“How long are you going to spoil me like this?” I asked, taking a big mouthful.
“Don’t get used to it,” she said. “But we are going on a trip to Rio next month. You know we’ve always wanted to go there together, and we’d better do it soon before you’re attached to another case.”
I gave a small smile. Another case. I was looking forward to my next one. Where would it take me this time?
I snapped back to the present. “Okay, we’ll go,” I said. “Let’s book the tickets right away before Dan calls me in.”
She grinned and spooned some sugar into her coffee. And then her eyebrow creased.
“What is it?” I asked, my stomach dropping.
“There’s just something I don’t understand, something that doesn’t add up,” she said. “If you came here from the bed-and-breakfast, why didn’t you bring your bag?”
I hesitated a beat to think up a lie. “I left my bag because I wanted to sleep there tomorrow night.” But the hesitation was all she needed to know that something was up.
Silence stretched between us. I took a sip of tea, and it tasted more bitter than normal.
“I know you’re withholding something from me,” she said. I was about to speak when she held up a hand. “And that’s okay. Just know that I’m here.”
I moved my roll from one side of the plate to the other. My heart felt full. Those words meant more to me than she’d ever know.
THE DNA FROM THE basement where we’d found Angela was not a match for Glen Williams, and his case began to fall apart just as fast as the one against Hank Williams had. I cursed the judge and Dan almost fired me for embarrassing him. Our DNA evidence was thrown out because of how long it sat in the barn, but it really didn’t matter because nothing matched Glen anyway.
I spent the better part of a week obsessed and pored over all the notes and video of the Hank Williams trial, trying to find the connection. The DA’s office was a hellhole. Dan was angry, but I guessed it was because I wouldn’t respond to his advances and our case was falling apart and making him look bad.
“I just don’t get it.” I hit the fast-forward button on the remote and groaned.
Joshua nodded and looked at me from behind a stack of boxes. We were putting in long days again in what seemed to be a repeat of the Hank Williams trial.
“It has to be something stupid.” Joshua smiled and went back to work.
I was watching myself on video giving the opening on the Hank Williams case. The camera panned to Hank and it hit me. “No way.”
Joshua looked up at me and blinked. “What?”
I skipped forward to another scene and watched Hank. Then without saying a word, I ejected the DVD and put in one from Glen’s trial earlier that week. My mind raced. And then the camera showed Glen sitting at the defense table, and I gasped.
“I gotta go.”
“Sarah, where—what did you see?” Joshua stuttered. I didn’t wait—I couldn’t because I had just figured out why nothing fit.
AN HOUR LATER, I was sitting in the visiting area waiting to see Glen Williams. He was being held at the state penitentiary, but in a posh cell. After cussing out the judge, I was not the acting lead on his case, so I got in without his lawyers present.
Glen shuffled in and sat down across from me, with just a piece of security glass between us. I picked up the phone and he smiled at me. I hated that smile. But this time I had him—he just didn’t know it yet.
“Miss Steele, how nice of you to come visit me. How is the case going?” He was jeering at me.
“Not good, really. You seem to be one step ahead of everyone.”
“It’s easy when I’m innocent. The guilty are the only ones who need to hide.”
I held back a gag. “I know who you are. I know why the DNA isn’t a match, and I wanted to come down here and see the look in your eyes when this weak woman puts you away for life.”
Glen’s eyes darkened and he put on a fake smile. “You are a spunky one. I like the spunky ones. Maybe when I’m out, we can play again.”
This time I didn’t hesitate.
“Oh, don’t worry. The game is over, and you lost.” I paused. “Hank.”
Hank’s eyes darted back and forth, but he regained his composure and snarled. “How?”
It was my turn to smile. “Now, now, Hank, that would be too easy. I like it better this way. It is a game, after all. You figure it out.”
With that, I hung up the phone and called for the guard. Hank glared at me and slammed the phone down with his left hand.
BY THE END OF the week, everything changed. Hank was tested and his DNA matched the DNA in the basement where Angela was held. What I saw in the video was Hank Williams writing on a piece of paper with his left hand. But when I killed him, or thought I did, he used his right hand to hold the knife.
The video of the Glen Williams arraignment showed a man writing with his left hand, proving that it was Hank, and Glen was the man I shot at Mandy’s house. Hank let his brother take the fall for him as he tried to get away. But he knew that even if he got caught, he could get off again because the DNA would not match, and his brother was dead.
Dan spun the Williams case well and the media ate it up. Dan told them, “Someone tried to force the ADA to throw a case, but no matter what, the DA’s office would not be bullied. Truth and justice will always prevail.”
I felt like the hero, but it was short-lived. Hank Williams was killed three weeks later by another inmate, shanked in the back with a toothbrush. I didn’t know if Hannah sent the hit out on him, but I wouldn’t put it past her. There was a lot of money riding on his silence. I wondered what her part was in all this, but I was not going to find out. It was not perfect justice, but it was better than nothing.
After a few more lessons at the target range, Solomon finally asked me out on a date. Besides his looks and charm, there was a mystery about him that drew me in. He held me at arm’s length, which was perfectly fine with me. But one day, I wanted to see what lay behind the mask.
I felt on top of the world, as if the sun was a little brighter and the smells of summer were all there in full bloom, just for me. I had some of my life back, something to hold on to, and a weight had been lifted from my shoulders.
I wanted to believe in justice, in the system, but my faith faltered. It was used and abused every day. Greed. Jealousy. Revenge. Hatred. All battled within the court system until I didn’t know which side was right. Was it all just a big game?
I did know one thing. I would not be a pawn anymore. I was going to stand up and fight, no matter what that meant.
For Kale, you are my little man. I am proud to be your father.
Some lives twist together making an unbreakable cord, others choke the life out of something beautiful.
I LEANED BACK WITH a small smile. The airplane seats felt more like steel wool than wool fabric and smelled like mothballs and bad breath, but I didn’t care. I was going on my first vacation.
Well, technically, it was the second. But I’d hardly call the camping trip my dad took me on when I was eight—and he was drunk, or fishing (or both), the entire time—a vacation. It was more like a punishment. My family wasn’t exactly the Disney-dream-vacation type. We were more like the Denny’s-buffet type.
My best friend, Mandy, sat next to me, scribbling a list on her field notebook. She had it braced against her knee because we were about to take off and couldn’t put down the table.
“What are you—?”
“Shhh,” Mandy cut me off. She wrote so quickly I expected her pen to start smoking. “Just … one … more … thing. All right.” She looked up with a smile and handed me the notebook. “There it is. Our to-do list for Rio.”
My eyes trailed the list and then my mouth hung open as I turned the page. There had to be at least fifty items on it.
- Get palm trees painted on my nails.
- Go scuba diving and get a picture with a red fish.
- Flirt with my scu
ba instructor, but not so badly that he asks me for my number—just enough that I can say I did it.
- Get Sarah a date with our scuba instructor.
- Have a conversation with a parrot.
- Go shopping and MAKE Sarah get some new clothes.
- Eat a huge lobster dinner. Wear a giant bib.
- Race a bike through the streets of Rio.
- Go surfing and try to ride at least one wave. If I can’t, at least get a picture of me standing on a surfboard so I can tell Rick I did, because he’s never been surfing.
- Not get eaten by sharks.
- Solve a mystery.
- Get a glow-in-the-dark bikini and go swimming at night.
- Get a tattoo of a typewriter on my back.
- Read War and Peace. And the latest Janet Evanovich to balance it out.
- Adopt an orphaned street kid.
I didn’t get through half the list before I broke into laughter. “You’d think we were planning to be in Rio eleven years, not eleven days.” I combed my hand through my blonde hair. “And haven’t I told you a thousand times not to talk to parrots you don’t know?”
“You’re so biased—you always let me talk to dogs. Hey, we’ve got to fit as much as we can into this vacation. This may be the only chance we ever get to do this.” Mandy clicked and unclicked her pen, a nervous habit. She wasn’t crazy about planes.
I took the pen from her. “Why? Are you and Rick going to start popping out babies soon?”
She patted her flat belly. “My chances are drying up as we speak.”
I wrinkled my nose.
She leaned in and her curly red hair brushed my cheek. “But really, we’ve talked about doing this our whole lives. And now we’ve made it happen.”
“You made it happen,” I said. “If you hadn’t forced me to buy a ticket at water-gun point, I’d be sitting at my desk at the office going through case files with Dan trying to look down my shirt.”
My boss, District Attorney Dan Butler, was less than discreet about one of the reasons why he wanted me on his payroll.
She squinted in mock sternness. “No one can say no to my water gun. And, you’re welcome.”
My face softened. I wanted to tell her how just how glad I was to be taking this trip with her. But she’d probably get all mushy on me, something my crusty old soul tried to avoid.
I tapped her list. “What’s with this entry? You don’t even like kids.”
“Not true. Rick and I would love a few ankle-biters around the house. What I hate are spoiled brats who order their parents around like slaves. I bet I’d like a Rio street kid.”
“You might be suited for each other … both orphans, with dubious moral standards and personal hygiene—”
“Hey.” She punched my arm. “So I forget to wear deodorant one time at the gym and you’re going to tease me forever?”
I rubbed the spot where she hit me. “One time at the gym? Try all of eighth grade.”
Mandy shook her head, and her smile faded. “Those are the important things moms are supposed to teach you. ‘Put on deodorant or you’ll smell like a fish tank.’”
My phone buzzed. Oops. It was supposed to be off already. I awkwardly dug it out of my back pocket, trying not to elbow Mandy in the ribs, and checked the screen. I turned my shoulder and kept the phone low to block the flight attendant’s view.
“Is it Solomon?” Mandy asked. She took out her phone—it’s impossible not to check your phone if someone else is. “I’d better text Rick.”
My face grew wooden when I saw the screen. UNKNOWN. Those calls were never good. It buzzed two more times before I braced myself enough to answer.
“Hello?”
A recorded female voice said in robotic tones, “You are getting a collect call from—”
And then a voice said my name, a voice that I hadn’t heard in ten years—ever since the trial—my mom’s. “Sarah? Baby? Hi. It’s Mom. Please take my call. I know we ended the last visit badly, but since it’s your birthday, I wanted to hear your voice. Please. You owe it to me—”
That’s when I hung up. Already my heart was beating so fast I felt my temple pulsing. Her words burned. It was all wrong. So wrong. Why did she have to do everything so wrong?
“Who was that?” Mandy asked quietly.
“Mom.”
I couldn’t talk over the anger simmering in my chest.
After taking a jerky breath, I said, “She called to wish me a happy birthday.”
Mandy’s eyebrows creased in confusion. “But your birthday is the fifteenth of—”
“Next month.” I gripped my phone so hard its frame clicked. I set it down before I broke it.
Mandy winced. “How could a mom forget her own kid’s birthday?”
That question, and questions like it, had hounded me the first twenty-five years of my life. The worst part of it was—she thought she was a good mom and everything was my fault. She had such a twisted view of things.
“I’m sure the few good brain cells she has left are used to con smokes off people in prison, not remember my birthday.”
I took a deep breath and looked around at the flight attendants combing the aisles, making sure everything was in place before takeoff.
Mom couldn’t do this to me, couldn’t break into my life and ruin it without me letting her in first. She’d done enough already. I turned my phone off and slipped it in my purse. Mandy must have recognized it as the end of the subject and took out her book. That’s one reason I liked her—she let things go.
The airplane started to taxi down the runway, lumbering loudly across the lot. How could something so graceful in the air be so awkward on land?
Mandy put her book down and gripped the armrest. “What’d you bring to read at the beach?” she said in a high-pitched voice.
She was using the distraction technique on herself, so I took out the thick book I’d brought. “It’s Blunt Trauma Injuries by—”
“Oh, God, Sarah,” Mandy interrupted me. “You have no idea how to go on a vacation, do you?”
“Don’t mock me. I like learning about bruises and how to tell how old they are. Did you know that—” I stopped.
She was so pale her freckles stood out even more than usual.
Poor thing. I tried to reassure her. “You know it’s more dangerous to ride in a car than a plane, right?”
“Irrational fears are called irrational for a reason.” She gritted her teeth. “It’s normal. I’m normal. 72% of people are afraid of flying.”
“And 34.5% of statistics are made up on the spot.” I rested my head against the seat and closed my eyes. Then Mandy started doing the thing she did incessantly when she was scared—she chattered.
“So what do you want to do in Rio? It’s your first time on the beach. I hope you brought your orange bikini instead of your yellow one. I told you to make a list. What do you want to do? You always make me do the planning—why don’t you have a plan for this vacation? Don’t you care about it?”
I looked over with heavy-lidded eyes. “Lists are your thing, not mine. My one goal for this vacation is to sleep in until ten.”
Sleep had never been my friend. A side of me came out at night that I tried to push away. Memories came unbidden, like evil sheep demanding to be counted—thoughts of my dad, my mom, that tragic day twelve years ago, the recent trauma I’d encountered at the hands of the murderer and kidnapper, Hank Williams, the night I killed him—the scenes played over and over again so that sleep was impossible.
“That’s it? That’s all you want out of our trip?” Mandy said. I glared at her. “Oh, right. Okay, then. I’ll let you sleep in.”
The airplane gained speed.
“But not every day.” She gulped loudly. “Maybe once.”
I gazed past her to the window. The land rushed past. That would be enough—I’d sing the Hallelujah Chorus if I just got to sleep in once.
The 737 lifted off the ground. I loved the way the speed of the airplan
e forced me back into my seat, loved the power and the pure lack of control I had to have in order to trust that we wouldn’t end up in a ball of flames on the tarmac.
Mandy shot me a scared glance. “I need air and water… can I get a drink of water? My legs hurt. I have to go to the bathroom.”
“As soon as we level off, I’m sure you can get a drink and go potty.” My gut turned as we lifted off.
“‘Go potty’? Who says ‘go potty‘? What are you, four?” Mandy gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut.
“I can say ‘potty’ if I want. I mean, in a few minutes we’re going to die as the wings tear off and we plummet to the ground. I can hear the screams now…”
“I hate you. I can’t believe you’re teasing me at a time like this. You are teasing me, right?” Mandy stared at me with big, dark eyes and a pleading look.
“Well …” Leaning over her, I looked out the window and pretended to survey the stability of the wings. “Everything looks okay from here. No sign of the airplane socket mites responsible for most crashes. We should be okay as long as we don’t hit a flock of geese.”
Mandy cursed. “How long till we’re in Rio?”
I gave her a blank look. “We just left Boise.”
That’s when I realized I’d be very lucky if I slept at all this vacation.
COLD METAL PRESSED AGAINST the side of Nancy Parker’s head and her bladder released, soiling her Gucci sable dress. Her hands were cuffed to the wheel. The woman holding the gun to Nancy’s head was an unnatural blonde, with light brown skin, black painted nails, and a sunburnt nose.
“You just pissed yourself?” Her voice was calm, with a hint of an accent. “Look, all you have to do is sit here with me, look out the window, and enjoy Rio’s beautiful ocean view. I told you that I wouldn’t kill you if you do exactly what I say.”
Nancy shifted in her seat, and the woman lowered the gun and laid it on her lap. “See, now we can relax.” Pushing her sunglasses up with her middle finger, she turned and blew smoke out of the tiny crack between the window and the frame of the car. Not that it did much good. The car was clouded in pungent smoke, making it hard for Nancy to breathe.
The Steele Collection Books 1-3: Sarah Steele Legal Thrillers Page 13