Anabella Clayton's POV:
The air inside the East Londale police station was a thick, stagnant cocktail of old floorboards and cheap coffee.
People bustled past, trailing the occasional drift of cigarette smoke that clung to my clothes.
Jewell walked a half-step behind me. His impeccably tailored suit looked utterly alien in a place of such gritty functionality.
"Anabella, are you positive about this?" Jewell asked, his tone laced with a dry, playful skepticism. "As your attorney, I'm obligated to point out that bailing out a man like this is a catastrophically poor financial investment."
"It's not an investment, Jewell." I glanced sideways with a faint smile. "It's the price of a ticket to the best show in town."
The burly officer leading us pushed open a heavy iron door, revealing Bo
