Bad Boy Saint (Bad Boy 1)

"I'll do it," I said and squeezed Graham's hand again. "I'll text him right away."

"Thank you," he replied and squeezed back. Then he went to sleep, as if the strain of talking about this was too much for him.

I didn’t blame him. I felt this sense of doom hanging over me as well. Usually, my first instinct would be to call Spencer and the police. Maybe Graham was right — the mob would get their money no matter what I did.

I never thought about how Graham's actions could hurt me personally, other than seeing Graham harmed. I never thought they'd kill him. Most of all, I never imagined that I'd become their next target and that killing Graham might be the easiest way for them to get their money back.

I went to my criminal law class in the afternoon, but was quiet and didn't offer any comments or ask any questions. I was distracted by my situation and what I had to do. My professor must have noticed it because he asked me to stay behind as we began filing out.

A balding man in his sixties with half-eye glasses that perched on the end

of his nose, Professor Markham looked like a kindly grandfather but he was a slave driver when it came to class participation.

"Ms. Parker," he said in a slightly annoyed voice. He stood behind the huge desk at the front of the lecture hall and looked me over when I stood in front of him. "You were silent today. Not your usual MO. Didn't you read the material? You know I expect full participation in this class from every student."

"I'm sorry,'" I said and exhaled. "My brother's in ICU at Mass General. I guess I'm distracted. I did read the material, but I'm afraid it didn’t take."

He frowned. "Is he okay?"

I nodded. "He'll be discharged to a ward this afternoon, but he's got a bad concussion, broken bones, and internal injuries."

"Sorry to hear that. That’s totally understandable. Car accident?"

I shook my head. "Mugged."

"Don't worry about the class," he said and waved his hand in dismissal. "Take some time off if you need it. Just contact your profs and let them know you have a family emergency."

"Thanks," I said but I stopped before leaving.

“Can I ask you a hypothetical question?”

He turned back and nodded. “Sure. Ask away.”

“Say the mafia was trying to collect on an outstanding debt. Say someone went to a loan shark for money and couldn’t pay the interest. Would you pay the debt and leave it at that, or would you go to the police? Could the police protect you?”

“That’s more than one question,” he said and smiled. “Is your brother in trouble?”

“No, I was just watching this old episode of Law and Order,” I said, my cheeks hot with embarrassment.

“Hypothetically, if the cops felt they could use your case to get someone big in the organized crime hierarchy, they might spend the money to protect witnesses. If it was some low-life thug? Not so much. They can’t afford to provide 24-hour protection for a witness unless it’s a federal case. In that case, if the person could pay off the debt, they would be better off. If not, go to the police and hope they take it up to a higher authority, like the FBI or DEA.”

“Thanks,” I said and smiled. “My stepfather is DA. I probably should have asked him, but I was curious.”

“Anytime,” he said. “You interested in criminal law?”

I nodded. “My dad was a prosecutor.”

“I knew him well,” Professor Markham said. “From your grades, you’re a chip off the old block.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I hope so.”

Finally, he turned back to his files. I left the lecture hall, glad that I had asked him. Maybe Graham was right. Maybe it was better — safer — to go to Hunter than the police.

I was also glad I had a good enough reputation that I got the benefit of the doubt from Markham. I didn’t plan on missing any more classes, but it was nice to know my profs would be understanding if I needed to.

I walked across campus to my dorm and when I got into my room, I sat down at my desk and looked at my cell, reluctant to contact Hunter, but resigned to doing so. I scanned my contacts and came upon Hunter's number. I remembered all our old texts and I regretted immensely that I'd broken it off when I did.

I called up his number and sent him a text. For all I knew, he had a new cell number and the text wouldn’t go through.