"I know. And I'm sorry. I never wanted you to doubt me." Her father pulled her into a careful hug. "But I couldn't tell you the truth without putting you in an impossible position."
"When will it be over? When can you clear your name?"
"Soon. The feds are close to making arrests. Once the case goes to trial, the truth will come out." He pulled back to look at her. "But there's something else you need to know. The people who framed me—they're powerful, well-connected, and they don't want this case to go forward. They've been trying to discredit potential witnesses, intimidate people who might testify."
Cold understanding washed over Emery. "You think what's happening to me is connected to your case?"
"I don't know. But the timing is suspicious. You take a job that puts you in the public eye, and suddenly you're being targeted with forged documents and hit by a car?" Her father's expression was grim. "It could be a coincidence. Or it could be someone trying to get to me through you."
"That's terrifying."
"I know, which is why I'm here. I should have come sooner, should have warned you, but I thought keeping my distance would keep you safe." He took her hand again. "I was wrong. And I'm sorry."
Emery leaned against her father's shoulder, feeling like a child again—small and scared and needing his protection. "I missed you."
"I missed you, too, sweetheart. So much." He stroked her hair. "Your mother sends her love. She wanted to come, but we thought it was better if I came alone first. Less conspicuous."
"How is she?"
"Worried about you. Proud of how you handled that interview. Furious at whoever hit you with a car." Her father's voice held a hint of humor. "You know your mother—she wanted to drive out here and hunt them down herself."
That surprised a laugh out of Emery. "That sounds like Mom."
They sat together as the afternoon light faded, talking about everything. Her mother's garden, her sister's kids, the small, mundane details that made up a life. It felt normal in a way nothing had felt normal in months.
Finally, as the sun dipped toward the hills, her father stood. "I should go. I'm staying at a hotel in town for a few days, in case you need me. But I don't want to overstay and put you at risk."
"I love you, Dad."
"I love you, too.”
After he left, Emery sat alone in the gathering darkness, processing everything she'd learned. Her father was innocent. He'd sacrificed his reputation to protect innocent people. And now, someone might be targeting her because of it.
The den smelled like leather and old wood. The fireplace crackled quietly while Walter poured wine for the small gathering. Devon accepted a glass of Cabernet and settled into one of the wingback chairs, watching Gabe pace in front of the mantel like a caged animal.
Gabe's father, Robert, sat on the sofa with the kind of calm patience that suggested he'd spent years dealing with his son's nervous energy. Walter claimed the chair opposite Devon, his expression thoughtful as he observed Gabe's circuit.
And for some odd reason, the only thing Devon could think about was that Bryson and Riley were still not engaged.
"The floor’s gonna remember your footsteps," Robert said mildly. "Sit down and tell me what's got you wound tighter than a jockstrap.”
Gabe stopped pacing but didn't sit. He took a small sip of wine, set the glass down, and picked it up again. "My car was broken into yesterday."
"You reported it?" Robert asked as if it weren’t a big deal.
"Of course. Sandy's looking into it." Gabe ran a hand through his hair. "But it's what was stolen that's bothering me. The gun collection—the one David left me. I'd been working with a museum curator, thanks to Emery's connections, and I had the guns in cases in my trunk. I had to run an errand for Olivia and left the car locked in the parking lot for about 20 minutes. WhenI came back, the trunk had been pried open, and the cases were gone."
Walter leaned forward. "When did this happen?"
"Yesterday afternoon. Before Emery was hit." Gabe's expression darkened. "I know what you're thinking—that it's connected. But I can't figure out how—or why.”
Devon's chest tightened. The guns were stolen hours before someone tried to run Emery down—that couldn’t be a coincidence.
"We'll come back to that," Robert said. "What else is bothering you?"
Gabe pulled the worn photograph from his wallet and handed it to his father. "This. I need to know about this."
Robert studied the image, and to Devon's surprise, he chuckled. "Where did you find this old thing?"
