by Carsen Taite
“I got here as fast as I could.”
It had been two hours since Cade had placed the call to tell Kennedy that Leo Fontana’s signature was all over the Sam Wade crime scene. Since then, memories of the day she’d been shot had flooded her brain. Neat bullet holes centered in the chest of the agents and her witness. Biermann’s gaping throat. And blood. Gushing, spattered blood.
She’d made the call to Kennedy on one of the burner phones she kept in the duffel bag stowed under her bed. She didn’t have much else in the bag: some cash, a couple of changes of clothes, but she’d figured it wasn’t a bad idea to have some resources ready in case she ever needed to bug out. What she’d learned from Asher had nearly sent her running, but the delay in Kennedy’s arrival had given her time to think. She’d spent half of it pacing and the other half running searches on the Internet about the Miller case. How had she missed a detail this critical?
Because you were so busy trying to get in the DA’s bed, you let your guard down. She couldn’t deny the voice in her mind, but it wasn’t the whole story. The truth was she’d shut herself off from the rest of the world, and in doing so she’d become more vulnerable. Her online searches revealed the DA’s office had released the full details regarding the method of Wade’s death the day the grand jury reported out. The same day she’d shown up at the courthouse for Miller’s bond hearing. The same day she’d slept with Emily.
She hadn’t read a paper or watched the news that day because all she could think about was Emily. The only breaking news she’d cared about was how Emily’s naked body felt wrapped around hers. And now she had nothing. No Emily and no safe place.
“Why don’t we sit down, and you can tell me everything.” Kennedy stood in the foyer, her expression a mixture of concern and curiosity.
“Yeah, okay. Let’s get away from these windows.”
Kennedy glanced at the window. “I had someone drive by a few times. I don’t think anyone’s watching you. Not right now anyway.”
“Maybe no murderers, but the woman across the street is on her usual window patrol.” Cade led the way to the kitchen. “Come on. I could use a drink.”
She pulled two glasses from the cabinet and held up the bottle of whisky. To her surprise, Kennedy nodded. She poured them a couple of fingers each and handed a glass to Kennedy.
“This is good stuff.”
“Drink up. If I have to move, I’m packing light.”
Kennedy took another sip. “I made some calls after we talked. Someone’s sending me a copy of Sam Wade’s autopsy report, but it sounds like they have this Kevin Miller dead to rights. He was found standing over the body, and they found a knife with blood on it in his apartment.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe he stumbled over the body and picked up the knife, decided to keep it.”
“You really think he didn’t do it?”
“I know it sounds crazy, but the bullet to the center of the chest, the slit throat? That’s Leo Fontana’s signature move. He shot three agents and a key witness outside of the Cook County courthouse and he took the time to slit the witness’s throat. He did it to send a message. You really think some transient who robbed for a few bucks would do the same?”
“Where did you hear about the exact manner of death?” Kennedy asked. “All I’ve seen in the news is that he was shot and stabbed.”
“Even that’s a little excessive for a simple robbery, don’t you think?” Cade realized she was ducking Kennedy’s question, but she might as well confess her source. “There’s this blogger for the campus news, and she—”
“A blogger? Seriously? She probably made up the whole throat slitting thing to sensationalize her story.”
Cade tamped down her anger and forced a measured response. “There are two things wrong with what you just said. One, she hasn’t published these facts. She just received the police report as part of a FOIA request. And two, if she had made them up, don’t you think it’s a little weird that her fiction happens to match the modus operandi of a guy who has a lot of motivation to come after me?”
Kennedy drummed her fingers on the table, her face fixed into a scowl. Several minutes passed and Cade waited out the silence, certain she’d finally convinced Kennedy the prospect of immediate danger was real.
“Okay, here’s what we do,” Kennedy said. “We’re going to get you to a safe house until I can find out more.” She pulled out her phone. “Grab a bag and I’ll make some calls. Make sure you have everything you need to start over in case we can’t come back.”
Cade had already started to walk toward her bedroom at the words “grab a bag,” but Kennedy’s last words stopped her cold. “Wait a minute.”
Kennedy looked up from her phone. “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘in case we can’t come back’?” Cade was certain she already knew, but she wanted to hear Kennedy say it.
“If you’ve been made, we’ll have to start over. New name, new location, the works. It makes sense to be ready, just in case.”
Cade’s head reeled as she processed Kennedy’s words and the possibilities facing her. Another home abandoned, another job left. What would Monica think if she never showed up for work again? Granted her job at the library didn’t provide the same gratification as her law career had, but walking out on obligations had never been her style. Now it seemed to be all she was capable of. Her first thought when Asher told her about the way Wade had died was to run, flee this place that Fontana had obviously found, but somewhere deep in the back of her mind, she’d been holding on to hope Kennedy would offer some solution that didn’t involve completely uprooting her life again.
She glanced toward the bedroom. Her makeshift go-bag was stuffed under the bed. All she had to do was add a few pieces of clothing and she’d be ready to follow Kennedy to safety. There was absolutely nothing else in this house, nothing she’d accumulated since she’d started her new life that she cared about taking with her. Sadness washed over her. She had no outward symbols of worth, no pictures, no mementos. She could disappear right now, and no one’s life would be any different, but hers would remain empty, unfulfilled.
Would Emily even notice if she disappeared? Would she miss her? In the first few days since they’d last seen each other, Emily had reached out, but Cade had ignored her attempts, thinking it was best to make a clean break. Now, faced with the prospect of never seeing Emily again, even in a chance meeting, regret consumed her. She should’ve returned Emily’s calls or texts, apologized for the confrontation, and attempted to explain why a relationship between them wouldn’t work. If she had it to do all over again, she’d handle the parting differently, perhaps even leaving the door open for more if her circumstances ever changed.
But her circumstances were changing, only for the worse. She glanced at Kennedy. Her eyes were narrowed and the quick nod she gave signaled urgency. Cade was supposed to follow, without question, leave her new life behind, and place herself in the hands of the government once again.
Her gunshot wound might have healed, but Fontana had robbed her of everything else. On the heels of this moment of clarity another crystal clear thought rushed in. Only if I let him.
Chapter Eighteen
Emily looked up from her desk, and Janice was standing in the doorframe with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. “Hey, what’s up?”
“I thought you could use this.” Janice strode toward her and held out the mug. “Would you like me to order in some food?” She gestured at the stacks of paper on Emily’s desk. “Looks like you might be at this for a while.”
Emily accepted the mug and took a long swallow of the dark blend. “Hmmm, this is the good stuff.”
“Becca sent it over.” Janice crossed her arms like a stern schoolteacher. “Now, about food. What would you like?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s fine, but I’m not leaving your office until you give me a food order.”
Emily took another drink of coffee an
d pushed aside a stack of files to make room for the mug on her desk. After yesterday’s conversation with Seth, she’d spent the day working alone, putting together her trial notebook and witness files. Seth was in the building, but he hadn’t stopped by once, and it was her fault for the way she’d handled their conversation about his extracurricular activities. She didn’t regret broaching the subject, but she wished she’d handled it differently. When he was focused, Seth was an excellent litigator, and she was lucky to have him on her side. What she wished she’d done was assume he would be well-prepped for trial instead of assuming the worst, but jumping to conclusions seemed to be a skill she’d honed to a sharp edge of late.
While she let him cool off, she’d turned her attention to the fast upcoming trial. Today, she was meeting with Brody Nichols. Ostensibly, the meeting was for her to make sure her office had fully complied with the new Michael Morton Act discovery rules, but she had a secondary purpose—to assess whether Miller might be persuaded to take a deal. Light overtures regarding pleading to a lesser included offense had largely been ignored, but Emily was convinced it was because she hadn’t had the opportunity to sit down with Brody and walk him through the case, point-by-point, stare him in the eyes, and tell him straight up that his client was going to be found guilty, and he’d be serving the rest of his life in prison.
Seth was still stewing because she’d told him she wanted to take this meeting alone, but she had to if she wanted her plan to work. Based on what she’d seen so far, Brody was like a trapped animal. If he felt cornered, he would run rather than come back swinging. She needed him to feel comfortable enough with her, but uncomfortable enough with the evidence to talk his client into taking a deal.
She looked again, but Janice hadn’t left. Fine, maybe food was exactly what she needed, and breaking bread with her adversary would be a perfect way to ease him into her offer. “Order a couple of sandwiches from the Purple Leaf. Roast beef and some of that crazy good pasta salad.”
Janice smiled. “Want me to add some of those chocolate chip cookies you like?”
“Yes. I mean no.” The cookies were for parties, not negotiations, although now that Janice had mentioned them, they were all she could think about. “No cookies, just the other stuff. Do you think you can get it here in time for the meeting?”
“You really have no idea how skilled I am, do you?” Janice whirled out of the room before Emily could reply.
Thirty minutes later, Janice returned with the food and Brody Nichols. She set the lunch up on Emily’s credenza and excused herself from the room.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Emily said, pointing at the sandwiches. “I haven’t eaten, and I thought it would be nice if we took a few minutes to get to know each other. I had a lot of respect for your father.”
Brody cracked a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Most people did. He cast a big shadow.”
“I know what that’s like.” Emily infused as much empathy as she could into her words, hoping this might be the connection she was seeking.
Brody cocked his head. “I guess you would. How is Senator Sinclair?”
“The usual. Bigger than life. Proud of his daughter, but probably secretly wishing she was in the family business.”
Brody nodded. The next few minutes were filled with a semi-comfortable silence as they dug into lunch. Emily polished off half a roast beef sandwich in a few quick bites, surprised at how hungry she’d gotten. She hadn’t had a decent meal in the last two weeks, subsisting on snacks, frozen dinners, and protein bars. She’d begged off Sunday brunches with the family, partly because she was busy, but mostly because she didn’t want to run into Cade at the club, and she could do without her mother’s offers to set her up on a date.
Maybe after the trial she’d consider venturing out into the dating pool again, but it wouldn’t be with some Junior League setup. She wanted someone who wasn’t connected to the country club set, the powerful elite. She wanted someone down-to-earth, someone who could make her laugh and someone who didn’t care about pretense. She wanted Cade.
“I assume you invited me here to make your best offer.”
She looked up into Brody’s inquiring gaze. God, she had to stop drifting off into fantasyland. She put her half-eaten sandwich down and folded her hands on the desk. “I did. I assume you’ve had time to review all of the evidence?”
“I have.”
“Then I don’t need to tell you we have a solid case. I know you haven’t tried many criminal cases.” She held up a hand as he started to speak. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not picking on your lack of experience, but you probably haven’t had an opportunity to see some of the witnesses in action.” She paused for a moment to give Brody an opportunity to relax back into his chair. “Juries love Sheriff Nash. I know he can be a bit blustery, and I personally find it off-putting, but when he testifies, he has the entire jury in the palm of his hand.
“Dr. Narey is another great witness. He doesn’t try to impress juries with a bunch of big words and complicated medical terms. He’s going to lay out the case step by step. He’ll tell the jury how the blood on Miller’s knife was a DNA match for the victim, and he’ll do it in terms even a preschooler could understand.”
“I assume you haven’t found the gun?”
Emily cleared her throat. “Not yet.” The missing gun was a thorn in the side of the case. Nash insisted his deputies had scoured the creek area where Miller had run to after the witness scared him from the scene, but so far they hadn’t located the weapon. She planned to convince the jury that the knife was the real murder weapon, so the missing gun shouldn’t matter. But it mattered to her. Based on the bullet forensics, the gun was a forty-five caliber Desert Warrior. Where had Kevin Miller gotten such an expensive gun? Where had he ditched it? Something about it felt off to her, but she didn’t know what to do about it, and they had enough evidence to go forward without it. She offered a compromise. “If you’d like to ask for a continuance to give us more time to find it, I won’t object.”
“Not likely.” Brody leaned back in his chair. “I know you think I’m in over my head, but even you started somewhere.”
“I may have started my career in criminal law with a misdemeanor or two, but definitely not a murder case.”
“Fair enough. But here’s the deal. I have a client who’s stuck in jail with absolutely no possibility of being able to bond out. He wants to go to trial right away, and I work for him. The last thing I’m going to do is give you more time to gather evidence against him.”
“I have enough evidence now for a conviction.”
“You might.”
Emily stared across the table. She knew a bluff when she saw it, and she remembered bluffing her way through some cases when she was new to the criminal bar. She was torn between wanting to help Brody save face and getting the life sentence she knew she could get at trial. The very best thing for all involved was to avoid a trial. Wade’s family would be spared the indignity of a public spectacle, and the citizens of Lawson County would be spared the expense and publicity of a murder trial. She looked down at her notes and made a split-second decision not to engage in the usual back and forth of plea negotiating by shaving ten years off the offer she’d initially been prepared to make. “Thirty years.”
To his credit, Brody’s only discernible reaction was a slight blink of his eyes. Emily hoped it was because he’d been expecting her to offer more time.
A few beats passed and he said, “Thirty years is a long time.”
“Yes, but it’s not life,” she replied. “Your guy is what, forty-five? He takes thirty and he’ll be eligible for parole in fifteen. If he gets out then, he’ll have time to make a new life.”
“And if the jury finds him not guilty, he’ll walk out of jail in a couple of weeks, a free man.”
Emily drummed her fingers on the desk but didn’t reply. There wasn’t much use trying to talk Brody out of his fantasy. She supposed he had to believe a not guilty verd
ict was a possible outcome or why even try? She waited, thinking he would counter, but knowing she’d already played her best hand.
A moment later, he stood up, shook her hand, and thanked her for the meeting. He was gone before she could ask him if there was any amount of time his client would consider taking. Well, that was a colossal waste of time. Emily stabbed her fork into the last of the pasta salad from the Purple Leaf and contemplated what had just happened. She couldn’t put a finger on why, but she had the strangest feeling she’d lost the upper hand. That seemed to be happening a lot lately.
*
Cade slid into a seat at the Purple Leaf Cafe and glanced around. The predictable purple walls featured a bunch of fun typography and original paintings by art students at Jordan College, but what caught her attention was the heavenly aroma of fresh roasted coffee and the scent of chocolate.
She’d barely assessed her bearings when bells jingled to announce someone new had walked into the shop, and she saw Asher headed toward her. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as the tall, bulky man at the table closest to the door shifted in his seat. Asher gave the guy a hard look before she made her way over to Cade’s table.
“Hey, I was hoping you’d call,” Asher said as she plopped into the seat opposite Cade’s. “Did you change your mind and talk to Sinclair for me?”
“Slow down, blogger girl,” Cade said. She pointed at the bakery case. “You want something, or are baked goods not on your list of approved food groups?”
“If you’re buying, I’ll have a triple espresso and a slice of the turtle cake. Ask them to sprinkle a few extra pecans on top. Please.”
Cade looked at the skinny kid and laughed. “Let me guess, your only form of exercise is lifting a coffee cup to your lips several times a day?”
