"I Don't Like Him."

"I don't like him."

Penelope storms into my apartment later that night, apparently having spent the last few hours stewing over Marcus Ashby.

Jabbing a fork full of stir-fried vegetables into my mouth, I just raise my eyebrows at her in an invitation to expand upon her pronouncement.

"Marcus Ashby," she clarifies, like I didn't already figure that out. "That sleazy bastard of a lawyer."

Chewing methodically, I think of the man. He doesn't strike me as sleazy. Maybe a little too good at his job, but sleazy, to me, is portly old men with gelled back hair and charm at the level of creep.

"Why was he interrogating you like you're the suspect? Isn't he Logan's defense lawyer?"

I swallow the mouthful of stir-fry and shrug. "Marcus is just doing his job. He needs all the information he can get to defend Logan properly."