someone had wanted him arrested. They’d done everything to ensure it.
“When they come back, give them brief yes or no questions whenever possible. Do not offer anything, and don’t let them get under your skin again, okay? They want you to get angry, because they think you’ll slip up, admit to a crime or contradict yourself.”
“I need to make something very clear,” he said, keeping his voice low for fear of snapping at Felicity again. It wasn’t the lawyer’s fault someone framed him. “Everyone I love is in danger right now and I’m stuck here and can’t protect them. It’s killing me. If anything happens to Lucy—to my son—I just, dammit!” Tears threatened. Tears of rage, of frustration. Sean had always been the problem solver. He’d always been able to fix things. Computers. Cars. Situations. It’s what he did. He was compelled to, probably because of some deep psychological reason stemming from his childhood, but he didn’t care … all he knew was that he couldn’t fix this. He couldn’t prove his innocence. He had to rely on others to do so.
He trusted Lucy … but how involved could she be? He trusted Nate, but Nate had his own problems right now. Jack … yes, Jack would move heaven and earth to fix this, but what if he couldn’t find Kane and get back in time? What if there was all this circumstantial evidence and he was forced to go to trial? Would he survive that long? It would tear apart his family—the family he’d painstakingly built. Jesse … would Jesse still believe him? Would anyone?
Someone had killed Mona Hill in the twenty-five minutes between when he left and her bodyguard arrived.
But the police thought she was dead before he walked out her door.
“Let me do my job,” Felicity said. “I’m very good at it. I have one of the best investigators in the state working for me. I know you want this all to go away on Monday, and I’ll do what I can, but barring proof of your innocence or another suspect—we’ll still need to work this like any other capital case.”
His stomach lurched.
Capital case.
Death penalty.
“They’re probably going to offer you life in prison in exchange for a confession.”
“I’m not confessing to a crime I didn’t commit.”
“I just want you to be prepared. Because if this goes to trial—”
“It’s not.”
“If it does,” she said, “your life will be an open book.”
“Then you’re not good at your job, because I didn’t kill her.”
But Felicity was right. If it went to trial, he would lose everything … even if he was proven not guilty.
Chapter Fourteen
SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
Garrett thought it was a bad idea for Lucy to talk to Elise Hunt’s warden, but he joined her.
“You can’t investigate this murder.”
“I’m not,” she said. He knew it was a lie, but she was glad he didn’t call her on it. She was the only one who could do this. No one in law enforcement was going to believe—with maybe the exception of Tia Mancini—that Elise Hunt was a dangerous sociopath. The detectives in Houston weren’t going to talk to her warden, the guards in her dorm, her friends. They weren’t going to bring her in for questioning by a trained forensic psychiatrist. Lucy needed evidence, and this was the place to start.
“Sean said that Mona received a threat from Elise. The police won’t understand the significance.”
“Unless her prints are all over it, it’s likely untraceable.”
“We don’t know, because we don’t have the note. Do the police have it? I suppose that’s something Felicity can find out once Sean talks to them.”
Garrett leaned back in the passenger seat, but she noticed that his eyes were constantly looking around, not just behind them, but at every intersection.
“You were a cop?”
“Fifteen years. Here in San Antonio.”
“Too few to retire.”
“My knee was shot out during a hostage situation. A year of rehab and PT and I still can’t run and going up stairs is hell. Went to law school, but hated it. I passed the bar, but much prefer being an investigator. So I’m a lawyer, but other than trying to protect my firm’s clients during situations like warrant searches, I much prefer working the investigative end.”
“It doesn’t pay as well as being a lawyer.”
“If you weren’t an FBI agent, if you couldn’t do it because of an injury, what would you want to do?”
“Be a CSI.”
“That doesn’t pay as much as the feds, does it?”
“No, unless you run the lab. Which I would—eventually.”