Say You're Sorry (Morgan Dane Book 1)

by Melinda Leigh

  The case had all the earmarks of a publicity rampage.

  “What about your job with the prosecutor’s office? Bryce Walters isn’t going to be happy.”

  Morgan closed her eyes for a second and swallowed. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “You’re willing to give up your entire future for Nick? You don’t even know what evidence they have against him,” Grandpa pointed out. “Your whole career is based on putting criminals in jail, not getting them off. Most people arrested and charged with crimes are guilty.”

  “Do you believe he’s guilty?” Morgan asked.

  Grandpa sighed. “No. But I’m relying on emotion here, not fact. You could be throwing away your whole career.”

  “I know. But I don’t have a choice. What if he’s innocent? Do you know what prison will do to a young man like Nick?”

  The kid would be part of the most vulnerable set of prisoners. Young, good-looking, and a little naive, he’d be prey among the general population.

  “That doesn’t mean he’s innocent,” Grandpa said.

  “That’s why I’m going to find the truth.” Morgan eased into the chair facing her grandfather. “Are you disappointed in me?”

  “Why would you ever think that?”

  “Because I feel like I’m switching sides. Everyone else in the family devoted their lives to putting criminals away, and here I am trying to get a man off a murder charge.”

  “No one in our family would want an innocent man put in prison.” Her grandfather put one thin, blue-veined hand over hers. “Danes fight for justice. This is no different. Nick deserves the best counsel he can get, and I know that’s you. No one will fight harder for him.”

  “I feel like I’ve been a slacker for the last two years.”

  “A slacker? You’re kidding, right?” Grandpa sounded irritated. “Your husband died and left you with three children to raise on your own. You took time off to get your kids and yourself through grief no one should have to face at your age. You and John should have had another forty years together.”

  “But we didn’t. Life isn’t fair. It’s time to accept that and move on.” Which sounded easier than it was. “You don’t think Dad would be disappointed that I’ve moved to the other side of the courtroom?”

  “He’d be proud of you no matter what you did. You’re taking a stand here. You’re making a personal sacrifice in the name of justice.” Grandpa squeezed her hand. “I’m damned proud of you. Your dad would be too.”

  A noise from the street caught their attention. Morgan got up and went to the window. A police car sat in the street outside Bud’s house. “I’m going to make sure everything is all right.”

  She went out onto the front porch. A crowd had gathered in the street.

  Oh. No.

  Chapter Twelve

  There was no sneaking up on the Barone family.

  Two large German shepherds barked from the end of their chains as Lance stopped his Jeep in front of the house.

  Red Noneofyourfuckingbusiness, aka Robby Barone, lived with his parents on a small working farm on the edge of town.

  A small satellite dish topped the roof of the two-story basic-blue farmhouse. The lawn was mostly clover but freshly mowed. There were no flowerbeds, no wind chimes. No furniture adorned the weathered gray porch. Instead of children’s toys or a swing set, two clotheslines and a neatly planted vegetable garden filled the rear yard.

  A barn and multiple outbuildings were clustered together at the rear of the property. A dozen chickens occupied a fenced run and large coop. A second pen held two pigs, and three cows grazed in a small pasture enclosed with barbed wire. A stock trailer and an old school bus were parked alongside the barn.

  Everything about the place said function over frill. There was an air around the house that felt too stark, even for a farm.

  The pungent scent of manure coated Lance’s throat as he went up the wooden porch steps. He closed his mouth and rang the doorbell. When he didn’t hear a ring inside the house, he knocked on the doorframe.

  The breeze shifted, bringing the welcome smell of herbs to Lance’s nose. Flower pots filled with plants had been lined up like soldiers under a double window. Curtains moved behind the glass, and he caught a brief glimpse of a human shape. The wooden door cracked, and a woman peered around the edge.

  Lance smiled through the screen door. “Good morning. Are you Mrs. Barone?”

  She nodded. “What do you want?”

  The woman assessed Lance. Robby had gotten his red hair, small stature, and freckles from his mother. Mrs. Barone wore a white apron over a flowered cotton dress of washed-out pale blue. Her hair was bound in a thin, tight ponytail. Below the knee-length hem, her feet were bare. She was probably in her mid-thirties, but hard living and ruddy, dry skin made her look older.

  Lance smiled and tried to look nonthreatening, which wasn’t an easy task for a man his size. “I’d like to talk to Robby. Are you his mother?”

  Robby’s car wasn’t in the driveway, but one of the outbuildings appeared to be a garage, and the overhead door was down.

  “Yes. Is he in trouble?” Her grip on the doorknob tightened.

  “No, ma’am. I was just hoping he could help me.”

  Her brown eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  Lance continued. “I’m looking for Jamie Lewis.”

  He didn’t mention the video. If Mrs. Barone didn’t know about the party in the woods, then Lance’s squealing on Robby wouldn’t help gain the kid’s cooperation.

  “So this isn’t about Tessa Palmer?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Why would she think it was?

  Mrs. Barone squinted, lines clawing at the corners of her eyes as she focused over his shoulder and searched the dirt driveway. “Are you with the police?”

  “No, ma’am.” Lance slid a business card out of his pocket. “I work for Sharp Investigations. Jamie’s parents have hired us to look for her. I’m interviewing all the kids who might know Jamie.”

  Liar.

  He told his conscience to shut up. He wasn’t lying. He would interview them all if he could identify them.

  Lance looked over Mrs. Barone’s shoulder at the interior of the house. Through the open door, he could see into the living room. The furniture leaned toward worn and weary, but in the background a news show played on an LED TV. A new-looking laptop computer sat open on the coffee table. Clearly, the Barones spent money on electronics.

  Did Robby or someone else in the family have an alternative source of not-exactly-legal income?

  Following his line of sight, Mrs. Barone stepped through the door, closing the heavy wooden door behind her. She stuffed her hands into the front pockets of her apron, her shoulders curling inward. “Robby’s not home from school yet.”

  “Do you know when he’ll be home?” Lance knew that school had ended fifteen minutes before, at two o’clock.

  “No.” She shook her head, but her eyes strayed to the driveway again. “And I don’t know how he could help. No one has seen Jamie for a long time.”

  “Are Jamie and Robby close?” Lance asked.

  “No.” Her hands slid out of her pockets and gripped each other tight enough to whiten her knuckles. “You better leave before my husband gets home.”

  Or what?

  Was that a threat or was she afraid of her husband?

  Lance made a mental note to run a background check on everyone in the Barone household, especially Robby’s father. “I know I’m reaching for straws, but you never know which small detail might help. Her parents are getting pretty desperate.”

  Mrs. Barone’s eyes went suddenly moist. “I imagine they are, especially after what happened to Tessa.”

  “It was a shock to everyone,” Lance agreed.

  “Tessa was the girl next door, so sweet and shy.” Mrs. Barone walked to the edge of the porch, her arms hugging her waist. “I can’t wrap my mind around it.”

  “It was a terrible t
hing,” Lance said. “How well did you know Tessa?”

  Mrs. Barone hesitated. “She was the same age as my oldest, Rebecca. I homeschool my girls, but Tessa and Rebecca met at youth group at the church.”

  “After what happened over the weekend . . .” Lance let the implication hang. “I really want to find Jamie and bring her home safely.”

  Mrs. Barone nodded. “Poor Tessa. I can’t believe she was killed by a neighbor. Just goes to show that you don’t really know folks, right?”

  So much for innocent until proven guilty.

  Lance bit back his comment. He needed Mrs. Barone to encourage her son to cooperate with Lance’s investigation. It wasn’t his place to educate the woman on the finer points of criminal law.

  “Will Robby be back later today?” Lance asked.

  “I don’t know.” She pocketed the business card Lance handed her, then rubbed her arms as if she was cold. “I’m sure he’ll do what he can to help you find Jamie.”

  Lance was equally sure Mrs. Barone’s little angel would be happy to help—for another fifty bucks.

  “Thank you.” Lance pulled a picture from his pocket, a still he’d printed from the video of the boy who’d been fighting with Nick. Lance showed it to Mrs. Barone. “Do you know this kid?”

  Mrs. Barone took the picture. “That’s Jacob Emerson.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “I’m sure. Everyone around here knows the Emersons. Mr. Emerson is a lawyer. He tries to keep a tight rein on Jacob, but that boy was born to be a handful.”

  Good to know.

  A whiny engine sound announced the arrival of Robby’s ancient Toyota. Robby spotted Lance through the windshield. The car hesitated, as if Robby was considering turning around, but he parked alongside Lance’s Jeep. Robby got out of the car and came up the front walk, his posture cocky.

  His mother nodded at Lance. “Mr. Kruger was just asking about Jamie Lewis.”

  “OK. Robby nodded, but like his mother, he seemed more concerned with watching the end of the driveway for whoever was due home next.

  “I was going to ask you if you knew who this was.” Lance flashed the photo of Jacob Emerson. “But your mom already helped me out.”

  “Then you got what you came for,” Robby said. He shared a look with his mother. “You should go. Now.”

  Lance turned to Mrs. Barone. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Back in his Jeep, he sent Sharp a message: need full background checks on everyone else who lives at this address. He typed the Barones’ rural route number into his phone.

  Something fishy was going on at the Barone house. Robby and his mother were way too paranoid. Their transgressions might be totally innocent, but Lance had learned the hard way not to ignore his instincts. Was Mr. Barone a criminal? Abusive? Both?

  He drove away from the Barone house. On the way back to town, without consulting his brain, Lance detoured down Morgan’s street. He felt like a twelve-year-old cruising past his secret crush’s house on his Schwinn. He turned the corner. His foot shifted to the brake pedal. Three houses away, a small crowd of people stood in the middle of the road. All eyes watched the Zabrowski driveway.

  What the hell was going on?

  Broken lengths of crime scene tape hung limply across the drive and around the property. Bud stood at the head of his driveway. An elderly couple blocked his path. The old man was bent and bowlegged with age. The woman at his side stood straight, but her frame was paperclip thin. A strong wind swept dead leaves across the lawn. Lance was surprised it hadn’t knocked her over.

  Morgan was jogging across the road.

  Lance opened his door and slid out of his vehicle. Hurrying past the crowd of gawkers, he heard the murmurs of gossip.

  “His father should have known.”

  “I always thought that kid was strange.”

  “I can’t believe we had a killer living here all this time.”

  Lance wanted to correct all their misconceptions. Nick was innocent until proven guilty, but now wasn’t the time. Crowds didn’t listen to facts or reason. Crowds acted on emotion, which amplified according to the size of the gathering.

  Ignoring them, he followed Morgan.

  A woman in a pink track suit cast a suspicious look at Morgan’s back as she walked by.

  Morgan stepped up beside Bud. Her face softened with empathy. “Mr. and Mrs. Palmer, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Lance threaded his way through the crowd until he was next to Morgan.

  The bowlegged old man didn’t respond, but his gaze flickered to Morgan for one second before refocusing on Nick’s father. “Your son killed my Tessa.”

  Oh no. Tessa’s grandparents were confronting Nick’s father.

  Bud shook his head. “No.”

  “Tessa was a good girl, and your boy murdered her.” Stepping forward, Mr. Palmer pointed at Bud with a shaking hand. “How could you not know what your boy was up to?”

  “I’m sorry about Tessa, but my son didn’t do it,” Bud said, his voice thick with emotion.

  Mr. Palmer’s face reddened. “The cops say he did. They don’t go around arresting innocent citizens.”

  Someone in the crowd called out, “They found the knife behind your shed!”

  Morgan stepped between Mr. Palmer and Bud. “Mr. Palmer, Tessa was a beautiful young woman. I’ll always remember how sweet she was with my own girls. Please accept my condolences.”

  Mr. Palmer gave her a curt nod.

  Morgan continued. “Please go home. Let the police handle the case. No good can come of this.”

  Bud surged forward, but Morgan held him back.

  Mr. Palmer leaned toward Morgan. “Whose side are you on?”

  “There are no sides here,” Morgan said. “Nick is innocent until proven guilty.”

  Mr. Palmer’s face darkened. “There most certainly are sides.”

  “The justice system takes time,” Morgan said calmly. “You have to have faith in it.”

  “What about Tessa?” Mr. Palmer’s face turned stroke-red. “What about justice for her?”

  “I’m so sorry,” Morgan said. “Is there someone I can call for you? A family member?”

  “There’s no one. Tessa was all we had.” His anger crumpled. “She’s gone, and there’s no way you can bring her back.”

  Deflated, the old man slumped and turned away. The frail blonde woman at his side stepped forward, getting right in Bud’s face. She raised a hand and slapped Bud hard. Bud didn’t move. Though he’d seemed prepared to hold his ground with the old man, he appeared resigned to taking whatever punishment the elderly woman dished out.

  “Your son is a monster.” Mrs. Palmer pivoted on an orthopedic shoe, took her husband’s arm, and led him away.

  Murmuring, the crowd eased away. Someone spit on Bud’s lawn.

  After the crowd dispersed, Morgan turned to Bud. “Are you all right?”

  A red handprint colored his cheek, but Bud didn’t so much as acknowledge it with a touch. “I guess I should have expected some hate. Tessa was a sweet girl, and everyone is appalled about her death. But I thought these people were our neighbors too. I’d hoped they’d stand by Nick.”

  He’d thought wrong.

  “They’re scared,” Lance said. “They don’t want to think this can happen in their own backyards.”

  The media was fueling their fear and rage with sensational headlines like LOCAL GIRL KILLED BY BOYFRIEND and GIRL NEXT DOOR MURDERED BY LOCAL MAN.

  “It’s easier to take their hate out on me and Nick than face it.” Bud turned toward his house. Someone had spray-painted KILLER in bright red paint on the front of his garage. “I guess I’ll go scrub that off.”

  “I’m sorry, Bud.” Morgan touched his arm. “Do you want some help?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You’re already doing more than anyone could ask. The work will give me something to do.”

  Bud disappeared inside his house. Morgan and Lance walked across the street.
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  “What are you doing for Bud?” Lance asked. “You should stay out of this.”

  “No chance of that now.” Morgan’s long legs covered the driveway quickly.

  “What do you mean?” Lance drew even with her.

  She paused. “I’m defending Nick.”

  What?

  Lance reached for her arm and spun her around. “Are you insane?”

  She was throwing her career away.

  “No. Naive maybe.” In her flat-soled shoes, Morgan was barely a head shorter than Lance. But with her chin up and her shoulders back, she seemed taller and more imposing. Her face held a mask of determination he’d never seen before. Her blue eyes went from pretty to piercing. If this was her courtroom face, it was intimidating as hell.

  “The town has already tried and convicted Nick. When the neighborhood finds out you’re on his side, they’re going to turn on you too.”

  “I don’t think so. They know me. They’ve known my family for fifteen years. They respect my grandfather.”

  “Morgan, they think Nick murdered the proverbial girl next door. Mr. Palmer summed it up. Everyone will have to choose. You will be part of the opposing side. You will be the enemy.”

  “So I should turn my back on Nick because I might become unpopular?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then what did you say?” Morgan asked.

  Lance faced her. “I’m worried about you.”

  She nodded. “I can understand that, but what kind of person would I be if I didn’t help Nick?”

  “Do you really think he’s innocent?” Lance asked.

  “I do. Evidence isn’t everything.” Morgan looked over her shoulder at the Zabrowski house. “A group of facts can have more than one logical explanation.”

  “You once told me you could never be a defense attorney because you couldn’t live with yourself if you had to help criminals get away with crime. I understand that you think Nick is innocent. Even if you prove it, what will you do after the trial? Bryce will never hire you after this. You’ll be out of a job.”

  “I know.” Morgan sighed. “But I can’t let that stop me.”