"I am an attorney!" Thomas felt hysteria bubbling up. "And I'm telling you, I didn't do this. Whatever evidence you think you have, it's wrong. It's—"
Detective Rivera had moved behind him now, pulling Thomas's arms back. The handcuffs clicked into place, cold metal against his wrists. The sensation was surreal, nightmarish. This was the kind of thing that happened to his clients, not to him. He was supposed to be on the other side of this process, defending the accused, fighting against wrongful prosecution.
"I want a lawyer," Thomas said, the words coming automatically even though his mind was still catching up to what was happening. "I'm not saying anything else until I have representation."
"That's your right," Marsh said. "Let's go."
They walked him through his own office, past his paralegal who stood frozen at her desk, past the associates who'd emerged from their office to see what was happening. Thomas kept his head up, trying to maintain some dignity even as he was being perp-walked out of his own law practice.
Outside, the morning sun was already bright and hot. A marked police car waited at the curb, and Thomas saw neighbors and passersby stopping to watch, pulling out phones to record. This would be on social media within minutes.
Environmental lawyer arrested. Radical activist finally crossed the line. The headlines would write themselves.
Then Rivera's hand on his head guided him into the back seat. Thomas sat in the confined space of the police car, his hands cuffed behind him, his mind racing through everything that had just happened.
Evidence connecting him to the crime scenes. What did that mean? Had someone framed him?
But if so, why?
The obvious answer was that someone wanted to silence his environmental activism, wanted to discredit him and his work by making him look like a violent extremist. The development companies he'd been fighting had the resources and motivation. But this seemed like an extreme response—surely there were easier ways to undermine an environmental lawyer than framing him for a pair of murders.
Thomas thought about the timing. Two murders, both of people connected to the Sunset Ridge Resort. Garrison, the primary investor. Hoffman, the planning official. If someone was systematically targeting people involved in the project, Thomas himself would be a logical suspect given his public opposition and documented threats against the victims.
Which meant whoever was doing this had planned it carefully. Had thought about who would make the perfect scapegoat. Had known enough about his activism to make the lie believable.
The police car pulled away from the curb, and Thomas watched his law office recede through the back window. His hands were shaking—he couldn't make them stop, no matter how hard he pressed them against his thighs. The handcuffs bit into his wrists with every bump in the road, a constant reminder that this was real, this was happening, this wasn't some nightmare he could wake from.
His chest felt tight, each breath coming shorter than the last. Fifteen years of practice. Fifteen years of fighting for clients who'd been wrongly accused, of standing in courtrooms and demanding that the system work the way it was supposed to. And now he was in the back of a squad car, and no one was fighting for him.
A sound escaped his throat—something between a laugh and a sob. The officer in the passenger seat glanced back, expressionless.
Thomas pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window and tried to steady his breathing. Tried to think like a lawyer instead of a terrified man watching his life collapse. But the fury kept rising, mixing with the panic until he couldn't tell them apart.
Someone had done this to him. Someone had looked at his life, his work, his reputation, and decided to use it all as cover for murder.
Everything he'd built—gone in an instant. And whoever had framed him was still out there, probably watching this very scene unfold exactly as they'd planned.
CHAPTER FOUR
Kari sat at her desk in the Navajo Nation Police Department, surrounded by printouts from Anna's research files. She'd spent the morning organizing information about Evan Naalnish's disappearance—the timeline, the search reports. Methodical work, the kind that felt productive even when it didn't yield immediate results.
Her phone buzzed. Captain Yazzie's name appeared on the screen.
"Blackhorse," she answered.
"Kari, I need you in my office. Now, if you can."
The tone wasn't alarming exactly, but it carried the weight of something significant. Kari gathered her files, tucking them into a folder she locked in her desk drawer. Whatever Yazzie wanted, it probably wasn't related to a fifteen-year-old cold case she was investigating on her own time.
She found the captain at his desk, phone pressed to his ear, his weathered face showing the kind of tension that came with difficult conversations. He gestured for her to sit while he finished the call.
"Yes, I understand the sensitivity... She'll be there this afternoon... I appreciate that." He ended the call and set down the phone. "That was Phoenix PD. They've requested your assistance on a high-profile murder case."
Kari felt a flicker of surprise. "What kind of case?"
"Two homicides. Both victims wealthy residents of Paradise Valley, both connected to a controversial development project. The suspect in custody is a Navajo environmental lawyer."
Kari was surprised to hear that not only was there already a suspect, but that suspect was in custody. What did they need her for?
