“But have you heard what they’re saying about him out there?” She lowered her voice. “Even if you prove Miguel’s innocence, do you think the whole town will just forget he was once suspected of killing someone? It’ll haunt him the rest of his life, and I don’t know if he’ll recover.”
Suddenly, her father’s insistence about keeping what happened two years ago quiet made perfect sense. If people found out what she did—the circumstances behind Mathias’s death—her reputation would never recover. People would never let her forget. There’d be whispers. Questions. Assumptions.
This time Charlie took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and drew her close to him. “Then we’ll make them see beyond their discrimination. We’ll show them the beauty in his sculptures and art. And if after all of that”—he squeezed her hand—“they still don’t see what you see, then it’s their loss. Not his.”
Whatever reasons Lane had built up to push Charlie away began to crumble. His confident voice of reason spoke louder than the whispers of doubt circling her mind. But what if Miguel wasn’t innocent? What if he was capable of hurting someone . . . like she was? Lane pulled her hand away and took a step back. “It’s more than that, Charlie. Miguel and I are the same.”
“What do you mean?”
“The night my husband died. I—” She bit her lip. Was she really going to do this? Her stomach tightened with fear at what he would think of her when he knew the truth about what she had done. She licked her lips and started again. “I tried to kill myself. Swallowed a bottle of pills. But then Noah started to cry and I got scared. Mathias was on night duty. I called him and he was rushing home, but the roads were wet. His truck slid into an embankment and hit a tree.
“An ambulance and two state troopers showed up at my door, but it wasn’t until I was in the hospital that they told me . . .” She swallowed against the painful lump in her throat, unsure if she could go on. The truth hurt just as much now as it did that night, but Charlie had to know the truth, so she pushed the words out as fast as she could. “Charlie, Mathias died because of me. I would’ve died that night, but Mathias had already called the ambulance on the way to the house and now I’m here and he’s dead. It should’ve been me who died, but it was him. And I killed him.”
Someone behind them let out a gasp. Lane looked over Charlie’s shoulder and found a handful of people standing there, watching. Listening. Lane’s heart plummeted at the sight of her father. His campaign advisor, Jeffrey Adams, stood next to him—his mouth agape.
A woman wearing a lot of makeup smirked, shaking her head at a man in a suit to her right. Lane didn’t know who he was, but she thought she recognized the woman.
“So, this is how the justice system works?” The woman narrowed her eyes. “I should’ve known this small town was corrupt. Let me guess, as long as you’re the judge’s daughter or dating a deputy, you can kill someone and no one says anything. But if an innocent girl plays a joke on her friend, the whole town decides she’s a monster.”
“Ms. Carson, no matter what you think you heard, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Charlie kept his voice low, but it held authority.
Lane’s heart would’ve swelled with affection at Charlie’s defense if it weren’t pounding in fear. What had she done? She wanted to take it back. But it was too late.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t just hear her. She said she killed her husband,” Ms. Carson rallied. “And yet Jolene can’t even walk into school without someone whispering vile things about a silly little prank.”
The woman’s voice carried down the marbled corridor of the courthouse, drawing the attention of everyone nearby, including that of a very pretty woman hanging near the wall, her eyes fixed on the entire scene with insatiable interest. The reporter. Vivian DeMarco.
A loud commotion grabbed everyone’s attention.
“Where’s the sheriff?” a male voice boomed from across the hall. “I want to see the sheriff!”
Angry voices became amplified, causing the muscles in Charlie’s face to become tense. He moved around Lane, his hand held steady on the gun at his hip. “Stay here.”
The crowd parted and Lane’s heart jumped into her throat. Sydney’s father, face red and sweaty, stopped when he saw Charlie. Five more men stood behind him with something close to rage radiating from their faces. Near the back, Deputy Wilson, nostrils flaring, looked like a bull ready to charge.
“Sheriff Huggins isn’t here,” Charlie said calmly. “How can I help you gentlemen?”
“Where is the monster who killed my baby girl? I want to see him now!”
“Mr. Donovan, we’re doing everything we can to find out who killed Sydney.”
“You already know who killed her.” Spittle flew from the enraged man’s lips. “I want to know why you haven’t found him yet. Brought him in.”
Lane became nervous at the sight of the guns holstered on the sides of the men with Mr. Donovan. Probably why they had the attention of everyone in the room—including her father’s, who moved in behind Charlie.
“Gentlemen, I know the great state of Georgia allows you to carry those firearms, but in my courthouse, they are not permitted. I’m going to have to ask you to leave—”
“I ain’t leavin’ till I get answers!” Mr. Donovan screamed, making people jump.
“I’d be happy to answer your questions, but this isn’t the way it’s going to happen.” With slow, steady steps, Charlie moved forward. Lane held her breath. What would a hurting father do to bring his murdered daughter justice? “Judge Sullivan is right. Those guns don’t belong in here, and you’ve got me and my fellow deputy feeling a little nervous. Let’s do this the right way so justice can be served.”
“Justice?” Mr. Donovan reared his head back and laughed. “My daughter didn’t get any justice.”
A man with a lip full of chewing tobacco stepped forward. “We can offer our own brand of justice.”
“That’s not something you want to do.” Charlie set his jaw. “Any threat against another person is taken seriously. It’s not a path you want to go down.”
“But you got a name,” a heavyset man said from behind Mr. Donovan. “That guy who lives in the woods out there on Coastal.”
“They’re sayin’ you found something of hers in his house,” Mr. Donovan said. “I want to know what and why.”
“We can’t discuss the details of the investigation, but we’re getting closer to finding out who killed your daughter. Right now you and your friends are keeping us from doing our jobs.”
Mr. Donovan scowled before taking a step back. “He’s gonna pay for what he’s done to my baby. I don’t care if I go to jail. You better find him, Deputy.”
Lane cringed at the implied threat left behind as the men left. An old-fashioned lynch mob had formed with Sydney Donovan’s father at the helm? This Mr. Donovan wasn’t the same man who had stood next to his wife at the church’s benefit for their daughter, docile but grief-stricken. This was a father who wanted to inflict his suffering on the one who caused it. And it was frightening as much as it was shocking to witness the man’s transformation. Is that what Charlie meant earlier? People can do unexplainable things when they are suffering?
“Well, I tell you what”—her father’s campaign manager used a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead—“the installation of metal detectors in every courthouse will be the first thing on your father’s agenda.”
“That ain’t your only problem.” Ms. Carson sneered. “Don’t think that little fiasco erased my memory. I know what I heard—there are two killers living in this small town.”
“Alright.” Mr. Adams spread his hands out. “I think Judge Sullivan and his daughter need some privacy. Ms. Carson, I know your attorney charges by the minute, so I suggest you go on into his office, take care of whatever business you have, and make him earn his paycheck.”
Ms. Carson looked ready to argue, but her lawyer took hold of her elbow and led her away.
Charlie returned to Lane’s side. “Are you okay?”
“They’re going to hunt him down,” she said, her voice wavering. “They won’t understand his condition. If they find him—”
“Lane, my office,” her father said.
Charlie locked eyes with her and gave her a nod before she followed her father into the office, with Mr. Adams and Charlie following behind.
“Now, I have a signed warrant for Miguel Roa that explains why Deputy Lynch is here, but I want to know why you’re here.”
Lane’s composure slipped under her father’s penetrating stare, but having Charlie in the room made her feel less alone. “For Miguel.”
The vein in her father’s neck pulsed. “Why?”
“Did you not just see what happened out there?” She tried hard to keep the tremor shaking her hands from spreading throughout her body. “Those men are out there hunting him like an animal all because they think he did something he hasn’t even been charged with. As a judge, you should be interested in making sure his rights are protected.”
“His rights?” Her father’s posture straightened, bringing him to his full height so she had to look up to him. “What about the rights of that young girl?”
“I’m not saying he’s innocent,” she said. “But doesn’t he deserve not to be judged simply because his mind isn’t like everyone else’s? Or will he be forced to live a lie and take the fall for a crime he didn’t commit so you can win your election?”
“Lane.” A shade of red painted her father’s face. He pressed his lips together. “You have no idea what you’re doing or what you’ve done.”
“Don’t I? You think a second doesn’t go by when I don’t think about what I’ve done?”
“Well, this is great. Senate hopeful’s daughter advocates for suspected murderer.” Mr. Adams removed his glasses and slumped down into the couch, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The press is going to eat this up.”
“They can’t access her medical files and Mathias’s death was an accident,” her father said, wiping a palm over his forehead.
Lane clenched her teeth. They were talking about her like she wasn’t even standing there. “It’s good they know the truth. I’m so sick of the lies. My whole life I’ve been pretending like I’m everyone else’s version of normal. But how’s anyone supposed to get help if they can’t be honest about what they’re facing?”
“You don’t have to do this, Lane.” A pained expression stretched across Charlie’s face.
“No, I do.” She looked at the disbelief in her father’s face and felt her heart breaking. No matter what he believed, she knew that hiding in the shadows of lies to avoid the truth was hurting her more than the speculation of others. Fear of being defined by her depression and anxiety kept her from getting the help she needed. “I struggle every day, wondering if life’s worth living. If I have a reason to keep breathing. Or if that night it should’ve been me. If everyone would’ve been better off if it had been me.”
Lane couldn’t be sure, but she thought her father flinched. The hard look in his eyes softened. He started to open his mouth to say something, but a knock at the door stopped him.
Sheriff Huggins stepped inside. “Everyone okay in here?”
“We’re fine, Sheriff.” Lane’s father loosened the knot of his tie and picked up a piece of paper from his desk. “I was just about to give Deputy Lynch the arrest warrant.”
“Thank you, Judge.” Sheriff Huggins locked eyes with Lane before his attention went to Charlie. “Agent Edmonds is waiting for you.”
Charlie acknowledged the sheriff before turning to Lane. His hand caressed her cheek. “We will get to the truth. Trust me, Lane.”
TWENTY-SIX
ADRENALINE PULSED through Charlie’s veins, forcing his mind to focus on the mission in front of him and not on the way he left Lane at the courthouse. He couldn’t stop thinking about what she had said to her father about wondering if everyone would be better off without her—so desperate to break free of her illness that she swallowed a bottle of pills—and lost her husband. Charlie’s heart ached for the guilt she bore on her shoulders.
“Hey, are we, like, supposed to wear masks too?”
Frost’s question hauled Charlie’s mind back to the present. He and Frost stood outside the circle of DEA agents with black knit caps pulled over their faces in the loading dock of an abandoned warehouse three blocks from the Bohemian Signature Gallery. Agent Edmonds was briefing them on their mission to infiltrate Annika’s gallery in search for answers.
“Just them.” Sweat gathered at his brow. Charlie’s gut told him that uncovering the drug-smuggling ring would provide the answers to help them solve Sydney’s murder. And to figure out Miguel’s role. Charlie had already begun forming theories and the end result to all of them had Sydney as an innocent girl caught in something bigger than even he could imagine.
“This is my first sting operation,” Frost whispered. “It’s kinda cool.”
“Listen and do whatever they tell you.” The flak vest added bulk to Frost’s small frame but didn’t impair his nervous energy. “You’ll do fine.”
Agent Edmonds broke free of the group. “You ready?”
“Heck yeah.” Frost slapped his vest.
“Good.” Edmonds cast an amused look at Charlie. “We have two unmarked vans. Both of you will be riding with me. We’ll be breaching the front entrance. My boys will secure the rear.”
“What about civilians—or, uh, customers? Pedestrians on the street?” Charlie asked. Summer was here and so were the tourists. He needed to assess such risks on every mission.
“Metro Police will be patrolling the blocks on either side of the gallery as well as the nearby parks. They’ll be there to assist if necessary.”
“I want first opportunity to question her.” In the short time since Edmonds’s call and his arrival in Savannah, they hadn’t established who would get to question Annika first. Charlie wanted to make sure the steely DEA agent understood they both had vested stakes in the mission.
Edmonds took his time adjusting the Velcro straps on his vest—or was he using his silence to make a point? Finally, he said, “Your tip about Nawabi put me on the fast track for a promotion. You know what that means?”
“First in line for a desk job?”
“Got that right.” Edmonds grunted. “I’m not a fan of sitting behind a desk . . . but my fiancée is. Got it in her mind that what we do can be dangerous.”
“Reasonable concern.”
“Yeah, well, I like making her happy, so I guess that gives you first rights to Annika.” Edmonds dug in his pocket and pulled out two earpieces. His gaze held steady on Frost’s edgy movements. “Here, you’ll both need these. You’ll hear a lot of voices, but the only one you need to listen to is mine.”
The directive was aimed at Frost. There was nothing more unnerving than a jittery team member, whether the mission took place on a dusty road in an Afghani valley or on the suburban streets of Savannah. No one wanted an accident.
Charlie put in the earpiece and Frost did the same. Right away chatter filled his ear. A disgruntled voice argued with another.
“You ready to arrest the wicked witch of Savannah?” Frost smirked.
“I’m ready for some answers.” Although Charlie wouldn’t mind seeing a pair of silver handcuffs melt the icy glare off Annika’s face.
“Load up. We roll in five.” Agent Edmonds’s voice spoke into their ears.
“You think Miguel Roa’s the killer?” Frost asked as he climbed in one of the vans after Charlie.
“I believe Annika is the link that will connect all the pieces.”
“You hear what they’re saying about him?”
Charlie gave a tight nod. If Miguel was involved in Sydney’s death, he’d never get a fair trial in Walton. Lane was right. The truth about Miguel’s condition had colored him as crazy and capable of murder without anyone batting an eyelash that maybe there was more to the story
. Maybe Lane and Miguel really were similar. Two people forced to suffer alone because people didn’t understand them. They suffered in silence until it became unbearable. Like his friend Tate.
“I think it’s pretty cool of Lane to stand up for him.” Frost ran his hands down his pant legs. “There’s an old bridge near Coastal Highway that crosses a narrow part of the Ogeechee River. They call it the jumping bridge because people go there to, you know, end it. Rode my bike there one day after school when the teasing was really bad.”
Charlie’s throat grew dry. He knew exactly what bridge Frost was talking about.
Frost tugged down on his vest. “I was ready to jump, but you know what stopped me?”
“What?”
“A girl on the trail below along the river waved at me. Smiled too.” Frost blushed. “I guess it was enough that someone noticed me. Made me think maybe I’d be missed if I was gone. So, I turned around and went home.”
Charlie swallowed as the memory of finding Lane on that same bridge pushed to the front of his mind. What would she have done if he hadn’t shown up? He still didn’t know if she had been planning to jump that day, but he couldn’t imagine a single day without her in his life. She had to know—had to believe—that she’d be missed. And he was willing to do whatever it took to convince her.
The van brakes squeaked to a stop and a second later Edmonds slid the door open. “Let’s move.”
Frost pushed his glasses up his nose with a shaky hand.
“Stick by my side and you’ll be fine.” Charlie patted Frost’s shoulder and slid the van door open. His phone vibrated. He didn’t recognize the number and let it go to voice mail.
“Nice and easy.” Edmonds’s voice came through the ear mic. “Alpha team on approach.”
Charlie and Frost fell into place behind Edmonds. Two other agents closed the ranks. The group was gathering curious looks from people on the streets, but a Metro cop was encouraging them to move along.
The inside of the gallery was dark. It was barely past six. The hours posted on the door said the gallery should be open for another two hours.
Living Lies Page 27