White-hot rage blazed through the shock. “Don’t you dare?—”
“What? State facts?” Wolfe remained perfectly calm, which only made my fury burn hotter. “Your little found family has quite the pattern, doesn’t it? First Knox, now Faith. Makes one wonder about the company you keep.”
The words hung in the air like a challenge.
“This isn’t over.”
“No,” he agreed, standing with predatory grace. “It’s just beginning. See you in court, Counselor.”
I walked out of his office with my spine straight and my head high, but inside, everything was crumbling.
Faith might actually lose.
And if she did, I’d be losing a hell of a lot more than just a case.
50
RYKER
“Jesus fucking Christ.” I slammed my palm against the desk, making my coffee mug jump. “Do we haveanythinggoing for us?”
The question hung in the stale air of my office like smoke from a gun. My legal team sat around my desk, their faces a collection of grimaces and worried frowns. The afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, casting prison-bar shadows across the mountain of case files. Fitting.
“The guy has no violent record,” Owen, my legal aide, offered weakly. “Nothing dirty enough to help with our case.”
“No shit.” I grabbed the nearest file and flipped it open, scanning the pristine background check for the hundredth time. “His dad is a judge. What did you expect? A rap sheet withGets Away with Murderstamped across the top?”
The bitter taste of cold coffee coated my tongue as I drained my mug. Daniel Kearns’s photo stared up at me from the file—clean-cut, Sunday-school smile, the kind of face juries ate up with a spoon. The kind of face that lied with perfect sincerity.
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling the tension coiled in my shoulders. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”
Owen shifted in his chair, the leather creaking. “By allaccounts, Daniel Kearns looks like an upstanding citizen. Church every Sunday, volunteers at the homeless shelter, donates to?—”
“And he stalked and harassed Faith Morrison for over a decade.” The words came out like bullets.
My team’s faces hardened. Good. We needed that edge.
I pushed away from the desk and started pacing, my dress shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. Movement helped me think. Helped me see the angles. “The surveillance footage. Where do we stand?”
“The PI’s still not getting anywhere through normal channels. Every request hits a wall. Businesses claim their cameras weren’t working. Residential properties suddenly have no footage from that night,” my paralegal said, her fingers already flying across her laptop keyboard. “He’s going door to door now, but honestly, it feels like someone got there before us.”
My jaw tightened. After my visit from Judge Kearns, I had a pretty good idea who that someone might be.
“Keep pushing.” I stopped at the whiteboard we’d pulled into my office from the conference room and spun it around. Grabbed a marker.
My case strategy was mapped out in color-coded chaos. Red for prosecution’s strengths. Blue for ours. Too much red. Way too much red.
Though we’d finally scored a few wins. The phone records had come through with those hundreds of harassing texts this year alone. Daniel’s fingerprints on the knife handle, proving there’d been a struggle. Faith’s documented head wound. A counselor’s assessment from years ago, flagging Daniel’s obsessive behavior. Small victories, but they were something.
I started writing, the marker squeaking against the board. “It’s been my experience that stalkers aren’t exactly operating on logic. Obsession makes people reckless. Makes them think they’re invincible.”
I stepped back, crossing my arms as I studied the board. “And there’s something else. Criminals get comfortable. After over adecade of getting away with terrorizing someone, he had to have slipped up. Left breadcrumbs. A trail. Hopefully a shit ton of them.” I turned to face my team, meeting each of their eyes. “Find them. We need to bury this bastard before he buries her.” I jabbed the marker toward the board. “And I want more research on Kearns. A guy like that must have other red flags in his past.”
Elana nodded, her expression fierce. “We’ll try. But, boss, so far, the guy doesn’t look violent. Not on paper at least.”
“Neither does Faith.” I turned back to the board, adding bullet points under her name in blue. “That’s the biggest card we have playing for us right now.”
No criminal record. Steady employment. Pays her taxes. Not even a parking ticket.
