Kevin wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

“When was she here last?” Lance asked.

Vanessa hiccupped and spoke between hitched breaths. “Not since before final exams last June.”

They said good-bye and showed themselves out, leaving Vanessa crying on Kevin’s shoulder.

Lance pulled out the keys as they walked across the parking lot. “What do you think?”

Morgan glanced over her shoulder at the depressing brick building. “I think Vanessa Lewis is in a really tough spot.”

“Mental illness can destroy your life,” Lance agreed, his voice rough.

“Did Sharp do background checks on all the parents?” Morgan asked.

“Yes. I don’t like that Jamie left as soon as she found out her mother was marrying Kevin, but Sharp hasn’t found any red flags in either Kevin’s or Vanessa’s backgrounds. The father in California is clean too.”

“Maybe Vanessa is right and Jamie was angry that she’d have less freedom if Kevin moved in. If Jamie is oppositional, her motivation could have been as simple as not wanting her life to change or not wanting to share her space. It’s a small apartment.”

“You’re right, but I still don’t like the timing.” Lance steered her around a patch of broken glass. “And we’ve established a concrete connection between Tessa and Jamie.

“Could be a coincidence,” Morgan said. “Scarlet Falls High isn’t that big.”

“True. But it’s worth more investigation.”

“You know who else needs more investigation?” Morgan stopped at the Jeep. “Kevin.”

“You noticed all the sweating too?” Lance pulled his key fob from his pocket and unlocked the doors.

“Yes. And I would swear he was lying about something.” Morgan walked toward the passenger door. “Though excessive sweating isn’t evidence.”

“I think you’re right.” Lance looked at her over the hood of the Jeep. “Kevin has something to hide.”

Chapter Seventeen

The picture of Tessa stared back at him from his computer screen. Her dark hair was pulled away from her pretty face. It seemed like she was smiling for him.

At him.

He couldn’t use the Internet without seeing her. She was everywhere. And in none of the photos on the news was she covered in blood. So much blood.

I miss you.

He looked at his hands. Clean. He closed his eyes. How was he going to get over her?

He sucked in a deep breath.

On the screen, a reporter talked to Morgan Dane. He turned up the volume. In a taped sound bite from the day before, she claimed to know that the wrong person had been arrested for the murder of Tessa Palmer.

Impossible.

Only two people had been in the woods that night, and one of them was dead. She couldn’t possibly know the truth.

But doubt lingered under his certainty. He’d lived in constant fear that someone would discover his game and call him out. But people saw what they wanted to see—and no one wanted to believe a killer could actually be living next door.

He wiped his hands on his thighs. Had he made a mistake? He replayed his actions that night but found no mistakes. The cops had been satisfied. Nick Zabrowski had been arrested. The whole town thought Nick was guilty.

Nick Zabrowski was going to be convicted of murder.

Because the alternative was unacceptable. If Morgan Dane proved Nick’s innocence, then the police would resume their investigation. If they dug deep enough, who knew what they’d find? No matter how careful he’d been, there was always risk. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night until the trial was over and Nick Zabrowski was sent to prison.

He clicked “Play” and watched her give her short speech one more time. The fire in her eyes made him hit pause. She was determined. She actually believed Nick was innocent.

Apprehension prickled along his skin like static electricity. Morgan Dane was going to be a problem. He could feel it.

Above all, he couldn’t allow her to find out the truth.

Opening a new window in his browser, he began a random search. He needed to learn everything he could about Morgan Dane. Her address. Her family. Her friends. Anyone she was close to could be used against her.

He would use information as ammunition. He would find her weaknesses. If you drilled enough holes in any foundation, it would crumble.

Morgan Dane was a threat, and she needed to be stopped.

Chapter Eighteen

The next morning Morgan stepped into the storage room at Sharp Investigations. Lance and Sharp were in the process of clearing the room out for her use. The closet door was open and stacked with boxes. The long table in the center of the room still held a few cartons.

“How is Sophie’s cold?” Lance shifted a box. He wore what she’d come to consider his private investigator uniform: cargo pants, a snug tee, and a short-sleeved shirt worn unbuttoned, likely added to conceal the weapon behind his right hip.

“Much better.” Morgan set a takeout tray loaded with three coffees and a Dunkin’ Donuts box on the table. “But I suspect Ava has caught it. No doubt Mia will be next.”

“You brought donuts?” Lance grinned.

“Also a couple of croissants and muffins. I didn’t know what you and Sharp liked.” Morgan took the lid off her coffee and inhaled. She loved summer, and this morning’s autumn chill had cut right through her. In her opinion, pumpkin coffee and her suede boots were the only good things about the approach of cold weather.

Sharp walked in. “You know Saturdays, and every other day, are casual here.”

“When I’m on the job, it’s important for me to look the part.” Morgan thought her appearance had become even more important while she was working Nick’s case. Without the weight of the prosecutor’s office behind her—and considering public opinion was not on her side—she would have more difficulty than usual getting cooperation. “People judge lawyers’ abilities by the cost of their clothes and vehicle. I drive a minivan. The suit is all I have.”

And she considered it her armor.

She offered Sharp the Dunkin’ box. He made a distasteful face.

“I’ll take one.” Lance grabbed a glazed donut. “Sharp doesn’t drink coffee or eat processed foods.”

“I’m sorry.” Morgan selected a Boston Kreme. “I have a wicked sweet tooth.”

“Sugar and caffeine are highly addictive,” Sharp said in his high-and-mighty tone.

“I’m going to live on the edge this morning.” Lance took a coffee from the tray.

“I’m sorry. I won’t corrupt him again. I promise.” Grinning, Morgan slid her laptop from her tote. “Thank you again for the loan of your office space.”

Sharp moved the last two boxes to the closet. “You’re welcome.”

“Our security system isn’t close to what you have here,” Morgan said.

Lance carried a box of supplies and copies from the hallway and placed them on the table. “What’s your plan for today?”

“Reviewing evidence. I started last night, but there’s a lot to get through.” Morgan’s head was fuzzy from lack of sleep.

Sharp opened her box. “There isn’t much in here.”

“Most of the discovery materials came through secure email.” She opened her laptop.

Sharp frowned. “I know I’m being an old fart, but I prefer printed copies.” He left the room and returned with a printer, which he set up on the far end of the table. “Start when you’re ready.”

Morgan began to print police reports.

“I like to work with visuals.” Sharp rubbed his hands together, as if anxious to get started. “I’ll put together a murder board.”

She glanced up at the far wall, where a huge whiteboard spanned the distance between two windows. “I’ll print multiple copies. I like to keep my files a certain way too.”

The printer hummed as it spat out pages. They divvied up reports and began reading.

Morgan started with the police reports. By lunchtime, she’d gotten through a large chunk of the materials, and her head spun with details. She saved the autopsy report for last, steeling herself for the horrible details. Reading about the sheer brutality of a violent crime was hard enough when she hadn’t personally known the victim. But this . . .