Chapter Thirteen
SASHA
Sasha sipped at her wine frequently. It was cool, refreshing, and was sanding down the rough edges of her day that were beginning to seriously grate on her. She knew she shouldn’t be even having a single drop while she was still working, but given the circumstances, it seemed the best way to lubricate Dylan into telling her something.
Plus, she was still a little hung-over. Hair of the dog, and all.
“Come on,” she said, taking another sip from the glass. The wine had a little too much body for her tastes, but it wasn’t half-bad for crappy motel stuff. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s really going on? I mean, you’re innocent, right? What have you got to lose?”
She watched him, wondering if she was making any headway. He seemed at a point of conflict, the prover
