The Girl I Didn't Kill For (Jessie & Nick Book 2)

by Annabelle Costa

  Seth wasn’t a good person. Maybe he used to be, but he changed during the time we were together. The Seth I agreed to marry never would have wrapped his hands around my neck that way. But at the same time, he didn’t deserve to die.

  I feel tears springing to my eyes. “How could you do that, Nick?”

  “Jessie, I swear to you…”

  But I can’t listen to this anymore. I had started to believe him when he said the newspaper articles about him were lies. I believed that maybe the gun was just for protection. But now I feel like a fool for believing any of it.

  Nick Moretti is a murderer. He stole Seth’s life.

  I can’t love a murderer.

  Chapter 37

  Jessie

  I can’t stop shaking.

  Detective Brodsky is staring at me across the wooden table in the small room they brought me into to talk to him. He’s in his forties with dark hair and eyes that actually remind me a little of Nick. Except obviously, the detective is on the other side of the law.

  “Do you want some water, Miss Schultz?” Brodsky asks me.

  “No, thank you,” I say, thinking that anything I put in my stomach will immediately come up, including water.

  “I just got a few questions for you,” he says.

  I nod. He thinks I did it. He sees the bruises on my face and thinks that I shot Seth. I’m going to jail for the rest of my life.

  “Who gave you those bruises?” he asks.

  I hug my arms to my chest. “Seth did.”

  “I see.” Detective Brodsky scribbles something down on the notepad he’s holding. “And when did that happen?”

  “Tonight,” I say. “He… he tried to… to strangle me.”

  The detective’s face is impassive. “Any particular reason why?”

  My heart is slamming in my chest. “I didn’t kill Seth,” I blurt out.

  Brodsky raises his eyebrows at me, but doesn’t say anything. I take that as a bad sign. Oh my God, is he going to arrest me after this? I don’t have an alibi. I was in the apartment just before he was killed, and after that, I was alone at Nick’s place.

  “I think I should talk to a lawyer,” I say. Except how am I going to find a lawyer? Seth was my lawyer, but obviously, that’s not an option anymore. That’s the sort of thing Nick would know, but I can’t ask him either. I’m on my own here.

  “You can have a lawyer if you want,” Brodsky says. “But off the record, I don’t think you killed him.”

  I stare at Brodsky, not certain if I should believe him. Maybe he’s playing good cop so I’ll tell him everything.

  “Miss Schultz,” he says, without waiting for a response, “what’s the nature of your relationship with Nicolas Moretti?”

  I’m going to throw up. I’m really and truly going to throw up.

  “You and Mr. Moretti…” Brodsky looks down at his notepad then back up at me. “You were pretty close, no?”

  “We grew up together,” I mumble. It’s easy enough information for him to find. “And… I work at a couple of his clubs.”

  He raises his dark eyebrows. “And that’s it?”

  How easy will it be for him to discover the truth about me and Nick when we were publicly kissing only days ago? Lori would sell us out in a heartbeat. Still. I don’t need to hand it to him on a silver platter.

  “We’re friends,” I say.

  “Friends,” he repeats. He smirks at me. “Okay, just friends—I get it.”

  I realize now this man is not looking out for my best interests. He wants to pin Seth’s murder on somebody and I don’t believe I’m not a suspect. The girlfriend is always a suspect. “I want a lawyer.”

  “Why are you protecting Nick Moretti?” Brodsky presses me.

  “I’m not,” I say through my teeth.

  “Moretti’s not a good guy, you know,” he says. “I don’t think you have any idea what kinds of things he’s mixed up in, Ms. Schultz.” His dark eyes are staring so intently into mine that I have to look away. “We’ve been watching that guy for a long time.”

  I bite my lip. Nick swore it wasn’t true—it was all rumors the paper made up. But now this police officer is telling me that he really was under investigation. Yet another of Nick’s lies.

  “I can see how it might happen,” Brodsky says thoughtfully. “You’re a nice girl and he said all the right things to you. Made you believe he was on the level.” He leans forward and says in a low voice: “He played you.”

  I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t know whether Nick played me or not, but I get the sense I’m being played right now. “I want a lawyer,” I say again.

  “No need.” Brodsky gets out of his seat and stretches. “I got all the information I need for right now.”

  I frown at him. “So… I can go?”

  He nods. “Go stay someplace safe—not at your apartment, obviously.”

  I stand up gingerly from my seat, as if at any second, the detective might whip out his handcuffs and snap them on me. But he doesn’t. For the time being, I’m off the hook, although it seems like Nick isn’t.

  “Also,” he adds, “don’t leave town.”

  Nick

  The next morning, I get arrested.

  I knew it was coming, but I didn’t think it would be so fast. Yeah, they got me going into Seth’s apartment and probably a bunch of my fingerprints and the tire marks. But that’s just circumstantial evidence. I thought it would take more than that to get a warrant for my arrest. I thought I had more time to figure all this out before they came for me.

  It makes me think there’s more I don’t know.

  Officer O’Neil is the one who pushes me out to the cop car. The paparazzi have been tipped off and they’re surrounding my building when he pushes me out, my hands cuffed in front of me but covered by the duffel bag. This is a great story for them. Mob boss gets arrested for Murder One. Not that I’m a mob boss, but I’m sure that’s what the papers will claim.

  The problem arises when we get to the cop car, and there’s no way for me to get inside by myself. Just like when we were back in my apartment, the two officers are looking at each other like they don’t know what to do. I see the vultures from the press trying to close in on us and I know what’s coming.

  “If you uncuff me, I can get in on my own,” I tell them.

  O’Neil shakes his head. I get it—he doesn’t want to be videotaped by the press taking the handcuffs off a perp he’s arresting. He’s following protocol. Goddamn protocol.

  “I’ll lift him,” O’Neil says to Conti.

  And now I really feel sick. I really hate being lifted out of my chair, and now it’s going to be done with about two dozen assholes watching us, and probably put all over the news. I get that panicked feeling again, but there’s nothing I can do. I’ve lost my right to protest.

  O’Neil gets one arm under my knees and one under my back. He’s strong and I’m not extremely heavy, so it’s not hard for him. Still, I don’t like the fact that I’m being cradled in the arms of a cop. It’s not the look you want to have when you’re one of the most influential businessmen in the city.

  Once I’m in the car, he pulls the seatbelt across my lap. “The wheels come off my chair,” I tell him. “Be careful though, okay?”

  All I fucking need right now is for them to break my wheelchair.

  The only good thing is because there are steps to get into the front entrance, the cops gotta take me around the back and we avoid the press. Not that the damage isn’t already done at this point.

  At the police station, I finally get uncuffed and then get fingerprinted and my mugshots taken. I know my brother has been through this a million times, but I haven’t. I never had my fingerprints taken. The mugshots are even worse because the photographer kept insisting they had to be taken with me standing up and I kept explaining that it wasn’t going to happen—not in this lifetime. It’s like they never arrested a guy in a wheelchair before. I would’ve been indignant if I
wasn’t scared out of my goddamn mind. Some superior officer’s gotta come down to tell her to photograph me in my chair, about five seconds before I lose it.

  I don’t get thrown in with the rest of the low-lives. They stick me in a medical cell, which is about twenty feet down from the other cells. Instead of bars, it’s got automatic sliding doors that sound off with a horn every time they open. I’ve got my own toilet and there’s a roll-in shower, but I don’t intend to be here long enough to need a shower. There’s also a television hanging off the wall that’s blasting game shows, and it’s too high for me to reach the controls to turn the damn thing off.

  The first thing I do after I make them turn off the TV is ask to make a phone call, and the person I call is Jack Kahn. I got other lawyers, but I’ve known him since I was a little kid, and right now, I’m not sure who I can trust, but I know I can trust Jack. When I reach him, he doesn’t seem surprised at all to hear my voice.

  “I saw you on the news,” he tells me. “Your parents are in a panic.”

  “Shit,” I mutter under my breath. That was fast.

  “Look,” Jack says, “don’t say a word to the police. You know that. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Right.” I swallow a lump in my throat. I can’t fucking believe I’m in the can. This is really bad. Any confidence I had that this would be resolved quickly is flying out the window.

  “Don’t freak out on me, Nico.” Jack’s voice is firm and comforting. “Remember when your dad got arrested and I told you it would be fine? Well, this is going to be fine. We’re gonna get you out. Today.”

  I don’t know if I believe it, but hearing him say it makes me feel better.

  Chapter 38

  Nick

  Two hours later, the horn sounds off to indicate the doors to my cell are opening, and Jack Kahn enters the room. He’s wearing an old rumpled suit and looks like he barely makes enough money to eat, but he’s the best lawyer I know, and I trust him with my life. If anyone in this world can help me, Jack can.

  But the grim look on Jack’s face doesn’t make me feel any better.

  “Nico.” He slides into one of the chairs in the room. “I got you a bail hearing this afternoon. I canceled all my clients for today so I can help you.”

  “Thanks, Jack,” I mutter. “You think… this is going to be okay?”

  He’s quiet for a moment, a deep crease between his eyebrows. “Listen, Nico, it’s not going to do you any good if I lie to you, right?”

  That is never the start of good news.

  “They’ve got a lot of evidence against you,” he says. “Nobody saw you shoot the guy, so there’s that. But they’ve got people who saw you in the building at the time of death, and your fingerprints and tire marks are in the apartment. And a lot of people know you were having an affair with Jessica Schultz, the fiancée.”

  It’s all stuff I already know, but I suspect there’s more.

  “Also…” Jack leans in close enough that I can see all the fine lines around his eyes. “They found a gun tossed in the dumpster next to the building. The gun is registered to you, Nico. They’re matching up the bullets in the gun with the one they found in Parsons, but it looks like it’s probably a match.”

  “Holy shit,” I breathe.

  Before I heard this, I was willing to entertain the chance that it was all a coincidence, but now I know that isn’t the case. Someone set me up. Someone got into my house or office, took one of my guns, killed Seth with it, and then dumped it somewhere it was sure to be found. If I shot a guy, I wouldn’t be dumb enough to put the gun in a dumpster right next to the building.

  “The good news,” Jack says, “is we got a friendly judge, if you know what I mean. I think we can get you out on bail.”

  “Right.” That’s a relief, although it’s just a stay of execution. “Look, Jack, I know it looks bad, but… you have to know I didn’t kill him.”

  I can tell from Jack’s face he doesn’t believe it. That hurts. I mean, the guy’s known me my whole life. Does he really think I’m dumb enough to do something like this?

  “It doesn’t matter whether you did it or not,” he finally says. “We’re going to get you out of it.”

  “But I didn’t do it.” I shake my head for emphasis. “I didn’t, Jack. Come on, you gotta know I wouldn’t be stupid enough to do something like that when it was so obvious I’d get caught. I’m not some hot-tempered thug.”

  Jack is quiet again, and it’s making me really uncomfortable. “We paid off Evan Thompson’s parents,” he finally says.

  I frown at him. “What?”

  He shifts in his seat, his eyes not quite meeting mine. “Remember that kid you beat half to death when you were in high school? Evan Thompson? Didn’t you think it was funny you never got in trouble for that?”

  I bite my lip. There was so much going on back then—my father had recently been arrested—I never even thought about the consequences of what I did to Evan. I just figured Evan kept his mouth shut. “No…”

  “You broke his face, Nico,” Jack sighs. “He needed surgery. His parents were ready to press charges against you, so we paid them off. To protect you.”

  I rub my eyes with my fingers. “I had no idea…”

  “Your father didn’t want you to know,” Jack says. “He figured you were having a hard enough time as it was.”

  “That was different though,” I protest. “Evan… he tried to rape Jessie…”

  “And wasn’t Seth trying to strangle her? That’s what she told the police.”

  I don’t know what to say to that.

  “You lost control,” he says. “I get it. Look, we’ll figure it out.”

  “Jack…” I feel sick—this can’t be happening. “I swear to you. I fucking swear it. I didn’t shoot him. Someone is setting me up.”

  Jack shakes his head. “Who would do that?”

  Good question.

  I’ve been sitting here a long time now, trying to figure out who would do this to me. And every time, I keep coming back to Lombardi. He wanted to make that deal with me so bad, but I wouldn’t do it. Tony was willing though.

  Maybe the two of them wanted me out of the way. Could Tony have done this to me?

  No, not my brother. He wouldn’t.

  Except the truth is, I’m not absolutely sure.

  _____

  I do end up getting out on bail, although I don’t even want to think about how much money it’s costing me. It’s enough to make me think twice about skipping town—that’s for sure. If that’s a judge who was “friendly,” I can’t imagine what an unfriendly judge would’ve done. But considering the case they got against me, they could’ve denied me bail altogether. I’d still be stuck in jail.

  The thought of it makes me sick.

  Pop comes to pick me up after the bond is posted. He shows up looking tired, rumpled, and old as the hills. He doesn’t bring Ma with him, which is a relief because I know she’s probably worried sick about me, but it’s also bad because without her in the car, I know he’s gonna give it to me.

  He hugs me when he sees me, which has got to be the first time Pop’s hugged me in years. Usually he just claps me on the shoulder. “You okay, Nico?”

  “Been better,” I admit.

  They let him park in a handicapped spot, so I got room to transfer into the passenger seat. He stashes my wheelchair in the trunk, and I’m almost asleep in the seat before he gets the car started. I hardly slept last night and today has been awful. I can’t wait to get home.

  “Your mother wants to see you,” Pop tells me.

  “Take me to my apartment, Pop.”

  “Maybe you should come stay with us for a while.”

  “I got all my medical stuff at the apartment.”

  He doesn’t have an answer for that, so I know I’m going home. For a few minutes, he just drives uptown in silence. We’ve gone about a mile when he says, “You’re fucked. You know that, right, Nicolas?”

  I close
my eyes. “Yeah, I figured it out.”

  “What the hell is wrong with you, doin’ that?” he snaps at me. “What do I always tell you? Never get your hands dirty. Come on.” He shakes his head at me. “I expect this shit from Tony, but not you.”

  “I didn’t do it,” I say.

  He snorts. “Stop it. There’s no bugs in this car. I don’t need you bullshitting me.”

  “I’m not. I didn’t fucking kill that guy.”

  “Don’t swear in front of me, Nicolas,” Pop snaps at me. “I heard the whole story. That girl’s fiancé gets shot with your piece right after he beats up on her. You think I’m a babbo?”

  He doesn’t believe me. My own father thinks I’m guilty. What chance do I have with a jury? I get this sharp jab in my chest. “Does Ma think I did it too?”

  Pop glances over at me, his graying eyebrows furrowed together. “Look, she still loves you. I do too. Sometimes…” He heaves a sigh. “Back when I was younger, there was a situation once where I had to…”

  Holy shit. Is Pop telling me he killed someone?

  “I just wish you’d been smarter about it.” He shakes his head. “Something about that girl. She makes you act like you’re dumb.”

  I rub my face, not sure what to say. My father just admitted to me that he’s a murderer. And that he thinks I’m a murderer. It’s been a rough day.

  “This is what we’re gonna do, Nico,” he says. “Soon as I can arrange a passport for you, we’re getting you out of the country. You go stay with your mother’s family in Sicily. It’s the only way.”

  I turn to stare at him. “Leave the country? Pop…”

  “You wanna spend your life in the pen?” His voice raises several notches. “Because I’m not visiting my son in prison. You get locked up, you’re on your own.”

  He doesn’t mean that, but it’s scary to hear. He really thinks I’m going to get convicted. Jack was so reassuring, I was certain there was a way out.