Dynamite & Whiskey

Chapter 1

"Come talk to me," was all he said from the shadows. You didn't know how long he'd been there watching you.

You should haven't gone. Jesus, you knew better.

But there you were still hanging out in the parking lot of his legal firm, battling your conscience over covering the explosive case that was literally tearing Andy Barber's family apart. His son was accused of the murder of Ben Rifkin and from the outside, the evidence looked damning. Apparently, his marriage was in shambles. But that wasn't surprising given the media circus that had upended their lives.

As he stood in the shadows with his hands shoved in the pockets of his suit coat, he looked deceptively calm. It was the little things that gave away the storm raging inside the man. The shadows beneath those blue eyes whispered of sleepless nights. The tense lines of his face, the hard line of his jaw, hinted at the underlying tension he fought to keep hidden.

"I really need to head out," you told him. Pulling yourself up from where you'd been leaning on your car. You didn't make eye contact. Being faced with him wasn't helping your moral dilemma.

On the one hand, the case was getting countrywide attention and you were expected to cover it for your newspaper. On the other hand, you weren't new to Andy Barber. You'd covered his legal cases for the last three years and you always admired him for being one of the good ones.

So how could you help destroy what was left of his life? It didn't feel right.

"Got a story to write?" he asked bitterly.

You raked a hand through your hair, blew out an exhale. "I don't want to."

The tense lines of his face eased a little at that. He titled his head towards the door behind him. "Come talk to me."

It wasn't a good idea. The reporter in you had you trailing him into the rear door of the building. What if he told you something you could use for your byline?

Stop.

What if he told you something that helped you decide whether or not you wanted to cover this?

That was the real reason you ended up following him. Into his office, a large, tranquil space in off-white and rich, dark wood. You watched as he walked around the enormous desk and dropped heavily into the chair behind it. He motioned for you to take a seat across from him.

You didn't miss the crystal liquor decanter half-empty on his desk. The fat glass drained in front of him.

"How are you holding up?" you asked carefully, realizing you cared about the answer. You'd never been married, nor did you have children. But you couldn't imagine the situation he was in. Accusations of murder against his child, yet to be proven, had literally torn what appeared to be a happy life asunder.

"Like shit," he muttered his gaze on the desk in front of him. "How are you holding up?"

"What?" The question took you off guard. "I'm... fine. Really."

"Then why were you out in the parking lot?"

Those blue eyes were on you now, his index finger and thumb shaping an L around one solid line of his jaw as he waited for your answer.

"Honestly?"

Andy nodded, his gaze moving over you.

"I was sent here to cover this story," you explained. "To report on the murder accusations against your son, to look for the cracks in the façade."

You just threw your editor's words out there. Truth was best.

A wicked mix of emotions stirred in those blue eyes as he studied you.