The Last Straw (The Jigsaw Files #4) - Sharon Sala Page 0,68

said.

Floyd nodded. “Understood.”

Allen was satisfied he had a plan, but he wasn’t going to be satisfied until he found out why that passageway had ever existed.

He knew two people who might be able to help him. One was a historian, familiar with the city of Dallas, and the other was the last living relative of the original family. He’d never spoken to the old man, because he’d never had a reason to, but he was going to do so now.

* * *

Wyrick was asleep when Charlie drove through the gates of the old mansion, taking care to close them behind him before driving around back to park.

“We’re home,” he said as he pulled up at the doorway to the basement apartment where she used to live.

Wyrick opened her eyes then sat up, but Charlie was already out and opening her door to help her out.

She looked up at him from inside the Jeep and then pointed a finger at him.

“I’m walking in. I do not need to be carried.”

Charlie said nothing.

She rolled her eyes and got out. Now all she had to do was stay upright, or he would ignore what she’d just said. She just knew it.

As they started up the steps of the old veranda, she held on to the railing, and Charlie held on to her. She was too shaky to care. This felt like chemo. Like she was hollow. The only thing missing was the nausea and pain.

By the time they got inside, Charlie was out of patience and picked her up anyway.

“Nobody’s looking now, so don’t gripe. You and I both know you’re not gonna make it up the stairs, and you’re not gonna make it to the elevator, either.”

She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Charlie’s heart hurt for her. All the way up. All the way down the hall to her room. Even after he laid her down on her bed and pulled off her shoes.

And when she rolled over onto her side and curled up in a ball, it was too reminiscent of how he’d found Rachel. Tears welled as he pulled a blanket over her shoulders.

“I will be back to check on you,” he said, then walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Barrett Taylor had a visitor. He knew it was his lawyer, but he didn’t know why he was here, unless it was to tell him they’d been given a trial date. Still, it was a break from the routine of jail so he didn’t mind.

Marsh Fielding was sitting at the table in the visitation room when the guard brought Barrett into the room, cuffed and shackled.

Barrett took a seat on the other side of the table, and waited as the guard cuffed him to the table.

The guard glanced at Fielding. “I’ll be right outside the door. Ring the bell when you’re ready to leave.”

Marsh nodded, and then as soon as the guard stepped out of the room, Barrett leaned forward.

Marsh leaned back and folded his hands in his lap.

“What’s going on?” Barrett asked.

“Jeremiah Raver is dead. Killed by one of his money-laundering associates. The FBI and the ATF are in the process of taking down the whole ring.”

A cold chill went all the way up Barrett’s spine. His preacher man was even dirtier than he could have imagined.

“What does this mean for me?” he asked.

“Legally, it changes nothing of your charges. Technically, it will make you look even worse in the eyes of a jury, being a known associate, even though you might have had no knowledge of the illegal activities...other than agreeing to go kill an innocent woman.”

Barrett’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re my attorney. You’re supposed to help me wangle the legal system.”

Marsh Fielding shrugged. “And that’s the other thing. The man who hired me to be your attorney is deceased. He had yet to remit a retainer. Do you still want to go to trial, or do you want to change your plea?”

Barrett was stupid about some things, but not the legal system. He’d screwed himself and he knew it.

“What’s my best bet?” he asked.

“Plead guilty and have a bench trial...let the judge rule in your sentence, rather than a jury.”

Barrett sighed. “Will you do that for me before you quit?”

“Yes. I’ll stay with you through the sentencing. It’s my own fault for doing this without the retainer.”

“Thanks,” Barrett said.

Marsh shrugged. “It’s what I do.” He hesitated, and then stared Barrett straight in the eyes. “May I offer a word of