’t quite feeling it.

Maybe there was something to this whole inmate adjustment process Jordan had been babbling about. Because all around him, people were laughing, drinking, partying, and generally having the time of their lives. Even better, there were beautiful women everywhere, many of whom had been trying to catch his eye all night. Yet something was off.

Kyle excused himself from the other guys, saying he wanted to walk around and check out the crowd. He found Dex just outside the door, standing at the balcony railing and proudly looking down at the packed crowd in the main bar below.

Kyle joined his friend at the railing—no matter what his issues were, he sure as hell wouldn’t let them spoil this moment for Dex. “How’s it feel?”

“I won’t lie. It feels good—real good,” Dex said. “Ten years ago, I was bartending in a college bar in the middle of central Illinois. Now I have this.”

“You earned it.” Better than anyone, Kyle knew how hard Dex had worked to open the nightclub.

“Yes, I did,” Dex said, his eyes traveling over the crowd. Then he paused at something he saw and looked over at Kyle with a sly grin. “Hmm. I think I might’ve found the cure for that emo mood you’ve been in these past few weeks.”

“Emo?” Kyle laughed at the thought. “Screw you. I’m fine.”

“If you say so. Still, you might want to check out the main bar. Red dress, two o’clock.”

Kyle’s eyes scanned the crowd half-interestedly, expecting to see some random hot, provocatively dressed girl. But when he finally located the red dress and, more important, the woman wearing it, he paused and just had to…stare.

Apparently, Prosecutrix Pierce had something other than skirt suits in her closet, after all.

Her hair fell over her shoulders in gorgeous raven waves, hitting right at the enticing V neckline of the sleeveless red dress she wore. Since she was partially blocked by the bar, Kyle couldn’t see anything below her waist, but his imagination was running wild at the thought of what the rest of her looked like.

“Oh, look who suddenly perked up now that a certain assistant U.S. attorney has made her appearance,” Dex said with a chuckle.