THE PROSECUTOR (15 page)

“Emma? Talk to me.”

Her mother was safe. That should have been enough. As relieved as she was, Brian’s ticket to freedom sat in boxes—
three high, six across
—in the basement. They’d barely put a dent in copying them. All her work, all her hopes, all her mother’s dreams could be burning.

She had to get there. Had to see what was left. Couldn’t stand here and wait. God, she was so tired of waiting. She sucked air through her nose, stared up at the thick black smoke and the overwhelming urge to tear the living hell out of something consumed her. Raw energy sliced down her arms into her fingers. She shook her hands, flexing and unflexing.

“Emma?”

The sound of Zac’s voice. The man who’d lost faith in her and thought she was crazy only added to the agony and she backed up. Three steps. Then another for the extra room. That black smoke continued to torment her.
I need to see it
.

The cop’s radio crackled and he unclipped it from his shoulder, spoke into it and turned his back to her.

Run.

She burst into a sprint, barreling around the edge of the barricade.

“Emma!” Zac hollered.

She heard the cop yell, but didn’t dare slow down. She’d be there in seconds.

All at once, the house, the trucks, the firefighters, the billowing smoke came into view and she halted in the middle of the street. Ugly, flashing flames shot from the first-floor windows while firefighters yelled commands and directed thousands of gallons of pressurized water into the inferno. Fear spiked and she held her breath, willed herself to look at the basement window next to the porch.

Maybe it’s not the basement.

Orange-tipped flames, almost beautiful in their slashes of color, flicked from the window and Emma knew.

An insane howling roared up her throat, clawing its way out and her legs wilted. Her head whirled and she held her arms wide looking for anything solid to cling to.

“Emma!” Zac yelled.

A chunk at a time, the emotional assault wrecked her and her body gave out. She dropped to the ground in a wailing lump.

All the evidence gone. The files, the photos, the time lines—everything. Gone.

Her chest tore open, a good solid rip that left her exposed and vulnerable. And still she screamed.
Crack
. She glanced up as the porch overhang toppled.

Can’t breathe
.

Out of oxygen, she finally stopped screaming. She sucked in huge gulps of air.
Please, more air.
On all fours, she stared down at the grass and tears dropped from her cheeks to the backs of her hands.

Zac kneeled in front of her and she sat back. He cupped her cheeks in his hands. His mouth moved, but she heard nothing.

Chaos. Everywhere.
Make it stop
.

She jerked her head from his hands. The one who thought she was crazy.

Again, he grabbed her and held on. “Emma!”

Why is he here?
The sound of his voice, commanding but gentle, broke through and she focused on steadying breaths. All surrounding movement drifted away. The roaring dulled and the agony in her chest eased. Sanity returning. “Zac?”

“You’re okay, honey. You’re okay.” He let go, wrapped his arms around her and held tight. “I’ve got you.”

He had her. He sure did. In a matter of hours he’d managed to devastate her then showed up to help. Would her life ever get uncomplicated?

“Why are you here? Did you know?”

He inched back. “No. I came to talk to you about this morning.”

Oh, God
. She wasn’t ready for that. Not with this simmering anger, this
grief
over allowing herself to fall for a man she’d known would sacrifice her to get a win.

“All my files. They’re gone.”

“We don’t know that yet.”

A firefighter yelled and Emma averted her eyes, not wanting to see the charred remnants of their home.
Mom.
“I have to find my mother. I can’t let her come home to this.”

“Where is she?”

“I think she went shopping.” She slapped her hands over her face then dragged them down. “This will kill her.”

Zac stood, held his hand to Emma. “Start calling. I’ll get with someone from the fire department, see what’s what.” He motioned to the house. “Maybe it’ll only be the first floor.”

And the basement
. Where all the files relating to Brian’s case, a recently very active case, were stored.

“I think someone torched my house.
Someone
wanted to destroy my files.”

Someone who knew she had the only extensive evidence collection.

“Stop. Let me talk to the chief.”

Emma snatched her phone from her jacket pocket. She had to find her mother. “That’s fine, but this was no coincidence, Zac. And you know it.”

* * *

Z
AC
’
S
THOUGHTS
ZINGED
like bullets at a firing range. As much as he wanted to believe that Emma’s house going up in flames could be an accident, his mind wouldn’t wrap around it. The house was old, at least seventy-five years old, so, yeah, it was possible something shorted and—zap—the house is flambé.

He grunted and dragged his hands over his head. Emma and her mom sat on the back step of the ambulance while Emma did what she could to console her mother. Not that it appeared to be working because Mrs. Sinclair wore the bombed-out look of a woman caving in.

Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of pink came into view. Popsicle Penny on a direct course to Emma and Mrs. Sinclair. Zac hustled over and intercepted his sister.

“Hey,” she said. “How are they?”

He shrugged. “How should they be? We need to find them a place to stay.”

“I did it already.”

Probably a hotel.
“Something better than a hotel. A condo or a rental house. Homey.”

“Zac, I’m on it. One of our clients is out of the country for a year. His apartment is empty. Dad called him and he said they can stay there. It’s seven thousand square feet and has a view of Navy Pier. I think they’ll be comfortable.”

I’ll say
.

“Penny?” Emma called.

Penny waved. “Let me talk to them, and you and I need to huddle. Something is seriously whacky here.”

He stood off to the side, giving her privacy with her clients. When she reached them, Penny squatted to eye level and touched Mrs. Sinclair’s knee. His sister was a lunatic, but she had a way of connecting with people on an emotional level. A gift she could turn on and off at will.

Another gene pool issue because Zac hadn’t inherited that gift.

He slid his phone from his pocket, scrolled his contacts until he found Tom Carson, the investigator assigned to the Sinclair case.

“Carson,” the man barked. He would never be congenial but he got his job done.

“Hey, Tom. Zac Hennings.”

“What you got?”

“Do me a favor. See if you can find out where Ben Leeks was this afternoon.”

“Junior or Senior and why?”

Zac glanced back at the smoldering house, then to Emma who still sat on the back of the ambulance talking to Penny. She didn’t deserve this.

“Both. The Sinclairs’ home had a fire.”

“Torched?”

“Not sure. If it wasn’t, it’s an interesting coincidence. From the looks of the place, all of Emma’s files are gone.”

“Ah, that’s rough. I’ll get into it.”

“Thanks. Where are we with Junior?”

“It looks like his alibi checks out. I talked to a bunch of his friends, plus some of Chelsea’s. In a twisted way, I think he loved her. This kid’s a numbskull, but murder? I’m not getting that.”

Not exactly a surprise to Zac. “And the white shirt?”

“I can’t find another witness who saw a guy in white. My take? The detectives knew Sinclair was wearing a white shirt and fed it to Stanley Vernon.”

“To sum things up, Leeks is clean, the white shirt is out and Vernon has recanted.”

Welcome to the afternoon showing of his case falling apart.

“You got it, hoss. Anything else?”

Alex
. Zac rolled his lips in—
can’t go there.
No proof. If he put an investigator on it, someone, somewhere in a position higher than Zac’s would find out and his butt would be in trouble deep. Deeper than he already was.

“You there?”

A firefighter trudged by, dragging a giant iron tool. No idea what that was for, but the sight of it brought Zac to the injustice done here today. “One more thing: I’d appreciate your keeping it quiet, but see where Alex Belson was today. He’s a Cook County public defender.”

Tom let out a low whistle.

“Exactly. I’m way out on this. It’s probably nothing.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“Thanks. I need one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“His address.”

Chapter Fifteen

Emma watched Zac shove his phone back in his jacket pocket and glance at the remnants of her mother’s home. Of
her
home.

The fire department’s battalion chief had said the blaze went no higher than the first floor but water damage was extensive. The house would no doubt need to be gutted. All that remained in the basement was the charred wreckage of Penny’s copy machine. Fascinating. Months and months of Emma’s sweat gone and, with it, probably Brian’s chance at freedom. She’d never give up, though.

Never.

She’d simply start again.

If they found that this was an act of arson, she’d hunt down the person responsible. She’d had enough resistance in her life to know how to fight back. Every day she’d work toward making her mother’s life whole again, even if it meant giving up her own dreams.

“Okay,” Penny said. “Let’s call your insurance company. They’ll get the house boarded up.”

“I’ll call,” Mom said.

Before she could check herself, Emma swung her head sideways, her shock obvious to anyone within ten feet.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Mom snapped. “It’s still my house.”

Nice, Emma. Way to make your mother feel useless.
“I know. I’m sorry. I just thought...I can do it.”

“I know what you thought and I don’t blame you. Makes me realize how much I’ve placed on your shoulders. I’ll deal with the insurance company. If I need help, I’ll ask.”

Thank you
. Emma wrapped her arm around her mother’s shoulder and squeezed. “That’s awesome, Mom. I love you. I promise we’ll get this fixed. All of it.”

Penny rose from her squatted position and surveyed the mess. “I’ll talk to the chief and see if you’ll be able to get in there. Until they’re done investigating, I doubt it, but we’ll see. Then I’ll take you to your fancy new apartment. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Mom said, her voice steady. Determined. “Sounds fine.”

Maybe my mother is back.

Emma stood, wrapped Penny in a hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I hate this for you.”

Looking over Penny’s shoulder, Emma spotted Zac talking with one of the firefighters. She still didn’t truly understand why he was here, but at the moment, despite the emotional bloodbath unleashed on her, she should at least talk to him. “I need to speak to your brother.”

Penny backed away and eyeballed her. “I could slap the two of you. I told you not to sleep with him.”

A blast of horror snaked up Emma’s throat. How embarrassing that Penny had figured out they’d, as Brian would say, done the nasty. Emma snorted. Even from prison, her brother made her laugh.

Exhaustion. It had to be exhaustion.

Penny jerked her head. “Talk to him. I don’t want to hear about it. Not one thing.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She wandered over to Zac, slowing as she got closer. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure her presence would be welcome. Not after her little psycho-meltdown in the street. His gaze shifted from the firefighter for a second and—
oh, what a guy
—he held his hand to her.

All she had to do was take it. Simple gesture. Sure they had issues to deal with, but if she chose to reject and embarrass him by not accepting the comfort he offered, they were as good as done. Like any man, Zac had his pride and she couldn’t disrespect him. Not after all he’d done for them. Still, she was far from ready to pick up where they were before their fight.

If she couldn’t trust him to support her, there was no point in allowing the relationship to continue. And he’d made it clear that his job was his priority.

The firefighter shifted to the side and nodded. Zac’s hand still hung in midair.
Grab it
. No.
Don’t embarrass him
.

She reached for his hand and held it. No squeeze, no caressing fingers, no indication of anything. Brutal compromise. The loose hold he had on her indicated his understanding.

Yeah, we’ve got some work to do.

“This is Emma Sinclair.”

“Sorry about this,” the firefighter said. “We’ll be out of here soon.”

The man left and Zac faced her, his fingers still linked with hers, barely hanging on.

“Penny told you about the apartment?”

Emma looked into his spectacular blue eyes, which always settled her. “Yes. She’s amazing.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

He smiled, though, and a piece of Emma’s broken heart sheared off. Truth was she didn’t know how to love the man prosecuting her brother’s case. “I’m sorry we had a fight,” she said.

“Me, too. I didn’t like that. At all.”

“I don’t know how to do this, Zac.”

“Me, neither.”

“Penny was right. We have no business being in a personal relationship right now.” She waved toward the house. “And after this...all my evidence...” Her voice hitched and she breathed in.
You can do this
. “I have no idea what will happen with Brian’s case.”

“There are some copies left.”

“Not enough, Zac.”

“I told Tom Carson to see where the Leeks kid was this afternoon. And Alex Belson.”

After her house almost burned to the ground, he finally believed her. Still, he’d gotten there. Not that anything could change between them. “Thank you. I know that couldn’t have been easy for you, but thank you.”

“I want to support you, Emma. This thing is moving fast. I need a second to catch up. Form a plan. You’re good at shifting on the fly. I need to process. Collect proof to back up my gut reactions.”

“I shouldn’t have hit you with the Alex thing and expected you to do something right then. I didn’t think it through, but that’s me. That’s how I operate and I can’t change that. If you weren’t the prosecutor on our case, it wouldn’t be an issue. I can’t get around that. And, if Brian’s petition is denied, he’ll stay in prison. You’ll be the one who kept him there. How would a relationship between us survive that?”

“Emma—”

She stepped back. “I know myself. At some point, I’ll look at you and wonder if you could have done more. It wouldn’t be fair, but I’d do it.”

He nodded. Maybe he understood. God knew she didn’t. “I’m sorry, Zac. It’s over.”

* * *

L
ONG
AFTER
P
ENNY
installed Emma and her mother in their temporary digs, Zac stood on the sidewalk waiting for the arson investigator to come outside. Maybe he could give Zac the 411 on whether his findings were heading in the direction of arson.

Plus, Zac was in no hurry to be anywhere in particular. Not after Emma gave him the dropkick. All he’d wanted was for them to lie low until Brian’s case got settled. Apparently, she had a different idea.

He propped an arm on a low tree branch and tapped his fingers against it. He couldn’t think too hard about Emma. Wallowing in misery wasn’t his style, but this feeling of each breath being trapped inside a crushed torso did nothing for his state of mind.

Better to focus on the Sinclair home and the implications it might have. In his gut, Zac had no doubt that someone had intentionally done this. No doubt whatsoever. Call it intuition or plain common sense, but he knew.

His phone rang. Ray. This would be a problem, considering that Zac was supposed to be in court and had asked his co-prosecutor on the trial to cover for him.

He clicked the answer button before it went to voice mail. “Hey, Ray.”

“Where the hell are you?” his boss thundered.

“I’m at the Sinclair place. Someone torched it.”

“Did you forget we’re in the middle of jury selection?”

“I talked to Diane. It was a short day today. I figured she could handle it while I waited on the arson investigator.”

“He’ll send you a report.”

“He’s finishing up. Maybe he’ll give me something.”

“I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re killing your career.”

Ah, damn.
There’s always the private sector
. He’d hate that, though. He thrived on being a trial lawyer and somehow he didn’t see himself making the leap from prosecution to defense. Plenty of attorneys did, but he wasn’t sure it was for him. Civil law might be an option. Another thing he couldn’t think about now. “You told me to figure it out. Not my fault it isn’t the direction you wanted.”

“I’m about to pull you from this case.”

Not a chance. But he’d stay calm. No yelling. “I’m making progress here. However this plays out, we can spin it so it works for Helen Jergins. If Sinclair is guilty, we’ll prove it once and for all. If he’s innocent, she’s freed a wrongfully convicted man. Either way, it’s good.”

“You’d better hope it’s good or you’ll have bigger problems than just being pulled off this case.”

A slam came from the other end.
Ooosh.

Zac pulled the phone from his ear. Stared at it a minute. His boss had just threatened his job. Seriously?
Seriously?

If doing the right thing got him this garbage, why bother? He’d never considered himself an idealist when it came to politics and he knew there were times political maneuvering dictated the outcome of a case, but he’d never been pushed face-first into it.

Emma had been fighting this wall of opposition for too long. Day after day of roadblocks. Of people telling her
no
and expecting her to accept it. Hell, he’d been one of them.

For him, it had been a week and he’d already hit overload. No wonder she’d flipped over his need for proof about Alex.

The arson investigator, Dick Jones, walked out of the house. Zac had introduced himself earlier and had told the man he’d be waiting.

“I can’t give you anything official,” the inspector said.

“I know. This is off the record, so to speak. Goes nowhere outside of this conversation.”

Dick nodded. “Heavy charring in the basement and on the first floor. Also charring and smoke stain on the ceiling toward the back.”

“Origin?”

“Looks like the basement floor. The stairs leading to the first floor were burned through. Based on the condition of the floor and the pattern of the burn, I’d say it’s arson.”

Emma was right. “You’ll be finished when?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll write up my report as soon as we wrap up here.”

Zac glanced up at the house. “Can anything be salvaged?”

“Maybe some clothes. Stuff from the second floor, but it all needs cleaning. A real mess.”

This guy had no idea. “Thanks. I appreciate the info.”

“No problem. Don’t jump the gun on me.”

Zac shook his head. “No. We’re good.” His phone rang and he checked it. Tom Carson. “I gotta take this. Thanks again.”

He headed to his car at the end of the block. Almost four o’clock and he was still here. No wonder Ray was pissed.

“Hey, Tom.”

“Leeks Senior was in court testifying this afternoon. The kid was at work today. Apparently he’s a personal trainer and had clients until two.”

Eh, there went that idea. Even if Junior didn’t set the fire, he could still be involved. And his father couldn’t be ruled out, either.

“Where this gets interesting,” Tom said, “is Alex Belson.”

Zac stopped walking and a car flew by him, the driver honking the horn and nearly giving Zac an explosive bowel movement. “Take it easy!”

People.

“You okay?” Tom asked.

“Yeah. Alex Belson?”

“He left court around eleven.”

Which was right around the time he showed up at Zac’s office. “He came to see me.”

“Oh.” Tom paused. Probably making a note. “How long was he with you?”

“Less than ten minutes. He walked out of my office then ran into Emma Sinclair. Couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes total he was in our office. Where did he go after that?”

“That’s what’s interesting. He called his office, probably when he left you and told them he was on lunch.”

“Return time?”

“One-thirty.”

Come again?
Zac stood frozen. A two-and-a-half hour lunch.

“And before you ask, yes, I double-checked it. I have two people who confirmed it. Plus, he swiped his key card when he entered the office. The guard verified it.”

He reached his car and leaned against the hood. “Any idea where he went to lunch?”

“None.”

“Okay. How about his address?”

“I’ve got it.”

Jumping into the car, Zac grabbed his notepad from the glove compartment. “Go.”

“If I give this to you, are you gonna do anything stupid?”

“No.”

“Zac?”

“Tom, I promise you. Nothing stupid. I’ll have my sister put an investigator on him. See if he’s up to anything. I don’t want the SA’s office behind it. That’s all.”

And I want to make sure he doesn’t go near Emma.
Zac didn’t want to believe this guy was capable of attacking Emma or setting this fire, but he wouldn’t take a chance. He shook his head, hoping some form of understanding over this screwed-up scenario would flash into his mind.

No luck. Tom rattled off the address.

“Do I want to ask what Brian Sinclair’s former public defender might have to do with the fire at the Sinclairs’?”

Zac dropped the notepad and sat back in his seat. “I wish I knew, Tom. I wish I knew.”