by Rebecca Shea
Fault Lines
Rebecca Shea
Rebecca Shea Author LLC
Contents
Rebecca Shea
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
also by Rebecca Shea
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Rebecca Shea
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously .
Copyright ©2017 Rebecca Shea Author, LLC
All rights reserved .
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author .
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the written permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author .
C reatespace
ISBN-13: 978-1975712280 (paperback )
ISBN-10: 1975712285
ISBN-13: 978-0986428821 (eBook )
Cover design by: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs
Edited by: Megan Hand – Story Girl Editing & Julie Deaton – Deaton Author Services
Dedication
To my brother Denny ,
I love you, miss you, and pray you are at peace .
Prologue
Ten Years Ago
M y fingers dig into the brown dirt between the patches of dead grass that used to once be a lush front yard. A jagged stone cuts into the soft flesh of my knee as I try to get control of the involuntary lurching of my stomach, which has me crippled on all fours .
Tears fall in streams, and I gasp for air as I hear the sound of heavy footsteps near me .
“Frances—”
“Get away from me!” I scream at the soft voice .
“It’s not — ”
“I said get the hell away from me!” My stomach clenches against another wave of nausea as I hear her footprints begin to move away. “Goooooo!” I shout at her again .
I manage to look over my shoulder and see Whitney Carson’s long blonde hair swaying as she walks quickly back across the cul-de-sac to her piss yellow, beat-to-hell Mustang. I barely make out the swell of her belly as she slides into the driver’s seat and slams the door behind her. The roar of the engine tells me she’s leaving .
One last heave and there is nothing left for my stomach to expel, leaving me with only my tears. My throat burns, my breaths coming in small gasps when I feel soft arms around my shoulders .
I hear the creak of the old screen door and my mama's worn shoes come into sight just before I feel her arms around me. “Baby girl, what’s wrong? We weren’t expecting you home from school until tomorrow…” Her voice is quiet, yet panicked as she kneels next to me, her white uniform dress getting dirty .
I finished my finals early so that I could come home early and surprise Cole and my mom, but the surprise was all mine. “Mama,” I cry between ragged breaths. “I came home early to surprise you and — ”
“Stop," she cuts me off, looking over my shoulder behind me. "Let’s get you inside. If this has anything to do with that girl that’s been coming around, he’s not worth your tears. You’re going to put your chin up and enjoy your summer.” She tugs at my arm in hopes to get me to budge .
I shake my head back and forth violently. “No. I can’t stay here,” I manage through my tears. I can't stay and watch this happen. I can't stay and watch them .
“What do you mean? Where would you go?” Her voice grows with concern .
“I don’t know, but I can’t stay here.” The hot summer air hangs heavy around us, and sweat beads along my forehead at my hairline. The thought of Cole touching Whitney Carson causes my stomach to flip again, and I dry heave as I pinch my eyes closed .
Mom rubs her hand over my arm as I try to gain my composure and move from all fours to sitting on the dirt. “Well, come inside until we figure this out.” Her voice is soft and sad. “I’ve always told you he was — ”
“Please stop—" I cut her off now, not wanting to talk about Cole with her .
I hear her deep sigh. “Come on. I’ll run you a hot bath. We need to get you cleaned up .”
The tears still fall in waves as my heart breaks with each step I take toward our house and away from Cole Ryan. As I think about it, the last few months begin to make sense. I sensed Cole pulling away from me. He'd become distant, not returning my calls or answering text messages. Mama called me and had told me about the rumors she'd heard, but we chose to chalk them up to small town gossip. Crescent Ridge is just that, a small town where no one has anything else to do but talk about other people and spread rumors .
Suddenly, realization hits me that the one person I trusted more than anyone in the world betrayed me. He’s been my best friend since I was eleven, my first crush, my first love, my first everything . No other person will ever etch himself so boldly into my history as Cole Ryan did. No other person held the cards to destroy me like Cole Ryan did. And did he ever .
I bite my tongue, tasting the slightest hint of blood as Mama walks me up the raggedy old front porch of our house. “Keep walking, baby girl.” She guides me through the front door. "Keep your chin held high," she says quietly, the screen door slamming hard behind us .
She looks at me with sympathetic eyes and her voice cracks as she speaks. “Now you can fall apart, Frances. Don’t ever let him see you crumble; don't give him that control. He is not worth your tears .”
And crumble is what I do as I sink to the faded wood floors of our living room, Mama rocking me in her lap, her fingers stroking my hair and wiping my tears. I cry and scream for the love I believed in, for the boy who owned my heart, and the loss of the one person I long for—the one person I had planned to spend my last breath with .
Mama holds me for hours as my tears come and go. At the first hints of the morning sunlight, I peel myself from Mama’s lap, my head pounding from the hours of crying. I pull my cell phone from my back pocket and press the name of the only other friend I have .
“Ash.” My voice breaks and I barely make out what she's saying, but one thing is certain. I'm getting the hell out of Crescent Ridge and never looking back. “I’m coming,” I tell her .
Between my tears and gasping breaths, I disconnect my call and see Mama swipe at the tears on her aging cheeks. She sat here all night comforting me as I lay helpless in her lap. In the end, she�
�s the one person who believes in me and has loved me unconditionally, and here I am about to leave her behind. Leave everything I know and love behind, without a second thought. For good .
I know that when I drive away from here today, I’ll never be back—I can’t come back. I’m leaving my broken heart behind, along with the only man I’ve ever loved .
I toss my bag and one small box of belongings from my childhood bedroom in the trunk of my car and slide into the driver's seat of my old Honda. Without a second thought, I put the car in drive and glance just once out my rearview mirror as I pull away. The last thing I see is Cole Ryan, hunched over the paint-chipped railing of his front porch as I drive away from Crescent Ridge, leaving him, my past, and my mama behind .
One
Present Day
S tanding in front of the floor length mirror, I glance at my reflection. My long brown hair falls in loose waves just above my shoulders. I pull my fingers through the waves, taming the ends to fall carefully into place before running my nervous hands down the length of my black dress, willfully brushing away any wrinkles .
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and try to will my erratic heart into settling down .
“Ready?” Ted calls to me from the bedroom .
“Almost,” I answer him and open my eyes .
I reach for the diamond tennis bracelet on the vanity and fasten it around my wrist. One last look in the mirror and I meet Ted in the bedroom where he's been waiting for me .
Tall with dark hair just starting to gray at the temples, Ted is the epitome of striking. Wearing his custom charcoal gray suit, his blue eyes stand out against his tan skin. If he weren’t a lawyer, he would be gracing the covers of a men’s fashion magazine—he's that beautiful .
“You look stunning,” he says with a soft smile. “The cameras are going to eat you up .”
I shake my head and blush. “That’s not what this is about. I want the guilty verdict. I want justice for those families — ”
“And you’ll get it,” he cuts me off. “I’m so damn proud of you.” He walks across the wood floor, wrapping himself around me. “You never cease to amaze me, Frances.” He presses his lips to my temple. “I was disappointed when you left the firm, but now I understand why you did it. I think I get it—it just fits you .”
I smile at his acceptance. “You know that the public sector was where I always wanted to end up .”
He nods and runs his hands up and down my arms .
I lean into him and wrap my arms around his waist. His embrace is where I always find comfort. “I will always be grateful for my time at the firm. The experience I received there was immeasurable…and it led me to you.” I pull back and stand on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his soft lips .
With his arms wrapped tightly around me in return, he releases a long sigh and mumbles against my lips. “As much as I could stand here and kiss you all morning, we need to get going or you’re going to be late. You look great. Get your nerves in check and walk with your chin held high.” He releases me .
I nod at him with a shaky smile. Ted always knows how to calm me. I grab my purse from the bench at the end of our bed and follow him to the car .
The morning is a blur as my stomach twists and turns in the hours leading up to the verdict. I busy myself by reading my closing argument over and over—even though I’d memorized it weeks ago and presented it to the jury three days ago .
We finally got word late yesterday afternoon that a verdict had been reached. The jury deliberated for two and half days…two and half of the longest days of my life. How selfish, I think to myself as I turn around and look at the Morrison and Longmire families sitting behind me. The loss of a child will truly destroy you .
I’ve waited two and half days for a verdict, and they’ve been waiting for two years. It took us two years to build the case we needed to bring Terry Nelson to trial for the sexual assault and murder of their two beautiful little girls, Sadie Morrison and Eva Longmire. Two six-year-old girls who were best friends and in the same kindergarten class. Two little girls who had their entire futures ahead of them, gone at the hands of a vicious predator. Two families that will never be the same again, ever .
Mr. Longmire nods once at me and offers a tight smile. I’ve seen him age significantly in these last two years, more than a man his age should. His hair is now graying and his skin is ashen. I've never seen a pair of eyes that hold as much sadness as his. He's worn, and tired, but hanging on for his baby girl. Losing a child in the most brutal of ways will do that to a man .
I turn back to my notes just as the defense team arrives. I have to tuck my hands underneath the table to hide the shaking. The defendant, Terry Nelson, is brought into the courtroom and placed at the defense table. I glance over my shoulder just in time to catch an encouraging smile from Ted as the bailiff enters with the jury. My heart pounds wildly as we all rise and Judge Vincent arrives and takes a seat .
When everyone sits, I inhale sharply, pulling the air deep into my lungs, and scan the faces of each of the twelve jurors, looking for the slightest signs of what the verdict may be. Twelve jurors, men and women, young and old, who have spent the last five weeks of their lives listening to me present evidence, question witnesses, medical examiners, and detectives in hopes of bringing the Morrison and Longmire families the justice they deserve—for Sadie and Eva .
Judge Vincent addresses the jury before finally asking the foreman if the jury has reached a verdict. Blood rushes to my head, momentarily deafening me as the foreman speaks. A single piece of paper is passed between the foreman, bailiff, and onto the clerk. The clerk inhales and her eyes scan the paper in her hands. The very piece of paper that could send a murderer back onto the streets, or send him to prison for the rest of his life where he belongs .
My case was rock solid—or so I believed. The DNA and the evidence I presented told the story of the gruesome and violent murders of those two little girls; in my eyes, evidence doesn't lie…but the puzzle I had to weave together to convince the jury of those facts could say otherwise .
I hear the swooshing sound of my heart racing, but I’m unable to make out the words as the clerk begins to speak. I see her lips moving and her eyes dance between the defense team and myself. The piece of paper in her hand shakes slightly as she speaks .
It’s only when my head clears that I’m finally able to register the words the clerk spoke .
“Guilty.” On two counts of first-degree murder .
"Guilty." On handfuls of other charges, but the one that matters, first-degree murder is all I hear .
I bury my face in my hands, choking down the emotion that has bubbled to the surface. Emotion I never show. Emotion I learned a long time ago how to bury .
The sounds of gasps and cries from the families behind me fill the small courtroom as the judge calls for order. Everything else happens quickly, and I’m honored to meet the jury and thank them for their verdict. I spend the next couple of hours meeting with the families of Eva and Sadie, walking them through the next steps and listening to them speak words of gratitude I don’t deserve. Eva and Sadie should be here—that’s all I can think about .
In the pressroom, I attend the press conference and speak to the media on behalf of the District Attorney's office, as well as the families of Eva and Sadie. I’m exhausted when I finally exit the courtroom after collecting my belongings. I find Ted in the hallway, waiting patiently for me, his phone pressed to his ear. When his eyes find mine, he hangs up quickly and saunters across the tile floor, pulling me into a tight hug .
“Proud of you, counselor .”
For the first time in days, I feel like I can actually breathe. I take a deep breath, letting the stale air from the courthouse fill my lungs .
“Thank you.” I’m finally able to muster. “Thank you for believing in me,” I tell him, an exhausted smile pulling at my lips. “Now let’s go get that drink you promised .”
* * *
P ushing through the doors to Manny’s, I see everyone assembled near the bar. Friends and colleagues that I have worked with throughout the years have been waiting on me to arrive to celebrate today’s verdict .
“Congratulations!” Everyone cheers as Ted and I approach the bar. I toss my purse on a bar stool and reach for the glass of white wine that Eduardo, my co-counsel, is holding out for me. Pressing the cool glass to my lips, I let the smooth wine settle on my tongue before swallowing .
“I’m so damn proud of you." He leans in and whispers, wrapping one arm around my shoulders .
“I couldn’t have done it without you. I mean that.” I smile at him and squeeze his arm in a gesture of gratitude. Eduardo took me under his wing when I joined the county attorney’s office a little over four years ago. I was an experienced trial lawyer, having learned the ins and outs of trial law with Ted’s firm, but this is new. I’m on the prosecuting end now. This is where I always dreamed to be. Ted’s firm helped me get here and Eduardo has been my mentor and basically my best friend since I arrived .
“I’d be surprised if they even try to appeal,” he says, taking a sip of his vodka tonic. “You were that good. There were no holes in your closing arguments. You presented solid evidence and left nothing for them to come back at us with .”
