“I can’t have it now. It’ll make me a witness. So just stop talking. Please.”
“I screwed myself, but I never thought he’d go this far.”
“He wants you back.” Adam grimaces at the thought. “He doesn’t want you to go to prison. If we can get him to drop the charges, we have a chance.”
“A chance at what?” I stand, but I turn my back to him. Right now, I can’t look at him. “He will always have this to hold over my head. And once I’m back in Broomtown, his father will be in control again. There is no escaping this.” My determination is waning. As much as I want to fight, I’ve spent eight years battling Mark and his father. I haven’t won one single skirmish let alone an entire battle.
Adam smacks the bars. “You can’t just give up.”
“I’m not giving up. I’m accepting my fate. There’s a difference.” Though what that difference is, I can’t be sure. But I was sure I couldn’t explain it to Adam.
Chapter Eleven
When Adam realizes I’m done with the conversation, he walks to his desk, giving me what little privacy a jail cell could afford. And I’m left to go over every minute detail of the short conversation I had with Mark. To dissect it. Because he doesn’t always say everything he means. I learned a lot in the eight years with him, and reading between the lines became a necessity.
People get hurt when they don’t do what they know is right. The words are on permanent replay in my head. He wasn’t only talking about my parents. There’s something more. Something I’m missing. Why else would he bring them up?
I assumed it was a threat, but how did my parents’ car accident come into play? They didn’t get hurt because they didn’t want to leave Kentucky. Dad’s vision had nothing to do with the accident that killed him and Mom.
“You want to run whatever you’re thinking by me? Maybe it’s something I can help with.”
I lift my gaze to see Adam standing by the cell, one shoulder against the brick wall separating me from the other one. “I’m not sure what I’m thinking. It’s all a jumble.”
“But?”
“There aren’t too many things Mark does without an endgame in mind. Everything he says has a meaning, and I usually have to play it around in my mind to figure it out.” I strum my fingers on the metal frame holding the cot up. “He filed charges against me to get me back to Broomtown, but he has to know as soon as I’m released, I’ll leave again. So what assurance does he have that I’ll stay? Why go through all of this unless he thinks he has a way to keep me?”
“He’s a cocky son-of-a-bitch. Maybe he’s thinking he can keep you by intimidation alone.”
I bite my lip. “He’s had eight years of that, and I finally left. He has to know the camel’s back broke when he used the lighter on my leg.”
Adam winces, and his fingers curl around the bars until the knuckles turn white. “I should have kicked his ass for that alone.”
“The only thing Mark said that’s true is you have to uphold the law. As much as I’d like to see him get a taste of his own medicine, I don’t want you to get involved.”
His brow furrows. “I’m already involved.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
The look he gives me is one of disbelief. “I know you’ve got a lot to deal with right now, and I told you I have to keep my distance. But I didn’t mean forever, Emily. If that’s what you want, you’re going to need to spell it out for me.”
Shaky legs carry me over to him, and I cover his fingers with mine. “I don’t want that, Adam, but I don’t want you getting hurt because of something I did.” I give myself a moment to collect my thoughts before diving in. “The night I shot Mark, for a split second, I thought about aiming for his heart. I wanted him dead, and I’m not ashamed to say it. But he’s alive and walking around because I only wanted to slow him down long enough so that I could get away. I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I have to. I need you to know that as much as I hate Mark, murder isn’t in me.”
“I never thought it was.” He turns his hand over so our fingers can intertwine. “And I’ve never believed you tried to kill him. But I don’t get to decide whether or not a person is guilty.”
“No, that’s Mark and his daddy’s job. They’ve always been good at deciding who gets to play in their sandbox.” As the words come out, my eyes widen, and bile rises in my throat. It all makes sense now. “They get to decide,” I whisper, slipping my hand out of Adam’s before I stagger backwards.
“Emily? What’s wrong?” Adam is unlocking the door as I sink onto the cot. He drops to a squat in front of me. “What is it?”
“My parents. Now I know why he brought them up. They didn’t listen to him so he had them killed.”
Skepticism is written all over Adam’s face. “You deduced that from one statement he made?”
“I don’t know why it didn’t click before. Mark hated my parents. Said they kept interfering in our lives which meant they wanted me to leave him.” I start pacing the cell, moving back and forth between the cot and the far wall. There isn’t much room, but I do my best thinking while I walk so it’ll have to do. “My dad and Mark had so many arguments, and once,” I spin around with a lifted finger, “Dad pushed him into a wall. Mark was so pissed he didn’t speak to either of my parents for weeks.”
“That isn’t proof he had them killed, Emily. And a boyfriend not liking his girlfriend’s parents wouldn’t cause any detective to even raise an eyebrow. What else you got?” He sits on the cot, and when he looks at me, I can tell I’ve got his attention.
Convinced I’m on the right track, I push past the queasy feeling in my stomach and keep talking. “I lost count of the number of times Mark told me to get my parents to move. He always said he was so worried something was going to happen, especially once my dad was diagnosed with cataracts.” My voice cracks. “He was already scheduled for the surgery, but it was only in one eye. Even the ophthalmologist said he was fine to drive. Otherwise, my mother would have been driving. Dad didn’t take stupid risks.”
“That’s not evidence of a crime. Where was Mark the day your parents were killed?”
My memory’s a bit cloudy. That day had passed in a haze of pain and disbelief. I remember Mark coming to the hospital, looking visibly upset. He’d taken me into his arms and tried to comfort me, but I’d only wanted to be left alone. So I’d pushed him away.
“Emily?” Adam stands to get my attention.
“I don’t know. I called him after…” Unable to finish the sentence, I look away. “It took him about fifteen minutes to get to the hospital.” Another puzzle piece snaps into place. “He said he was in town.” I turn to look at Adam, sure my eyes are wide. “He said he was in town.” Though I repeat the words, Adam still looks blank. “The hospital is two minutes away from everywhere in Broomtown. It’s at the center of town.”
“So what’s fifteen minutes away?”
“The main road, the old rock quarry, and…” I stop, pull in a deep breath that hurts. “And the ridge that leads out of town…where they were killed.” My hands shake, and I squeeze my fingers together. “But the hospital said they were hit by a truck. Mark didn’t drive a truck at the time.”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t have access to one. He have any friends who drive trucks?”
I don’t have to answer the question. Every other man in Broomtown owns a truck, and most of them would do anything for Mark. They still saw him as a football hero. The cold, hard truth sinks in. “That son-of-a-bitch killed my parents.” The knowledge hits me hard, and I press my stomach with one hand. “But I don’t have any way to prove it. He’s going to get away with it.”
Adam takes my shoulders in his hands. “Not necessarily. I do happen to know a sheriff who’s pretty good at his job. Is the ridge outside of the town limits?”
“Yeah.” I have to sit before I fall. My legs shake so badly I can barely feel them. Adam escorts me to the cot even though I don’t ask. “What does that have to
do with anything, though?”
“Means I can call the state police. I have a friend there and can get him to poke around some. While he’s doing that, we need to concentrate on getting you out of this jam.”
“You’re right.” Every ounce of fear drains from my body. Whatever Mark has done to me doesn’t matter anymore. Had I known he killed my parents, I would have aimed for his heart. Maybe I’d get a next time.
He heads out of the cell, pausing to lock it behind him. “It’s only for appearances.”
I smile though it’s the last thing I want to do.
The door to the Adam’s office, and Francine strides in with a short, barrel-chested man with white hair and a beard walking behind her.
“I’ve brought Emily’s lawyer.” She gives me a severe look. “You haven’t said anything to him, have you?” She emphasizes “him” as though Adam is now the enemy.
“Francine.” Adam says her name through gritted teeth. “Now isn’t the time. Emily and I were—”
“I’m not talking to you.” She interrupts him without apology and takes hold of the older man’s arm. “This here is Harry McAllister. He’s one of the best criminal defense attorneys in Kentucky.”
“And he happens to be the only one we have here in Juniper Springs.” Adam sticks out his hand. “How you doing, Harry?”
“Fine. Just fine.” His voice sounds like sandpaper against wood. He strides toward me, all business in his charcoal three piece suit. “Ma’am, I’m Harry McAllister, and Francine has asked that I represent you. I’ll need your consent, of course.” He takes out a pair of rimless glasses and sets them on the end of his nose. “Now your name is Emily…?” He pauses and looks up at me, reminding me not even Francine knows my real name.
“Jacobs. Emily Jacobs.” Though he doesn’t move, I can hear the wheels spinning in Adam’s mind, reminding him he hadn’t asked me about my name once Mark had left. “Emily Blakely is my grandmother. She bought the car for me, and I never transferred it out of her name.” Now that he has my real name, he can find out more about me than I could have told him in a day. But my worries about that are in the past. Now I have one focus. Once I get the proof I need, Mark had better hope I’m not holding a gun.
“Right. Right. Now,” Mr. McAllister looks over his shoulder, “would you two mind if I have a few minutes alone with Miss Jacobs?” He jerks his head toward the door as though they might not know the way.
I open my mouth, but Francine shushes me with a raised finger. “Don’t you say nothing you’ll regret, Emily. Talk to him. You need someone on your side.” She hooks her arm through Adam’s and propels him toward the door.
“One more thing. Would you mind opening the cell so that I can speak to my client face to face instead of through bars?” Harry McAllister calls to Adam before he can exit with Francine.
“Sure.” Adam returns to the cell and unlocks it again. His gaze connects with mine, and he looks at me for a long second before Francine pulls him away. She’s filling his ear about me needing time with my attorney, but Adam keeps looking back at me.
“Now then.” Mr. McAllister clears his throat. “I won’t ask you if you did this or not because that’s not why I’m here.” He sits down on the edge of the bed and winces. “Not very comfortable accommodations, are they?”
“No, they’re not.” I give him a smile because I’m not quite sure what else I should do. I’ve never needed an attorney before, but I’m pretty sure I need one now, especially if Mark doesn’t get his way.
He pops open a briefcase I didn’t see until now. “How about we start with some basics?”
I want and need a lawyer on my side, but I have no way to pay him. It’s only fair that I’m honest with him. “Mr. McAllister, I don’t have any money. So I’m not sure what Francine was thinking…” I trail off when he waves his hand like he’s trying to land a plane.
“That’s all taken care of.”
“What? How?” I can’t imagine Francine has a large sum of money, but then, I don’t know her very well. But why would she spend it on a stranger? We’ve gotten close, but Harry McAllister has to cost a pretty penny. No one would do that for a stranger…would they?
He clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable with the question. “Let’s just say an anonymous benefactor.”
“Let’s don’t.” I sit beside him and meet his bright, blue eyes. “I need to know who is paying for my legal counsel, Mr. McAllister.”
“And if I knew, I could tell you. All I can say is that Francine gave me a very large sum of money and said it was from an anonymous donor who wants to make sure you weren’t railroaded into something you didn’t do.”
I fold my arms and study my new attorney. “Any reason to think she’s lying?”
He looks affronted. “I’ve known her all her life. She doesn’t lie. Why would she?”
“I meant like she is the donor.”
His eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Oh, dear, no. Francine has a heart of gold, but, unfortunately, that doesn’t transfer to her bank account. I’m probably telling tales out of school, but the diner isn’t going to make either her or her brother rich in their lifetimes.” He removes a legal pad from his briefcase. “Now that we have that squared away, let’s get down to business.”
I know I should be listening, but my mind drifts to the identity of my anonymous helper. Who could have the amount of money it would take to hire a criminal defense attorney? And why would they help me? I knew only three people in this town, and if it wasn’t Francine and Art…my thoughts skid to a halt. Adam?
No, he’s been with me the entire time. I would have known if he’d called anyone. And I can’t imagine he has a large sum of money, either. Being a sheriff wasn’t a job for anyone who wanted to get rich.
“Ms. Jacobs.” Mr. McAllister snaps his fingers in front of my face, finally gaining my attention. He sighs and lowers his pen. “I know this has all been a lot for you to take in, but you’re going to need to focus. Tomorrow morning, a deputy from Broomtown will be here to escort you back to their jail. Shortly after that, you’ll be arraigned before one of the sitting judges. I’ll be there with you, but I need you to pay attention to all of this.”
My head begins to spin, and I nod. “I’m listening.”
He smiles at me and covers one of my hands with his larger one. “It’s natural to be scared, but there should be no reason why you won’t be released on bond. You shouldn’t have to spend another night in jail.”
“But I won’t be here.” I don’t realize I’m whispering until Mr. McAllister asks me to repeat myself. “I’ll be back in Broomtown, not able to leave.” It’ll put me closer to Mark, which, on one hand might be a good thing. Was it possible I could get him to confess? He’s slipped up before, said things he wasn’t supposed to. How many times had he warned me I’d better keep my mouth shut when he’d spoken out of turn?
Mr. McAllister lowers his pen. “Well, I happen to know you won’t be alone, but at any rate, you will certainly be allowed to leave the county just not the state. So I see no reason why you won’t be allowed to await trial here in Juniper Springs if that’s your preference.”
Francine barrels into the jail, her eyes a little wild. “Mark is back. Adam is talking to him now, but he’s demanding to speak to you. Says to tell you it’s in your best interest to talk to him. He’s acting like he’s high or something.”
I walk to the bars. “He’s not going to go away. Adam might as well let him in.
“As your lawyer, I’m going to advise against that.” Mr. McAllister joins me, the top of his head barely reaching my chin. He then shakes his head. “But, if you’re determined, then allow me to be present.”
“That’s a good idea.” Francine pokes her head out the door and relays my message. She glares at Mark when he saunters past her. She’s ready to do battle with Mark, and odds were in her favor. She has enough steam to take down a Mack truck right now.
Hands crammed into the pockets of his relaxed je
ans and a toothy grin on his face, Mark sidles up next to the cell. “The sheriff says I got five minutes with you.” He looks like the same old Mark to me. Nothing out of the ordinary so I’m not sure what act he put on outside the door.
I glance past him to see Adam. He gives me an imperceptible shake of his head. Though he doesn’t say a word, the communication is clear. Play along. The more Mark says, the more he might say that we can use.
“Not sure I want to talk to you.” I address Mark like we’re alone in the room, saying what he expects me to say.
“As her attorney, I’ll be staying with her.”
One corner of Mark’s lip curls up as he surveys Harry McAllister. “This the best you could do?”
Face flushing beet red, Mr. McAllister squares his shoulder and marches toward Mark. In spite of his diminutive height, he obviously isn’t scared. “I’m going to squash you like a bug. Go ahead and take this to court. I can’t wait to get your wimpy little ass up on that stand so I can rip you a new one. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be whistling when you walk.”
The exchange causes Mark to bring his hands out of his pockets. They’re now curled into fists at his sides. “Cocky little bastard, aren’t you? You might see things from a different view when you’re on my turf.”
“Don’t you mean your daddy’s turf?” My correction earns me a glare.
“You think what you want to, Mr. Metzger, but don’t judge me when you haven’t seen me in action. And I could give a rat’s ass who owns that little piss-ant town. If I can take on the big boys in Chicago and win, the small ones in Broomtown, Kentucky don’t worry me.”
Mark’s left eye is twitching like it does when his temper’s about to get the best of him. I lift my gaze to Adam and give a slight jerk of my head.
He comes forward immediately. “Let’s keep this civil, folks. I agreed to give Mr. Metzger five minutes. Mr. McAllister can stay as well.”
“Well, I’m staying, too.” Francine clamps a hand around one of the bars. “In case someone needs an ass-kicking.”
Connecting Strangers (Discovering Emily) Page 12
