Two attorneys with everything to lose fight for justice in THE PROSECUTOR by USA TODAY bestselling author Adrienne Giordano
Chicago assistant state’s attorney Zac Hennings just got handed a political hot potato: keeping the convicted murderer in a high-profile case behind bars. He’s up against his most formidable—and alluring—adversary. First-year law student Emma Sinclair is passionately fighting to free her brother. But she needs the take-no-prisoners prosecutor’s help.
Caught between attraction and letting a killer go free, Zac walks a tightrope. Until evidence surfaces that the real culprit’s still out there. With his career and Emma’s life on the line, Zac races to right a terrible wrong. Refusing to back down, he’ll bring a cunning lawbreaker to justice—or die trying.
“Something tells me that down deep, you don’t agree with what you have to believe.”
Her touch spilled heat into Zac’s gut. He was no saint, but he could honestly say he hadn’t felt that kind of fire in a long time. Whether it was wishful thinking or plain wanting action, he didn’t know, but he liked it. Given his current status as the prosecutor on her brother’s case, thinking like that would lead him nowhere good.
Emma snatched her finger back. He smiled and her cheeks immediately flushed. Too damned cute. Even if he should be running like hell.
“I need to go,” she said.
For safety, Zac stepped far enough out of reach so he didn’t do something stupid and touch her. “Yes, you do.”
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my husband, who continually offers support and incredibly corny jokes that make me smile. You are the love of my life and I’d be lost without you. To Gigi Giordano Pallitto, you rock, girlfriend! Thank you for your never-ending patience while I tackled legal research. I’ve always said it’s good to have a lawyer in the family. Hopefully, I haven’t mangled the massive amount of information you provided!
To John Kocoras, I so appreciate your early input while I plotted this story. Who knew I’d find Brady and Giglio material so fascinating?
And now for my usual suspects, whom I couldn’t complete a book without. Thank you, Theresa Stevens, for once again pushing me on the tiny details in my writing. I wish I could bottle all you’ve taught me and share it with other writers. You’re the best! To Tracey Devlyn and Kelsey Browning, thank you for your constant support and for traveling this road with me. It’s been an amazing ride. Lucie J. Charles and Misty Evans, you always allow me to disturb your day with critiques and brainstorming ideas, and I’m continually thankful for your help.
John Leach, there aren’t enough words to thank you for sharing your law enforcement knowledge. With each book, you give me new possibilities for my stories.
Thanks to my editor, Denise Zaza, for joining my lunch table the day we met. I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to work with you. It’s been a wonderful experience. To Dana Hamilton, thank you for your guidance throughout production on this book.
Finally, to my son, who reminds me every day why love is so important. I love you.
THE
PROSECUTOR
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
Adrienne Giordano
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA TODAY bestselling author Adrienne Giordano writes romantic suspense and mystery. She is a Jersey girl at heart, but now lives in the Midwest with her workaholic husband, sports-obsessed son and Buddy the Wheaten Terrorist (Terrier). She is a cofounder of Romance University blog and Lady Jane’s Salon-Naperville, a reading series dedicated to romantic fiction.
Adrienne decided to write The Prosecutor after seeing a news segment on a wrongly convicted man. For more information on The Defender, Adrienne’s next Harlequin Intrigue book, please visit www.adriennegiordano.com. Adrienne can also be found on Facebook, at www.facebook.com/AdrienneGiordanoAuthor, and on Twitter, at www.twitter.com/AdriennGiordano. For information on Adrienne’s street team, Dangerous Darlings, go to www.facebook.com/groups/DangerousDarlings.
Books by Adrienne Giordano
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
1483—THE PROSECUTOR
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Zac Hennings—He’s a bulldog assistant state’s attorney in Chicago. When he steps into court, winning is the only option.
Emma Sinclair—A law student working to prove her incarcerated brother was wrongly convicted of murder. Emma doesn’t care who she has to battle as long as she eventually sees her brother a free man.
Brian Sinclair—Emma’s younger brother, who was convicted of murdering his friend and a Chicago police officer’s beautiful daughter.
Penny Hennings—Zac’s smart-mouthed younger sister and Brian Sinclair’s new pro bono defense attorney. Penny wants nothing more than to step out of her hotshot defense attorney father’s shadow and beat her brother in court.
Gerald Hennings—Senior partner from Hennings and Solomon who is known in Chicago for winning unwinnable cases. Also Zac and Penny’s father.
Alex Belson—The overworked public defender who handled Brian Sinclair’s murder trial.
Ben Leeks Sr.—Chicago police detective whose son was the murdered woman’s boyfriend. He will stop at nothing to protect his son.
For Elisa and Chris, who make the complexities of sibling relationships easy to navigate. I love you.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Excerpt
Chapter One
Assistant State’s Attorney Zac Hennings leaned back in his chair the second before a newspaper smacked against his desk.
“If there’s any blowback on this,” Ray Gardner said, “it’s yours.”
Zac glanced at the newspaper. On page one, below the fold, was a photo of a young woman—brunette—gazing out a window framed by a set of gold drapes. Someone’s living room. The headline read Fighting for Justice. He skimmed the first few paragraphs. The Chelsea Moore murder.
A burst of adrenaline exploded in Zac’s brain. Big case.
Turning from the newspaper, he looked back to his boss. Ray’s generic gray suit fit better than most he wore but still hung loose on his lean frame. Once in a while, to keep his staff sharp, Ray would show up in a blue or black suit. Regardless, the guy needed a good tailor, but Zac wasn’t going to be the one to suggest it. Not when Ray led the Criminal Prosecutions Bureau, the largest of the six divisions of the Cook County State’s Attorney’s Office.
Ray gestured to the newspaper. “The Sinclairs got traction with this. Steve Bennett—”
“The detective? The one who died last week?”
“That’s him. Brain cancer. He apparently refused to face his maker without clearing his conscience. He sent Emma Sinclair a video—starring himself— telling her the witness who ID’ed her brother wasn’t sure he got the right guy. According to Steve, detectives pressured the witness into saying he was positive.”
Zac took his time with that one, let it sink in
. “We locked up Brian Sinclair for murder and now we’ve got deathbed revelations?”
“Something like that. The State’s Attorney called me at six this morning after seeing her newspaper. She wants the office bulldog on this. That’s you, by the way. You’ll have all the case files this afternoon.”
More files. Every open space in Zac’s office had been jammed with stacks of folders containing all the lurid details of crimes ranging from robberies to murders. Where he’d put more files he had no idea, but as one of nine hundred assistant prosecutors in Chicago, a city plagued with over five hundred murders last year, he had bigger problems than storage space.
Not for the first time, his responsibilities settled at the base of his neck. He breathed in, gave that bit of tension its due diligence and put it out of his mind. Unlike some of the attorneys around him, he lived for moments like this. Moments when that hot rush of scoring an important case made him “the man,” marching into court, going to battle and kicking some tail.
The cases were often brutal, not to mention emotionally paralyzing, but his goal would always be telling the victim’s loved ones they got a guilty verdict. No exceptions. In this case, they’d already convicted someone. Zac had to make it stick.
Adding to the drama was Chelsea’s father, Dave, who was a veteran Chicago homicide detective. A good, honest cop who’d lost his child to a senseless act of violence.
In short, Zac wanted to win.
Every time.
“We’re already behind the curve with this article,” Ray said.
“I’ll get us caught up.”
When Chelsea Moore’s murder occurred, Zac had been grinding his way through misdemeanors. After getting promoted to felonies, he’d worked like a dog to win his cases and it paid off. Big-time. Ray had just assigned him a politically and emotionally volatile case that he’d bleed for in order to keep Chelsea’s killer behind bars.
No matter how hard Emma Sinclair came at them, Dave’s daughter deserved justice. And Zac would see that she got it. He’d study the trial transcripts and learn the facts of the case.
“The P.D. will go to the wall for Dave Moore,” Ray said.
“Yep. The guy breaks cases no one else can. He won’t tolerate his daughter’s murderer going free. His buddies won’t, either.”
Ray pointed. “Bingo.”
If Emma Sinclair managed to get her brother’s conviction overturned, the Chicago P.D. would not only be angry, they’d also make sure Helen Jergins, the new State’s Attorney who’d promoted Zac, got run out of town. Hard.
Ray shifted toward the door then turned back. “Whatever you need, you let me know. We have to win this one.”
“I got this,” Zac said. “Count on it.”
* * *
EMMA STOOD IN FRONT of the huge whiteboard she’d rolled to her mother’s basement wall and contemplated her revised list of target defense attorneys. Given the newspaper article, today would be the day to once again get cracking on Project Sinclair.
Eighteen months ago her twenty-two-year-old brother, a guy who had nothing but love for those around him, had been convicted of strangling a young woman outside a nightclub. Unable to withstand the injustice of the circumstantial case—no fingerprints or DNA—Emma started banging on the doors of defense attorneys all over the city, trying to win a reversal. No matter how many times she was told no, she would not be silenced. Not when her innocent brother was rotting in prison.
She flicked her finger against the whiteboard. The new video evidence would lure one of these lawyers in. It had to. The case suddenly had all the political melodrama—corruption, false witness testimony, withholding information—defense attorneys thrived on.
She spun back to the oblong folding table, shoved aside an open banker’s box, grabbed the binder with her latest set of research and made a note to study up on Brady and Giglio material. Being a first-year law student, a field she’d never imagined for herself, she hadn’t yet mastered the concepts, but they involved impeaching a witness and items prosecutors were required to share with the defense. Maybe in the next few days she’d have a defense attorney—preferably pro bono, considering that she was broke—to help her slice through the technical aspects of the case.
Above her head, the exposed water pipe clunked. Her mother flushing the toilet. Emma sighed. She should move all this stuff upstairs to Brian’s old room, but her mother didn’t need to see a daily reminder that her son was a convicted murderer. Bad enough the poor woman had to think about it, never mind see it every time she walked upstairs.
So Emma and her effort to free her brother would stay in the cold, dreary basement, surrounded by cobwebs that, no matter how many times she brushed them away, kept returning. When the time came for her to move out on her own again, she’d have a finished basement. No doubt about it. For now, she’d left her cute little apartment in Wrigleyville so her widowed mother wouldn’t have to face her demons alone.
A rapid click-click-click of heels hitting the battered hardwood came from the first floor. Emma had spent countless hours listening to her mother’s footsteps above. Whether early morning or the darkness of night when sleep eluded them, Emma recognized the sound of her mother’s shoes. The ones she’d just heard didn’t belong to her mom. Someone’s here.
“Emma?” her mother called from the doorway.
“Yes?”
“There’s a Penny Hennings here to see you.”
Emma froze. Penny Hennings. She perused her whiteboard, where she’d alphabetized the lawyers’ names. Hennings. There it was. Not Penny, though. Gerald, from Hennings and Solomon.
Maybe Penny was a relative sent to check her out for Gerald Hennings, who might want to take the case. And if said relation fought downtown traffic on a weekday morning and hauled herself to the North Side, to Parkland, it had to be serious. Emma linked her fingers together and squeezed. Please, let it be.
“Be right up, Mom.”
She glanced down at her sweats, torn T-shirt and pink fuzzy slippers. Great. She’d have to face some snazzy lady from a big-time law firm in this getup. She plucked a rubber band from the little bowl with the paper clips. Least she could do was tie back her tangled hair.
Rotten luck.
Forget it. She had to put her appearance out of her mind. For all she knew, Penny Hennings could be a cosmetics saleswoman.
But what were the chances of that? Particularly at 9:00 a.m. on the morning an article about Brian ran?
“Emma?” her mother called.
“Coming.”
She straightened. If Penny Hennings was from Hennings and Solomon, Emma had to go into full sales mode and convince this woman that her firm should take Brian’s case. After eighteen months of studying overturned convictions and hounding lawyers, it was time for their odds to change. And Hennings and Solomon could make that happen.
Emma ditched her slippers at the base of the stairs and marched up. She looked like hell, but she’d dazzle this would-be-lawyer-slash-cosmetics-saleswoman with her powers of persuasion.
The basement door stood open and Mom’s voice carried from the living room. Emma closed her eyes. This could be it. After a long, streaming breath, she stepped out of the short hallway.
A minuscule woman—maybe late twenties—with shoulder-length blond hair sat on the sofa. The plaid, overstuffed chair tried to swallow her, but her red power suit refused to be smothered. No, that puppy screamed strength and defiance and promise. Could be a good sign.
Plus, to the woman’s credit, she kept her gaze on Emma’s face and not her attire. One cool cookie, this blonde.
Emma extended her hand to the now standing woman. “Hello. I’m Emma Sinclair.”
“Good morning. I’m Penny Hennings. I’m an attorney from Hennings and Solomon. I’m sorry to barge in, but I saw the story on your brother this morning.�
��
Emma glanced at her mother, took in her cloudy, drooping brown eyes and flat mouth. A heavy heart had stolen her mother’s joy. Ten years ago, at the age of forty, the woman had been widowed and learned that hope could be a fickle thing. Emma, though, couldn’t give in to that defeatist thinking. There was a reason she’d been left fatherless at sixteen and now, with her brother in prison, had assumed the role her father would want her to take. To watch over Mom and free Brian.
Some would say she didn’t deserve all this loss. Why not? It turned out their family had crummy luck. Her father’s sudden death from a brain aneurysm had left a void so deep she’d never really acknowledged it for fear that she’d be consumed by it and would cease experiencing the joy the world offered. Ignoring that vast hole inside her seemed easier.
Then Brian went to prison—more crummy luck—and the hole inside grew. The thing she held on to day after day, the thing that kept her focused and sane and standing, was the fight to free her brother.
Whatever it took, she’d find a way to put their family back together.
“Ms. Sinclair?”
Make this happen. “Forgive me. I’m...well, I’m trying not to get ahead of myself, but you’re the first attorney to contact me in eighteen months and I’m really, really happy to see you.”
Penny offered a wide smile and instantly Emma’s pulse settled. “Please, have a seat. Would you like coffee?”
“No, thank you. I can’t stay long. I spoke to my father—Gerald Hennings—on the way over. He indicated that you’d contacted him about this case some months back.”
Emma sat on the love seat and rested her hand over her mother’s. Maybe they’d finally get the break they deserved. “Yes. He was kind enough to review the case, but said there was nothing he could do.”
“At the time, that was true, but I’m intrigued by this video you’ve obtained. If the video is accurate, we might be able to prove that your brother’s constitutional rights were violated. Any information regarding witness testimony should have been turned over to the defense before trial.”
-->
THE PROSECUTOR Page 1
