Hardass (Bad Bitch) Read Online Free Page B

used? “Um, okay.”
    I sank down where he’d instructed and got my legal pad ready for use. We didn’t have much other paperwork to go on. Just the press coverage from the killings and the grand jury indictment. We hadn’t met with the State to get their file yet. That would no doubt be a cornucopia of information—likely all damning.
    The Bayou Butcher had been killing for three years. His victims numbered at least seven, though there may have been more. The bodies were always dumped in remote bayou inlets. Hookers, mostly, who’d been tortured and disfigured before they were killed. Each was missing the pinky finger on her left hand. Trophies taken by the killer, no doubt.
    A chill went through me at the thought of meeting the person capable of such evil.
    Mr. Granade took the seat next to me, his leg touching mine beneath the steel table. “Don’t worry. This isn’t my first rodeo. You’re safe. Trust me.”
    I let out a deep breath. Despite the bars, and the criminals, and the metal everything all around, I actually did feel safe with him at my side. His words with the guard certainly helped. If Mr. Granade wouldn’t let the guard touch me, then there was no chance an inmate would get anywhere close.
    “So, um, I guess I should have asked earlier, but why is he in Angola instead of the county jail?” I began doodling and forced myself to stop.
    “Good question, Ms. Montreat. I asked the same when I found out he’d already been shipped here. He’d been receiving more than a few threats at county, so the State wanted him somewhere
safer.
That was the story Matt gave me, anyway. I’m certain they just wanted to make it harder for us to get to him.”
    “The State plays dirty.”
    “You have no clue.” He wrote the date and time in a slanting, stark hand, at the top of his notepad. My bubble writing could not compare to his elegant lines.
    “So that Matt guy is on this case, too?”
    “Yep. The second he sees I’ve been chosen as defense counsel, he signs right up to prosecute.” He wrote our names on the right side of the page under the heading “Attending,” mine on top of his and Rowan’s at the bottom.
    “Y’all got some sort of beef?”
    He grimaced and stopped writing. “Something like that.”
    “What hap—”
    The door creaked open and a man in orange (
it’s the new black
) was led inside. I recognized him from his mug shot and multiple press photos. Tall and slender with a shaved head, his eyes were beady and shifted from Mr. Granade to me and back again. His hands were cuffed, with a length of chain extending from them down to the shackles on his ankles. He wasn’t winning any footraces anytime soon.
    Mr. Granade and I stood.
    “Mr. Ellis.” Confidence radiated from Mr. Granade. His charm switch was officially flipped.
    “Hey.” He shuffled to his chair, the chains jingling far too jauntily for the situation.
    “I’m Washington Granade, but you can call me Wash, and this is my associate, Caroline Montreat. Please, have a seat.”
    I nodded at Rowan during my introduction. He focused on me as he dropped into his seat. The guard fastened Rowan’s chains to something under the table and yanked to make sure it was solid. Once satisfied, the guard left and shut the door behind him. We were alone with a suspected serial killer, one who kept looking at me with too-wide pupils. I began to regret wearing my cobalt blue sexy top for Mr. Granade. I shifted in my seat, surreptitiously moving my lapels closed and blocking the view.
    Rowan still watched me, his gaze catching mine and holding it.
    “Mr. Ellis, let’s get started.” Mr. Granade clicked his pen.
    “I ain’t done nothing.” The accent had a slight Cajun tinge. Rowan finally switched his gaze over to Mr. Granade.
    I took a breath and tried to calm my rapid-fire heartbeat. He definitely gave me the creeps, but that didn’t mean he was a killer.
    “I understand. I do. But I’m going to need you to shoot straight with