THE PROSECUTOR (14 page)

“I’m trying not to get squashed here.” On the sidewalk, Emma straightened, drew a long, slow breath and adjusted the files in her arms. “Okay. I’m good.”

“We’re not supposed to know this yet, but Mr. Vernon just told Zac he never saw a man in a white shirt. He definitely saw a man. No white shirt. The detectives told him another witness saw a man in a white shirt and they asked him to confirm.”

Now it made sense. “Zac is looking for the witness. That’s why he needs my files.”

“I just talked to my dad. We don’t think there’s another witness. We think the cops knew Brian wore a white shirt that night so they made up this other witness to convince Mr. Vernon they had the right guy.”

Please, please, please.
“So Mr. Vernon’s testimony will get thrown out?”

“It’s enough for us to file our post-conviction petition and probably get a hearing.”

“Oh, Lord.” Emma hurried across the street and sprinted up the steps leading to the building where Zac’s office was housed.

“Don’t get crazy on me, Emma. We are still months away from a hearing. These things take time, but this is all good. Great, in fact.”

In the last ten years, the Sinclairs hadn’t seen a whole lot of great. Suddenly, this Hennings bunch was offering an abundance of it. “I’m heading in. I’ll call you when I’m done with Zac.”

“Don’t let on that you know. Play dumb. Make him squirm a little.”

Emma scoffed. Everything was a competition between them. They literally thrived on it. “You two make me crazy.”

“I love making him wonder what I’m up to.”

The line for security stretched to the lobby door and Emma almost laughed. Hadn’t the last two years of her life been filled with this hurry-up-and-wait mentality? Her phone beeped again. Popular today.

Zac. “I’m stuck at security.”

“Okay,” he said, then silence.

“Hello?”

No answer. She held the phone in front of her. “Really now? You hung up on me? Sheesh.”

Craving peace, she turned the phone off—what the point of that was, she didn’t know—but it felt good.
That’ll teach them
.

* * *

S
TILL
AT
HIS
DESK
, Zac read Mr. Vernon’s statement for the thirtieth time. The man had signed it and, with his guilt slightly assuaged, had gone on his way. Mr. Vernon’s statement wouldn’t be enough to free Brian Sinclair from prison, and who knew if he actually belonged there, but slowly, piece by piece, the case was starting to break open.

Alex Belson, the former public defender on Brian’s case, swung into the office. Interesting timing. His rumpled suit jacket and hair that stuck up on the side indicated that Alex might be having a rough day.

Zac closed the folder containing Mr. Vernon’s statement. “Hey, Alex. Visiting the dark side?”

He cracked a grin, but nothing about it appeared to come easy. “I figure it’s a good reminder of why I belong elsewhere.”

Zac sat back. “What’s up?”

“I was in court and heard that a witness in the Sinclair case recanted.”

News traveled in this building. Zac had always known that, but this was world-record speed. Being the defense attorney who took the case to trial, Alex probably wanted assurance that his butt would be covered. When it came to this convoluted mess, nobody was safe. “You heard right. Stanley Vernon.”

Alex’s head dropped an inch. “The guy from the alley?”

“Yeah. He came in this morning. Said the detectives implied they had a solid case against Brian Sinclair. All they needed was corroboration.”

“Oh, man.” Alex winced. “I should have caught that.”

Probably
. But given that he was the fourth PD on Brian’s case, anything could have happened. By the time Sinclair got to Alex Belson, the cops had him trussed up all nice and tidy.

“Your sister will be all over this.”

“Any time now she’ll have that post-conviction petition submitted.”

Alex shook his head. “This case. Damn nightmare. The thing won’t go away.”

Not many things said in the company of trial attorneys shocked Zac anymore, but referring to the murder of a cop’s daughter as
the thing
caught him short. Maybe he was wound too tight after the crazy week, but a young woman was dead, brutally murdered, and they may have incarcerated the wrong guy.

“There are issues, for sure.”

Alex tapped his fingers against his leg. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

As if Penny would let Alex Belson anywhere near this case. No. His sister would see this one to its conclusion.

Whatever that conclusion might be.

* * *

E
MMA
CHARGED
OFF
THE
ELEVATOR
, scooted by a few milling people and raced toward the receptionist’s desk. Having seen her previously, the woman waved her through. “He’s waiting for you.”

“Thank you.”

Emma made a left, angled around a guy who looked like a lawyer and her gaze zoomed in on the man striding toward her.

Alex Belson. The useless, waste of a public defender who’d done nothing—
nothing
—for Brian. He’d barely lifted a pen. Even when Emma funneled him information from her research, he’d always come up with reasons to dismiss it.

Useless piece of garbage.

As they neared each other, his focus shifted to her, studying, remembering. He slowed his pace.

Yeah, you know me
. Emma stopped in front of him, blocking his path. “I suppose you’ve heard the SA has assigned an investigator to my brother’s case.”

“I did. Good for you.”

So smug. “Good for my brother. Finally.”

Alex folded his arms and huffed an annoyed you-are-such-an-idiot breath. “You want to say something to me, say it.”

Like a hard slap, his low, guttural tone knocked her sideways. Emma’s jaw clamped tight.
Him, him, him
. Could it be? She squeezed the folders, gripped hard, her fingers nearly splitting from the pressure.
You want to die right here like Chelsea Moore?
Couldn’t be. But all those times, all the evidence he’d refused to consider. She’d handed it to him. All he’d had to do was use it, which he’d never done.

Emma backed away, slowly moving around him.

“What?” he said. “You don’t think I did a good job for your brother?”

“Emma?”

She turned, saw Zac striding toward her, his long legs eating up the space between them, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever been so happy to see someone. The agony of her thoughts made her nauseous. What was happening? Sickness swirled and tumbled and slid and she backed up another step, needing distance. Needing
space
.

“Nice to see you again, Ms. Sinclair,” Alex said from somewhere behind her.

Zac set his hand on her shoulder. Instantly, her pulse settled. His simple touch brought her mind back into focus.

“You look like hell. You okay?”

“It’s him.”

“Who?”

She turned back. No Alex. Gone. “Alex Belson. He’s the one from the alley.”

* * *

Z
AC
DRAGGED
E
MMA
to his office to figure out what in hell she was talking about. Something had spooked her because all color had drained from her face. Nothing left but ashy white skin.

Could this day get any more bizarre?

He shut the door behind them, took the files from her and guided her to the chair. She mumbled something and he glanced at her.

“Did Alex say something to you?”

He sat on the edge of his desk directly in front of her, their legs almost touching. The tiny lines at the corners of her mouth pinched and she brought her gaze to his. Her dark eyes locked on his so hard it could have been a punch. Emma Sinclair was one pissed-off woman.

“He’s the one who attacked me in the alley.”

She’d totally lost it now, but Zac would slap on his neutral prosecutor face. “Emma—”

“It’s him. I recognized his voice. The tone was the same. I recognized his voice.”

Complete insanity. Zac rubbed both hands over his face then looked up at the ceiling, hoping any god in the general area would send him strength.

“You think I’m crazy,” Emma shot.

“I think you’re under pressure.”

“I know what I heard.”

“We all have Chicago accents.”

“Not like him you don’t. The tone he used was evil. I know what I heard.”

Dug in. That’s what she was. And in the short time he’d known her, getting her from this line of thinking would be no easy task. Having her walking around accusing a public defender of criminal acts wouldn’t do her—or Brian—a damn bit of good, either. Zac tapped his foot, twisted his lips.

“Just say it, Zac.”

He held his hands up. “I’ve known this guy four years. He’s a civil servant and you think he’s a murderer?”

“I didn’t say that. I think he attacked me in the alley. Why he’d do that, I don’t know, but I’ve given up trying to figure out the things that happen in my life.” She scooted to the edge of her chair and touched his knee. “I’m sure it was him.”

Any time now, he could use that strength from a nearby god. Couldn’t he get a break? He shook his head then jammed his palms into his eyes and pressed until his eyeballs begged for mercy. He dropped his hands, stared at Emma and wondered just what the hell they were doing. “What do you want? I can’t walk into my boss’s office and tell him this. I need proof. You know that. After the Leeks kid, Ray already thinks I’m in over my head. I might as well resign right now because accusing a public defender of attacking the woman I’m sleeping with won’t look good in my file.”

Emma gawked. “So this is about what looks good?”

“No. I want to support you. I’ve done nothing but support you.”

“That’s not true.”

A rumbling in his brain alerted him to his temper firing.
Check that
. He held his breath, let it out again and cocked his head. “I’ve chased down every lead I could find on this case.”

“You chased down those leads hoping you’d find that Brian was guilty. You didn’t count on him being innocent. That’s okay because you’re a prosecutor and I get that. What I don’t get is how you say you’ve supported me. You’ve supported me because it made sense. Suddenly, something doesn’t make sense and you’re backing off. I guess I’m good enough to sleep with when conditions are favorable, but now I’m a liability.” She stood, waved her arms. “When did you become such a coward?”

Oh, hell no. The muscles in his neck became twisted ropes squeezed so tight that any slack was gone. Labeled a coward, he turned apoplectic. “Are you
kidding
me? You think anyone else around here would take on this mess?”

The second—make that millisecond—the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
Damn temper.
Words like that could slice a woman in two.

“Now I’m a mess? My brother being falsely convicted is a mess? A
mess?
”

“That’s not what I meant!”

She held her hands in a stop motion and jerked them at him. Hauling her shoulders back, she closed her eyes and curled her fingers. Within seconds, she opened her eyes again, her body not as stiff and outraged. “Forget it. This is getting us nowhere and it makes us both look bad. I know how that upsets you. But hey—” her voice was low, as if a thousand soldiers had pummeled it “—I guess it’s time for you to learn that life isn’t always fair. Believe me.”

She swung away from him and cruised to the door. No drama, no stomping feet, no carrying on.

“Emma!”

She opened the door and held it so it wouldn’t bump the wall.

Without glancing back, she said, “I think we’re done here. Thanks so much for your time.”

* * *

E
MMA
RACED
FROM
the elevator, blew by slower people standing in the lobby and focused on the exit, the one leading to fresh air. She’d been so stupid to think she could depend on anyone from the State’s Attorney’s Office to help them.

And she’d slept with him. Let him invade her not-so-iron heart. Heartbreak, at this point, was the last thing she needed. Not when life seemed to be on an upswing. Well, an upswing graded on the curve of Emma’s crappy luck.

Now she had to deal with this attachment to Zac because as furious as she was with him right now, a slow-growing ache had formed in her chest—one she didn’t want to feel. She knew what it was. This was how it started with her. She’d ignore the ache, work around it, justify it, whatever.

Then one morning she’d wake up paralyzed, unable to move or breathe or function and her world would be empty and suffocating and she’d want to pound on something until all that hurt and anger went away.

Broken hearts totally stank and something told her Zac Hennings had just made the first crack in hers.

Chapter Fourteen

Deciding he could stand some fresh air, Zac took an early lunch and called his father. At certain times in his life, regardless of his father’s current status as the opposition, Zac gave in to the idea that he still needed his dad’s counsel.

In a matter of days, he’d gone from the office pit bull to a guy his boss couldn’t trust. All because of a woman he’d slept with.

Epic fail.

Zac stepped into the glass-walled lobby of his father’s office building and waved to the guard. Hennings and Solomon didn’t have the entire building. They had three floors, though, and the guards had seen Zac often enough to know him.

He signed in at the desk and made his way to the tenth floor. The receptionist juggled multiple ringing lines, but pointed him in the direction of his father’s office, which worked for him, since he was in no mood for small talk. He’d even taken the long way to his father’s office in a pansy attempt to avoid Penny.

When Zac stepped into the office, his father was holding the phone to his ear and rocking back and forth in his desk chair. He waved him in.

“My son is here. I’ll call you back.”

That fast, his father had rearranged his priorities, putting Zac at the top. No matter how old they got, his father always made time for his children. A good lesson to remember. And suddenly Zac had a vision of Emma chasing after a bunch of kids. His kids.

Where’s this going now?
He shook it off. No time for those fantasies. Plus, she currently wasn’t speaking to him, much less wanting to have his babies.

As usual, his father shook his hand then brought him in for a shug—the combo shoulder pat and hug.

“Nice seeing you, son.”

“You, too, Dad.”

His father stepped back, ran a hand down his custom-made shirt. “Have a seat.”

“Mind if I close the door?”

“With a lunch-hour visit, I assumed this would be a closed-door session.”

Just as Zac grabbed the door, Penny stormed by then skidded to a halt. Too slow for his sister, she set her hand on the door and squeezed into the office.

Her blue eyes drilled him. “What’s this about?”

“I’m here for Dad.”

Penny blew that off. “Emma told me about Alex Belson.”

“I’m not discussing this with you.”

“What about Alex Belson?” Dad wanted to know.

Penny kept her focus on Zac. “It’s worth looking into. She said you wouldn’t even consider it.”

His sister was such a pain in the ass. “This might shock you, but I can’t charge a PD without proof.”

“What about Alex?” Dad asked again.

But Zac was rendered mute by Penny’s accusing glare. She had something brewing in that crazy brain of hers and it couldn’t be good. Not with the way she focused on him, her gaze sliding over his face pondering, considering.

“Hey,” Dad said in that slow, controlled voice that let them know his patience was wearing thin. “Someone answer me.”

Zac faced him. At least until Penny lunged and landed a not-so-gentle punch on his right arm that sent a stab of pain clear to the bone. For a small woman, she had some fire. “Ow. What’s that for?”

“You slept with our client! I can see it on your face, Zachary. Guilt. You
pig
.”

“What the...?” Zac slid a desperate, sideways glance at their father.
Please help me
.

“Penny,” Dad said. “Out. Now.”

But Penny remained in her spot, her lips pinched and—if he knew his sister—holding back a whole lot of mean. “I knew you had a thing for her. I
can’t
believe you.”

Again, she whacked him on the arm. Now he’d had it. He didn’t blame her for being mad, but he’d had enough of the drama-girl routine. “Hit me again and I’ll move you out of here myself.”

Dad stood. “Penny,
out
.”

“Dad!”

Dad pointed to the door. “Out.”

Suddenly, Penny was twelve again, throwing a fit because the boys got to play outside after dark.

Her perfect little nose wrinkled and she waved her fist at him. “Pig!”

Needing a minute, Zac jammed his palms into his eye sockets. This was so seriously messed up. He dropped his hands. “She’s insane. I mean, is there any chance we’re not from the same gene pool? Maybe I’m adopted and didn’t know it?”

His father grinned. “Unless your mother is keeping a secret, I’m confident you’re both mine.” He gestured to the chair. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

He dropped into the plush leather guest chair so unlike the crummy metal ones in his office. Everything about this office—the rich woods, the neat shelves stocked with law books, the orderly appearance of the desk—all of it screamed control and organization. “I think I screwed up.”

“If you had sex with our client, I’d say you’re right.”

“Emma.”
Ah, cripes
. Admitting this violation wouldn’t be easy and Zac’s stomach heaved. “I, uh...”

His father sat forward and folded his hands on the desk. “Your sister’s assessment is correct?”

Thank you
. “Yeah, but it’s not ugly. Not like she made it sound. Emma is amazing and smart and dedicated. Who wouldn’t want her?”

Dad held his hands up. “You’re both unattached, responsible people. Things happen. But you’re the prosecutor. An intimate relationship subjects your case to scrutiny. You know that.”

“Exactly.”

“You should have kept your hands off her until this case was over.” He smacked a hand on the desk. “That didn’t happen. So let’s figure it out. You had a fight with Emma over Alex Belson?”

Right. Alex. “You know about Emma getting attacked in the alley.”

“Yes.”

“Alex came by my office this morning. He’d heard that Stanley Vernon recanted.”

No reaction to this news. His father remained quiet. “Dad, I know you know. You’ve got spies everywhere.”

Dad rolled his bottom lip out. “We’d heard something.”

“Alex was curious about Vernon’s statement. I didn’t think much of it. I know I’d be curious if a witness on a case I’d worked recanted. Emma ran into him when he left my office. She looked upset and I asked her what happened.” Zac threw his hands up. “She tells me she thinks
Alex
attacked her in the alley.”

If trial lawyers got Oscars, Zac’s father would have a few—more than a few. When it came to an unruffled performance, he was a master. “You think she’s imagining it?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I’m not objective anymore. I froze. Part of me wanted to get nuts and protect her. She does everything herself. I hate that. But Ray is all over me on this. I was supposed to make it go away.”

“And you didn’t.”

“I wanted to. I wanted
Brian Sinclair to be guilty. I
wanted
to tell Chelsea Moore’s family that we got it right the first time. Instead, I told my boss to assign an independent investigator because the case is seriously flawed.”

His father sat back and took it all in. If a lecture was forthcoming, Zac knew he deserved it. His father’s lectures were legendary. A person could turn to stone once Dad got rolling. Now, though, he was probably muted by his son’s failures. Finally, he sat forward, leaning in, engaging. “What can I do?”

No lecture.
Got lucky.
Zac dragged his fingers through his hair, then tugged. Damn, his head hurt. How did he start feeling so old and exhausted? This case and the emotional warfare, that’s how. “I don’t know. I had to blow off steam.”

“I see that.” Dad let out the three-thousand-pound sigh. Zac hated that sigh. “You need to talk to Emma. Tell her you care. My guess is she doesn’t know you’re invested. She thinks you’re willing to sacrifice her for your career.”

Point there.

“Are you?”

Zac glanced up. Staring into his father’s eyes, he knew the answer. Clear as day. “No.”

“Kid, you’re in a jackpot here.”

“Thanks, Pop.”

“What you need to do is make her understand that you care, but back away. You have to. She knows as well as you do that this relationship is dangerous.”

“I know.”

“Then you put this Belson thing aside. I’ll get one of my investigators on it. See if there’s something there. This case has so many twists and turns, anything is possible.” He drove his index finger into the desktop. “You stay away from Emma until this is over. You hear?”

“I know.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“Dad—”

“No excuses. Impropriety could destroy your career and keep this kid in prison when he doesn’t belong there.”

Guilt, hot and slick, shot up Zac’s neck. His father was right. Distance from Emma was the smart move. He’d talk to her. Explain his position. Convince her it was the right thing for both of them. Then he’d walk away.

Temporarily.

He hoped.

After the you’re-my-son-but-you-screwed-up talk, Zac detoured to Penny’s office. He pushed the partially open door in. His sister sat behind her massive desk, doing something on her computer. She spotted him and shot him the death glare again.

She folded her arms. “Zachary.”

“Where’s Emma?”

“Dream on. You’ve done enough for one day.” She sat forward and poked a finger at him. “You upset my client. For this, I will shred you in court. You’ll
beg
me to stop.”

His baby sister, warrior queen. “Spare me. I care about her.” She opened her mouth, but he waved. “Forget it. Not discussing it. I have to talk to your client. Where was she when you spoke to her?”

Penny spun back to her computer and Zac stared up at the ceiling.
It’ll be a miracle if I don’t kill her.
He closed his eyes, took a few breaths and thought about an ice cold beer on a beach, in a hammock maybe. Breaking ocean waves... Sleep.

A minute later, after somehow finding the patience not to strangle his sister, he glanced back at her. “Great. Thanks for your help.”

On his way out the door Penny said, “She’s on her way home.”

He turned back. “Thank you.”

“You’re killing me, Zachary.”

“If it makes you feel any better,
I’m
killing me. This thing with Emma, it’s not...” He stopped. He didn’t know what it was. “I never expected to care.”

Penny shifted front and dropped her hands on her desk, her gaze straight-on. “She’s been through a lot. I’ve gotten to know her and she seems happy. As happy as someone in her position can be. She’s coming out of the dark.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t break her heart or I’ll have to stab you.”

She’d do it, too. He twisted his lips, made a show of rolling his eyes, but really, he wanted to hug her. She was a drama aficionado, but he loved her. “I’ll fix it.”

It took thirty-five minutes—long past Zac’s lunch hour—to get through downtown traffic and reach Emma’s Parkland neighborhood. On the way, he called Diane, his co-counsel on the murder case currently in jury selection, and asked her to handle the afternoon session. She had a better grasp of the case anyway and would be fine on her own.

He made the left leading to Emma’s street and found it blocked by fire engines and patrol cars. Black, billowing smoke rose into the air from three doors down.

Sweat peppered his upper lip and he swiped at it. “What’s this now?”

He parked at the curb and got out. A cop standing at the barricade held his hand up.

Zac flashed his credentials. The cop studied the gold-toned badge and glanced back at Zac who jerked his chin toward the emergency vehicles. “What’s happening?”

“House fire.”

His stomach pinched.
Couldn’t be
. “You know the address?”

“225. White, two-story.”

Bam—he might as well have been sucker punched. The hot dog he’d grabbed on the way over flipped like a gymnast in his gut. His vision swam for a minute.
Focus
.

“You okay?” the cop asked.

In his mind, he pictured Emma trapped in a burning home, overcome by smoke, falling over...
Stop
.

“Is anyone hurt? I was headed there. I’m a...friend of the family. How bad is it?”

“No one home. They’re still knocking down the fire.”

A car pulled up behind Zac, the rattle of its engine sounding all too familiar. For a moment, he couldn’t move, the relief immobilizing. He massaged his forehead, his mind already moving to the next task.

He inched around. “This is the owner’s daughter. She lives there.”

“She can’t go in.”

“I know. I’ll take care of it.”

* * *

E
MMA
TURNED
HER
CAR
OFF
and stared at the thick, black smoke coming from the center of her block.

For a moment, she sat nestled in her seat belt, valiantly attempting to ignore her body’s warning signals. The throbbing temples, the fierce pain shooting across her forehead and the flashes of white blinding her. She pushed the car door open and headed for the barricade where an officer stood with—Zac.

Why was he here?

She picked up her pace, her gaze cemented to the swirling red lights in the middle of the block. Zac’s face—
oh no
—his face held the drawn look of a man about to be strapped into the electric chair.

She kept moving, though, staying focused on the middle of the block that, from the look of Zac, couldn’t be anything she wanted to see.

Four feet from him, she pointed. “Is that my house?”

Surprisingly, the words came fast and direct. No shaking voice. No obvious panic. If they only knew.

“Emma—”

She pushed by him. “What’s on fire?”

The officer slid in front of her. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Is that my house?” Zac grabbed her arm, but she jerked it free. “Tell me.”

“Yes.”

Blood roared. Just a screaming, pounding, eviscerating surge shredding her body. “Where’s my mother?”

Zac eyed the cop.

“No one inside,” he said.

For once, she gave in, let the momentum take her and she stepped back, forcing herself to stay upright. Her mother was safe. Zac grabbed her elbow. Slowly, her body in low gear, churning through the thick mud of information, she turned to him.