THE PROSECUTOR (13 page)

Ray put his hands up. “Okay. Okay. Relax. Let’s get the Leeks kid in here tomorrow. We’ll have the investigator talk to him. A conversation only, nothing too hard, and see what happens. Give me a list of questions you want answered and we’ll have the investigator ask.”

“Ray—”

“That’s the best I can do. I’m not letting you question that kid. Hell, I’m not letting you in the room. Whatever is going on with you and this detective, it’s not going ballistic on my watch. Do us both a favor and back off. Got it?”

Zac didn’t answer.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Ray left the office and Zac stared at the now-open doorway, pains shooting down his neck from clenched teeth. Back. Off. Handed an explosive case and the minute he uncovered something questionable, he was supposed to ease up. What they should be doing is touting a political win for the new State’s Attorney, a woman who campaigned for honesty in a city plagued by corruption.

Whether Brian Sinclair was guilty or not, this case deserved a second look. Justice demanded it. Justice for Chelsea Moore, for Brian Sinclair and for Emma, who’d been fighting this battle for so long.

Maybe his emotions
were
getting in the way, but someone had to ferret out the truth. If for no other reason than to figure out what had happened to a young woman in a dark alley, Zac wanted answers.

Either way, he wanted answers.

* * *

T
HIRTY
MINUTES
BEFORE
closing time, Emma stood at the bar waiting for her customer’s drink order when Zac strolled through the door. Immediately, relief flashed and spread through her. His presence did that to her, brought a sense of comfort and security to a life that had very little of either.

He spotted her, tilted his head and their gazes locked. This time, she didn’t have that panicky feeling at the sight of him coming into the restaurant. After what had happened this afternoon, she’d half expected him. Penny was right about her brother. He was indeed predictable in all the ways that mattered.

But something was off about him tonight. At this late hour, he still wore his suit, minus the tie. His shirt collar was unbuttoned and his jacket could have used a good pressing. So not Zachary. His body language wasn’t right, either. Sure he’d slapped a smile on his face, but his shoulders slumped and that was one thing she’d never seen. Zac always, always, entered a room with his head high and shoulders back, his aura screaming power and control. But tonight that aura was utterly absent.

The bartender loaded drinks on her tray and she detoured in Zac’s direction on her way to the table.

“Hi,” she said. “I’ll bet you’re looking for another ferocious brownie.”

“Thought I’d escort you home after your run-in with the P.D. today.”

She nodded, thankful for his thoughtfulness. “I’d like that. You look sad,
Zachary
.”

That got a smile out of him.
When all else fails, do the Penny voice
.

“I’m fine. Tired.”

“Everything okay?”

He glanced around the nearly empty restaurant. “Yep.”

She jerked her head to the bar. “Have a seat. I’ll send you a brownie.”

Barely a smile out of him. Yeesh, this boy was in a world of hurt. She delivered her drinks and swung back toward the kitchen to get Zac his dessert. On the way, she noted the hostess, a perky sex kitten of a blonde, sniffing around the bar.
Hands off my man, honey
. Really, though, Emma couldn’t blame the girl. Zac was definitely sniff-worthy.

Her friend Kelly marched into the kitchen behind Emma and backhanded her on the butt. “I see the hot prosecutor is back. I think Miss Emma has a boyfriend.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Emma has something. She’s not sure what it is, but it definitely makes her toes curl. And that’s all I’m giving you, so don’t bother asking.”

“Come on. Give me a little more.” She squeezed her thumb and index finger together. “Just a little.”

Emma put Zac’s brownie into the microwave and grinned. “He looks great naked.”

“I knew it!”

The microwave dinged. She retrieved the brownie, gave it an extra scoop of ice cream and finished it with chocolate sauce, whipped cream and a cherry. He’d love this.

“Bye, Kelly.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Nope.” She pushed through the kitchen door, swung around the bar and slid the brownie in front of Zac. “Here you go, handsome. I made it myself.” She leaned in and ran one hand over his shoulders. Locked up tight, they were. The man needed to de-stress. “It looks like you had another rough day so I gave you an extra scoop of ice cream.”

“You’re too good to me, Emma.”

She glanced at her table then back at him. “I don’t like seeing you with a long face. It’s not you.”

“I’m okay.”

Not for a minute did she believe it. But she had two tables to close out and she’d have to quiz him about his day when they were out of here. “I have customers. Enjoy your brownie.”

Ninety minutes later, Emma parked in her minuscule driveway with Zac pulling in behind her and temporarily blocking the sidewalk. Home. Safe and sound. What a day. She’d checked on her mother a few times throughout the evening and all was quiet. No lurking cops to be found.

Zac yanked open her door, held his hand out and she grabbed it. “Thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure. You gave me a brownie. Least I could do.”

Once out of the car, she eased her hand away, but Zac held on, entwining his fingers with hers. Nice. They walked to the door hand in hand and Emma slowed to a crawl, wanting to prolong this feeling of being attached, of being a couple. When was the last time she’d had a casual stroll while holding hands? And was it pathetic that such a simple gesture should make her feel so desperate for the moment not to end?

Loneliness had apparently turned her into a sap because there was most likely a hateful detective watching them, taking note of the prosecutor getting friendly.

At the door, she stopped and faced Zac. “Thanks for coming home with me.”

For a minute, he simply stared at her, his gaze traveling over her face until he lifted his hand and ran the back of it over her cheek. “You should have called me this afternoon. I would have helped.”

She shrugged. “I wanted to.”

“And what?”

“I couldn’t decide if I was calling you because you’re the prosecutor on my brother’s case or because you’re the guy I went to bed with last night. It’s confusing.”

He eased his hand away from her face. “Sure is.”

“What happened today, Zac? Why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad. I’m frustrated. My boss thinks I’ve let myself get emotionally involved in this case and I can’t dispute that.” He puffed his cheeks up and blew out a breath. “That’s tough for a trial lawyer to admit.”

“I can imagine.”

He leaned in, dropped a light kiss on her lips. “I worry about you. I won’t apologize for that. I’m standing on this porch knowing someone could be watching and I’m not sure I care because I haven’t done anything I wouldn’t have done before getting involved with you. I’ve done my job.”

Was she dreaming? Had to be. Things like this didn’t happen to her. People like this, folks who fought for her, took care of her and made her believe life wasn’t always a matter of handling one crisis after another. “But I don’t want you risking your job for me. That’s why I didn’t call you today. It’s not fair to you. Penny has a handle on it.”

“I know she does. And, you’ll find this out, but Leeks’s son is coming in tomorrow. That’s what got me in the penalty box.”

“Oh, Zac.”

He shrugged. “I was aggravated. I know Leeks is behind those cops pulling your mom over. I figured I’d up the pressure on him. Ray heard me on the phone and reamed me out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It needs to be done, Emma. It’s the right thing. Someone has to question this kid without his father influencing the interview.”

A girl had to love a man willing to rail against the establishment. “Obviously, I agree, but maybe you shouldn’t be the one to do it.”

“I’m not. Ray told me to forget it, which, at the time, aggravated me even more. Now? I agree with him. I have to be careful here. A neutral party should question that kid and I’m not neutral anymore. Not with the way I feel about you and definitely not with the way I feel about that scumbag Leeks.”

Emma threw her hands up. “Okay, Mr. Prosecutor. Let’s take it easy now. Don’t destroy your career for me. The guilt would kill me and then I’d spend the next two years figuring out how to save
you,
too.” She cracked a smile, hoping he’d grasp the sarcasm. “I’m a little tired of saving everyone. It’s exhausting work.”

He grabbed her around the neck and kissed her—bam—all heat and tongues and crazy, lovable passion and everything inside her burst open.
I’m crazy about him
.

Since he’d come into her life, she didn’t feel so alone, so at war with the world. Being with Zac brought her peace and a sense of calm. How he did it, she wasn’t sure, but he was one of those men who gave people hope.

The front door opened. “Oh!”

Emma jumped back and turned to her wide-eyed and horrified mother about to slam the door closed. Emma shoved her hand against it.

“I’m so sorry,” Mom said.

“It’s okay. I want you to meet someone. This is Zac. Hennings. Penny’s brother.”

Mom’s gaze slid to Zac, then back to Emma. “He’s the...”

The prosecutor
. “Yes.”

Zac stuck his hand out. “Mrs. Sinclair, nice to meet you. You have an amazing daughter.”

“I’ll agree with you there.” Mom took his hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you as well. Thank you for all you’ve done. It has to be awkward.”

Emma coughed. Then, as if sensing her misstep, Mom’s eyes got big. “I mean with Penny being our lawyer. Not with...” Mom ran her palm up her forehead then held it there for a second. “I think I’ll shut this door. I’m sorry, Emma. I heard you pull in and wondered where you were. I didn’t know you had company.”

“Zac met me at work. He didn’t want me to come home alone.”

Mom stared at her, a slight smile threatening before she looked at Zac. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“No problem, ma’am.” He squeezed Emma’s arm. “I should go. Busy day tomorrow.”

The Leeks kid. Right.
“I know. Thanks for bringing me home.”

She wouldn’t ask him to keep her posted. He was still the prosecutor and she was still the defense.
Confusing
. Besides, Penny would have her spies out and would fill her in.

Zac nodded. “Make sure you lock up. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Chapter Thirteen

Ben Leeks Jr. was a bigger weasel than his father. What a conniving piece of trash this guy was. Zac watched on an oversized monitor in an office adjacent to the conference room where investigators
conversed
with Junior.

Watching this particular interview, Zac silently seethed. He wanted nothing more than to tell the kid and his lawyer to cut the nonsense and answer the flipping questions.

They’d been responding, but those responses had been in an abstract, vague way that failed to completely answer the questions. Junior’s whole demeanor, the relaxed, mocking posture, the eye-rolling, all of it, stank. At least he came dressed to impress in slacks and a pressed shirt, probably his lawyer’s doing. But this guy knew—
knew
—he’d be walking away a free man even if he was guilty.

His father would make sure of it.

Ray stood beside Zac, studying the screen, his arms folded. “He’s not giving us anything.”

“Yeah, because the lawyer isn’t letting him. They’ve admitted he was at the club and that he left with a group. Knew that before he walked in here. We need to push harder, see if he and Chelsea argued that night.”

Ray ignored the comment. No shock there. He’d made it clear he had no interest in pushing.

Zac focused on the monitor and Leeks Jr. Massive kid. Muscular and strong. Zac hit the gym four or five times a week, pumping serious iron, and yet the guy being interviewed was at least double his size. Freakishly big.
Unnatural
. “Ask him if he uses steroids.”

“
What?
”

“Chelsea’s friends said he was abusive. Look at his body. He’s huge. If he’s taking steroids, Chelsea may have been a victim of ’roid rage.”

Ray sighed.

“It happens.”

“I’ll have the investigator ask. Right after we get him to admit that he was wearing a white shirt that night.”

Now Zac rolled his eyes. Conveniently, Junior couldn’t recall what color shirt he wore the night Chelsea died.

Zac’s phone buzzed. Bethenny, the office assistant. Odd. They were right down the hall. Why didn’t she just come get him? “Let me take this.” He pressed the button and stepped into the hallway. “Hi, Beth. What’s up?”

“Sorry to disturb you. Did you have an appointment this morning?”

Zac stuck his bottom lip out, ticked through his mental calendar. Aside from court that afternoon, the Leeks interview was it. “I don’t think so. Why?”

“There’s a Stanley Vernon out here to see you.” Zac snapped his head up. Stanley Vernon. The State’s star witness. “He didn’t specifically ask for you, but he wants to see the prosecutor working the Sinclair case.”

A blood rush made Zac dizzy and he shook his head.
Stanley Vernon
. “I’ll be right up. Lock him in my office if you have to, but don’t let him leave.”

He clicked off, then stuck his head in the office where Ray continued to observe the Leeks interview. “I gotta go.” Ray raised his eyebrows in that what-the-hell look Zac had gotten used to. “I know it’s my case, but I’ve suddenly got the State’s key witness wanting to see me.”

“He’s here?”

“In reception.”

Ray jerked his chin. “Go. Don’t screw up.”

Thanks for the vote of confidence.
“That wouldn’t be my favorite option.”

For a change, Ray laughed. That was progress after the tension-filled couple of days they’d had. One thing Zac never wanted to be was the problem employee.

Forgoing the time it would take to detour to his office and grab his suit jacket, Zac hustled up the hall to the waiting area.

Beth spotted him coming around the corner and pointed to Stanley Vernon, a middle-aged man about six inches shorter than Zac. Thin with sloping shoulders, he wore a zipped-up windbreaker, jeans and the stooped look of someone carrying a heavy load.

He flipped a tan newsboy cap in his hands. Back and forth, up and down, the movement constant. Oh, yeah. This guy definitely had something on his mind.

Buzzing tension sizzled up Zac’s arms.
Calm down here.
He extended his hand. “Mr. Vernon, I’m Zac Hennings. The new prosecutor on the Sinclair case.”

“Hennings?”

“Yes, sir.” Obviously, recognition dawned. “You met my sister the other day. She’s the defense attorney on this case.”

Vernon’s eyes widened. “That’s...different.”

No kidding
. “It sure is.” Zac gestured down the corridor. “Let’s talk in private.”

Back in his office, Zac closed the door behind them while Mr. Vernon took in the files lining the office. “These all yours?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Astonishing.”

“We live in a crazy world.” Zac settled into his squeaking desk chair and leaned back, all calm and cool. “What can I do for you?”

Vernon stared down at the newsboy cap, flipped it a few times. “I...uh.” He looked up, stared right at Zac, his eyes heavy-lidded and desperate. Fierce hammering slammed in Zac’s head. Whatever the man had to say was tearing him up.

“Mr. Vernon, talk to me. I can assure you, it won’t be the worst thing I’ve heard.” Hoping to ease the strain suddenly drowning the room, he cracked a smile. “Trust me there.”

More cap flipping. “Your sister and the Sinclair girl.”

“What about them?”

“They asked me questions. Got me thinking about that night.”

Here it comes
. “Go on.”

“I was walking by the alley. It was noisy, though. The club door was open and people were in line waiting to get in. Between the talking and the music from inside I couldn’t really hear anything.”

“Okay.”

“I saw someone, though, in the alley. A man. Definitely a man.”

Zac would not help. Mr. Vernon had to come clean with no reminders or assistance. “I read that in your statement.”

“Your sister. She asked me about the white shirt.”

“Yes, sir. You testified that you saw a man in a white shirt. It’s in the transcript.”

He nodded. “I started thinking about that and, you know, when the detectives questioned me? I never said anything about the white shirt.”

Zac drove his feet into the floor, forcing himself to remain still, not a flinch, not a nudge. “You didn’t see a white shirt?”

Slowly, with what looked like great effort, Mr. Vernon shifted his head side to side. “They told me someone else saw a white shirt.”

Someone else? Who the hell was that now? Zac would have to go through Emma’s files and find the other witness. After tracking down the transcripts, he’d seen that there were other witnesses called to the stand, but he didn’t recall any of them mentioning a white shirt. Emma would know.

Forget keeping still. He had to move. Dispel some of the energy. He sat forward and casually leaned his elbows on the desk. “Do you remember a white shirt?”

More cap flipping. Once, twice, three times. “I don’t think so.”

As brutally hard as it was, Zac didn’t move. He’d love to grab a notepad, but it might spook the guy. Besides, if he was about to recant—which it sounded as if he was—they’d have to write up his statement. “When you were questioned, did the detectives ask you if you remembered the white shirt?”

“Yes. They asked me and I said I wasn’t sure. They said to think about it because they had another witness who said they saw someone in a white shirt. If I could agree with that, they could get the guy.”

Right
. Zac’s guess? The other witness was bogus. Nonexistent. Detectives had probably determined that Brian Sinclair had been wearing a white shirt. Hell, Brian probably told them that himself. When Brian became the primary suspect, the P.D. wanted someone to say they saw a guy in a white shirt in that alley. Stanley Vernon was their someone.

“You agreed?”

Mr. Vernon finally set his cap on the edge of Zac’s desk and pressed both hands into it before pulling back. “They seemed pretty sure that Sinclair had done it. The way they put it to me was they were just tying up loose ends. I figured since they had someone else saying they saw a white shirt, it wouldn’t be just me.” He stared down at his empty hands—nothing to flip—and shook his head. “I wanted to help.”

For a second, Zac pitied the guy. For two years he’d been thinking that he’d helped put a killer behind bars. Now he wasn’t sure and the guilt landed on him like a tanker thrown in a tornado.

“Relax, Mr. Vernon. You’re doing the right thing. I appreciate your coming forward. We need to clarify what you’re saying here. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Zac grabbed his notepad and pen. “Let’s run through it. You don’t recall seeing a man wearing a white shirt?”

“I saw a man coming from the alley, but I don’t know what color shirt he was wearing.”

* * *

A
T
IT
SINCE
6:00
A
.
M
., Emma had already spent four hours of her day at the dining room table studying constitutional law. The exam was only two days away and she had a nagging sense of panic that she’d flunk. She’d never flunked a test in her life.

Never.

Maybe Zac, the lover of all things constitutional law, could quiz her. Or maybe she was just looking for an excuse to see him.

And have sex with him—lots of steamy, sweaty sex that left her loose and purring.

She ducked her head and giggled.
Bad, Emma. Bad.
Her cell phone beeped and she snatched it off the table. Zac. Their pheromones must have beelined.

“Hey, handsome. I was just thinking about you.”

“What do you know about another witness identifying the white shirt?”

And hello to you, too
. Forget the purring. “In reference to the white shirt, there’s no other witness. Mr. Vernon was it.”

“You’re sure?”

Pfft
. Was he serious? “Of course. I can pull the witness files for you. I have them all sorted by time frame. If there was another witness who saw a man with a white shirt, it would be in the file with Mr. Vernon’s.”

“I need those files.”

In the back of her brain, something snapped. A physical zap she’d never experienced against the back of her skull. “What’s going on?”

“I can’t say. Yet.”

“You want me to turn over my files and you’re not going to tell me why?”

Silence. “Do you trust me?”

Of course she did. “Completely.”

“Then I need those files. You’ll find out why soon.”

Give him the files
. She should talk to Penny first.
Give him the files
. “This is a good thing then?”

“I believe so, yes.”

His answer came without hesitation. No pause, no moment to consider a response. Nothing. That had to mean something. If she truly trusted him, it meant turning over information without knowing why. Which she hadn’t been inclined to do when it came to Brian.

But that snapping in the back of her head was new. Maybe a good sign.
Take a chance.

“Give me an hour to copy the reports and get them to your office.”

“Thank you.”

It took Emma fifty-two minutes to call Penny, take a quick shower, copy the files and race them downtown. Penny, being Penny, went to work on her contacts to figure out what the prosecution was up to.

While Emma drove, she speculated on the sudden need for these files. It had to be something regarding the Ben Leeks interview. At a red light, she tapped the steering wheel and mulled over the options. Maybe the interview had yielded a new witness and Zac wanted to know if Emma had a statement from said witness.

From the seat beside her, the phone beeped. Still waiting for the green light, she checked the ID and punched the speaker button. “Hi, Penny.” The light changed and she made a left toward the parking garage.

“Are you there yet?”

“No. About to park.”

“Park and call me. Do
not
go into that office until you talk to me.”

Emma’s stomach seized as she drove up to the ticket machine at the parking garage. “Is this bad?”

“No. I just don’t want you driving when I tell you.”

“Did we get a new trial?”

Penny huffed. “I’m not saying another word. Park and call me.”

The lunatic hung up. What was that? She calls, gets Emma all wound up and then dumps her? Sheesh.

Still, her body hummed with an incessant energy, that same zapping current from before, that told her something big was about to happen. It took scouring five levels before she found an open parking space. Somehow, it seemed fitting. She’d waited all this time. Why not a few extra minutes?

She slammed the car into Park and dialed Penny. The phone beep-beeped. No signal.

“Gah! Stupid parking garage.” Not a break to be had. She snatched the files and her purse and took off toward the elevator. She pressed the button. Waited and waited. The darn thing seemed to be on the second floor for a lifetime. Heck with this. She darted for the stairwell, checking her signal the whole way. Nothing.

The run down the stairs left Emma breathless, a not-so-gentle reminder that she hadn’t exercised in months. Soon. With any luck, maybe soon she’d have time. Not that she’d ever had much luck, but a girl could dream.

Once on the street, three glorious bars appeared on her phone.
Thank you, signal gods.
She dialed Penny.

“What took so long?” her lawyer asked.

“Don’t start. There was no signal in the garage and then the elevator was slow. I just ran down five flights. Please tell me what’s going on.”

She checked traffic coming both ways and stepped off the curb.

“Mr. Vernon just recanted.”

Midstride, her right knee locked and buckled. Pain shot up her thigh and she stumbled, catching the files before they fell to the ground. A horn sounded, brakes squealed and a cabbie swerved. Near miss. She gasped and clutched her folders tight while the cabbie swung his fist. Another car horn blared and she jumped back onto the curb before being flattened. Wouldn’t that be the kicker? Dying just as her brother got a new trial?

“Emma?”

Recanted
. That’s what Penny had said.
Please, God
. She drew a bumpy breath. Why did it feel as if someone had reached into her and ripped out part of a lung?