The Prosecutor

Chapter Nine


After hours of reviewing case files and breaking down time lines, Zac knew there was more than thirty minutes when Brian’s whereabouts were unaccounted for. From the sudden silence in the basement, he’d guessed that Emma knew it, too.

Brian had left Melody’s car around 12:45. His friends all made statements that he was with them, but no one could pinpoint the exact time, at least not until 1:20, when one guy received a text and remembered showing it to Brian.

Thirty-five minutes. Plenty of time for someone to slip out of a nightclub, walk to the alley next door, strangle a woman and return. Zac kept his eyes glued to the witness statement in front of him, not really reading, but not ready to look at Emma yet.

As good as Penny and their father were, those thirty-five minutes would work to Zac’s favor. Even with the holes in this case, he could create enough of an argument to satisfy a judge, make his boss happy, give Dave Moore his so-called justice and keep Brian Sinclair in prison.

Assignment complete.

But was it the right thing? For the first time in his career, a career filled with emotional cases that he’d both won and lost, he found himself questioning his own judgment because he wanted to get laid. Moron.

Seated next to him at the long folding table, Emma sighed and the soft sound hit him square in the chest. He wanted her, no doubt about it. His problem was that he didn’t just want her. He cared for her. This was a woman who’d put her life on hold to salvage the remaining rubble of her family. Emma saw problems as opportunities. Whatever the issue, she found a way to strap it to her back and carry it. What man would be crazy enough not to want her?

Which was why his reasonable self—knowing he was messing with something he shouldn’t mess with—turned tail and ran. Hell with it. He grabbed the bottom of her chair and rolled it closer so he could snuggle her neck. “It’s 10:30. I should go.”

Rather than shoo him away, she tilted her head, exposing her neck. “Yes, you should. My mother will be home any second now. I feel like a sneaky teenager. You’re a bad boy, Zachary.”

“Ah, yes, my sister’s voice.”

Emma cracked up. “Sorry.”

But Zac kissed her, one of those long, slow ones that would torture him long into the night. “So, yeah, I’m going to leave before I try to convince you to hop into bed with me.”

She waggled her eyebrows. “Right now, sailor, that wouldn’t take much convincing.”

“How you wound me.”

“You’ll survive, I’m sure.” She gestured to the stack of folders he’d set aside. “Do you want me to copy everything in those folders for you? I have a class in the morning and then I’m working the lunch shift. I’ll have time after that.”

He stood up, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and slid it on. “Emma, between work and school, you don’t have time to be copying notes. I’ll send someone over to do it.”

“If it’ll help my brother, I’ll make the time.” She went up on tiptoes and kissed him quick. “Besides, I don’t want anyone touching my notes. Not that I don’t trust you. I do, but accidents happen and something could disappear.”

“You don’t have to explain to me. I’m a prosecutor with half a box of evidence. Thank you. How about we go through more of this stuff tomorrow? At my place so your mom doesn’t have to leave.”

Emma bit her lip, looked down at her feet. “I don’t know.”

Losing her.

“My sister will insist on armed security for the folders, but I’ll talk to her, convince her that I won’t abscond with evidence.”

Laughing at him, she looked up and rolled her eyes. “She let you in here, didn’t she?”

“Maybe she trusts me after all. How about you? Do you trust me?”

“I let you in here, didn’t I?”

He shrugged.

Again, she bit her lip. Indecision was a wicked thing. Finally, she shook her head. “I don’t want to do anything stupid. Penny is our hope in all this. Then you come in here and kiss me and I think Penny who? That bothers me.”

He tugged the front of her shirt. “If it makes you feel better, it bugs me, too.” He grinned. “I like kissing you, though.”

“Such a man.”

“Can’t help it. What do you say? Tomorrow night?”

“You’ll behave?”

“Realistically? Probably not.”

She laughed and the sound lit something in him that would keep him awake the whole damn night.

“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

He leaned over and, already blowing his quest to behave, kissed her again, nibbled those lush lips. Her lips could drive a man insane, thinking about all the uses for them. “I guess you will.”

* * *

AFTER ZAC LEFT, Emma checked on her mom who had parked herself at a friend’s house and was now on her way home. If nothing else, it was good for Mom to get out some. Emma stacked the folders to be copied on the tray table she’d set up next to the copy machine. Starting on them now would save time in the morning.

Plus, she was too keyed up to sleep. Intimacy, she decided, was a beautiful thing. She’d gone too long without this tingly, happy feeling that came with having the right man touch her.

Zac Hennings, for many reasons, might not be Mr. Right, but he was definitely Mr. Right Now. Setting aside the fact that he was the opposition, he was a good man. A good man willing to look beyond the surface of her brother’s case when others had turned away.

She stood in front of the copy machine and picked up the first folder. The one containing her notes about the white shirt testimony. Zac seemed a little obsessed with the white shirt. She wished she could have told him Brian hadn’t been wearing white that night. That it was all some dumb mistake and that he’d worn blue. The case would have fallen apart if he’d simply worn blue. Such a simple thing could have changed it all. Why didn’t you wear blue?

No use dwelling on it. Emma opened the folder and read her notes. Witness at end of alley. Saw man coming toward him. Moved on. Her gaze shot left again.

End of alley.

On a moonless night. She remembered that from her investigation. She’d checked on it. It had, in fact, been heavily overcast that night. Dark. Really dark.

End of alley.

Emma dropped the folder and papers scattered in a blanket of white at her feet. “Oh, my.” She scooped up her phone, charged upstairs to her bedroom and grabbed one of her white work shirts, a jacket, her purse and keys and flew out the door.

As she ran to her car, she scrolled her contacts for Zac’s number. Hopefully he’d meet her there because only stupid women walked in dark city alleys late at night. Emma wasn’t stupid. At the same time, this mission could only be done in the dark. The call went straight to voice mail and she hung up. She’d call back from the road.

Once en route, she tried Zac again, but the phone beeped. On the line. She’d leave a message. “It’s Emma. On my way to the crime scene to check something. Can you meet me there?”


She drove past Magic where even on a Monday people headed in for a night of partying. A sign with bright red letters indicated dollar draft night so the college kids probably showed up en masse. On the busy main street, cars stacked up at the traffic signals. Half a block down, one of the many city bridges spanned the Chicago River, its lights twinkling against a black sky. She stopped in a no-parking zone at the alley entrance and slapped her hazards on. A cabbie flew by, sitting on his horn and the sharp blare grated up her neck.

“Take it easy, mister,” she muttered.

Her phone whistled and she checked it. Voice mail from Zac. She punched the button and his deep voice filled the car. “It’s me,” he said. “Three minutes out. Wait for me.”

Another car whooshed by and she chomped her bottom lip. Sooner or later a cop would move her along. The dashboard clock blinked. Another two minutes and Zac would be here.

Someone knocked on the passenger window. The banging sent blood slamming through her and she swung her head sideways. One of the bouncers from the club jerked his thumb. “Lady, you gotta move.”

Emma grabbed her purse, jumped out and shut the door before a passing car ripped it off. She worked her way to the curb and stared up at the massive security guy. “Hi. I’m an investigator.” Investigator? “Working on a murder case. I need to check something in the alley. Real quick. Promise.” Digging into her purse, she fished out a twenty. “Will you keep an eye on the car a minute?”

“Lady—”

“Two minutes. That’s all I need.”

The bouncer glanced around, snatched the twenty out of her hand and nodded. “Go. Fast.”

“Thank you.” From the passenger seat she grabbed the white shirt and headed into the alley.

So much for smart girls not going into dark alleys alone. Desperate measures, right? Besides, Zac would show up any second.

Still, she headed in, moving slowly at first, letting her eyes adjust to the blackness. The only lights were halfway down the alley over two adjacent doors on each building. From the street behind, a car horn honked, then screeching tires. Prickles coursed up her arms and even in the cold, the air felt hot against her. The sides of the buildings pressed in and her eyes darted left and right. Anyone could be hiding here and she wouldn’t see him. Take a breath. She turned back. No bouncer.

Was this what Chelsea heard right before she died?

For that matter, Chelsea must have had a reason for coming into this scary place alone. Emma would have to study her files for any pertinent info on that. Yes. Focus on the case.

A light wind blew and the stench of ripe garbage forced her to scrunch her nose and gasp. A garbage container was somewhere close.

She stopped in the approximate area where Chelsea Moore spent her last moments. Between the rancid smell and visions of the young woman trapped against the wall, her throat being crushed, Emma’s stomach churned.

Closer to the lights now, she spotted the offending container overflowing with garbage. Probably the weekend pile-up. On her right was a thin electrical pipe running up the side of the building. Not a great test subject, but it would suffice. Emma shoved the white shirt into the gap. There. All she had to do was run back to the alley entrance and verify that the shirt could be seen from there.

Behind her came the squish of rubber on damp pavement. Zac. She started to turn and a hard shove sent her sailing into the brick building. Her cheek smacked the cold, rough surface. A ripping sensation tore into her and her lungs froze. No air.

Stupid girl.

“You don’t learn, do you?” a guttural voice whispered and the sound, so low and ugly and hard, sent a violent burst of panic up her throat.

She opened her mouth to scream. Nothing. Paralyzed. The man’s hot breath snaked over her skin and she gasped. Don’t let him win. Her eyes watered. She blinked, fought the tears seeping free. Breathe, Emma.

Chaos and fear whirled through her mind. Turn around. Look at him. Her minimal self-defense lessons flashed into her head. If she could get to his throat or his eyes, she’d have a chance. She shifted, tried to spin, but he shoved her against the wall, his bigger body leaning into her, crushing her.

“Help!” she croaked.

Her attacker laughed and pushed his body further into hers. “You wanna die right here like Chelsea Moore?”

Vomit heaved into her throat and she gagged, swallowed it back. Someone, help me. Should have waited for Zac...Fight. Don’t let him win. Messages and warnings came in a rush, battering her oversensitized system, shredding what was left of her nerves.

Elbow.

She jerked her elbow back and connected—his arm maybe—but it skidded off.

And then she got mad. Mad enough to show this jerk that she wouldn’t be an easy victim. Not ever.

“No!” she hollered, her voice suddenly coming to her aid. Thank you.

“Emma!” Zac from the alley entrance.

“Here.”

The pressure from the man’s disgusting body eased up and she sucked in a breath, all that rancid air flooding her lungs. She turned and swung. Nothing there. A shadow sprinted to the back exit of the alley. The clomp of shoes—Zac’s dress shoes—sounded from behind her.

Catch him. Knowing Zac would follow, she gave chase.

“Did you see him?” she hollered over her shoulder.

“No.”

She had to find him, see who he was and what he knew about Chelsea Moore.

Zac caught up to her, his longer legs making the task easy. “Emma, hang on.”

He grabbed her arm and halted her, but she struggled against his hold as her attacker fled. No. No. No. “He’s getting away.”

She yanked free and ran to the far end of the alley, looking both ways. I’ve got to find him. Crushing disappointment, like rising water, overtook her, stole her breath. I blew it. Whoever it was, he’d disappeared. “No!” Her echoing rage bounced off the surrounding buildings and she squeezed her fingers into tight, knuckle-popping fists. So much pressure.

Then Zac was next to her, sliding his arms around her and pulling her in for a hug so fierce it sparked that same heat that she’d felt earlier. Concentrate, Emma.

“What happened?” he asked.

Not wanting to be babied—who needed that?—she elbowed away and stared into the blackness where her attacker vanished. Damn it. She shook out her hands, let her aching fingers recover. “He pushed me.”

Zac set her back and squeezed her arms. “Mugger?”

“No. He said...”

What did he say? Think, Emma. She spun around, pointed. She’d been standing there, right there, shoving the shirt into the pipe and then—bam—he’d shoved her. As she stared at the spot and envisioned the attack in her mind, his voice came back to her, low and mean and vile, and she focused. Think. The words tumbled in her brain and she separated them, gave them order. “He said, ‘Do you want to die like Chelsea Moore?’”

“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry. Did he say anything else?”

Zac hugged her again, holding her against him and the warmth of his bigger body drew her closer. After all the battles she’d fought alone, someone wanted to take care of her.

“Yes.” Emma backed up, waggled her hands as the words came back to her. “He said, ‘You don’t learn, do you?’”

In the darkness, Zac’s arm moved. “I’m calling 9-1-1.”

Emma stilled his hand, kept him from dialing. “Wait. We must be getting close to something someone doesn’t want us to find. He followed me here.”


“Lady!” The club’s security guard. “You gotta move this car!”

“Be right there!” She turned back to Zac. “The bouncer was rushing me. I paid him twenty bucks. That’s why I didn’t wait for you.”

“What are we doing here?”

“Lady!”

“We’re coming,” Zac yelled back, his voice carrying an unmistakable don’t-screw-with-me message.

Grabbing his hand, Emma dragged him back to where she’d shoved her shirt. The stingy light illuminated them and she pointed at it. “I wanted to see if we could see the white from where the witness was standing. Maybe that’s what’s bugging you about the shirt.”

For a full ten seconds, he stared at the shirt then turned to the alley entrance. He grabbed her hand. “Come with me.”

The two of them strode back to her car, Emma double-timing to keep up. At the entrance, Zac whirled around. She did the same thing. Behind them traffic whooshed by as they gazed into the darkness where the meager light showed two doorways. Only two doorways.

No white shirt.

* * *

ZAC KNEW THAT SOMEONE had to stand in the alley with that shirt on. Except it was Emma’s shirt and he wasn’t about to send her back in there.

“Dude,” the bouncer said. “You gotta move these cars. It’s a fire lane.”

But Zac was distracted by a white shirt he couldn’t see. He studied the bouncer. Big, but not huge. A size or two bigger than Zac.

I’m wearing a white shirt.

Following Emma’s lead, he peeled a fifty from his money clip. “My name is Zac Hennings. I’m a Cook County Assistant State’s Attorney. We’re investigating the homicide that occurred here two years ago.”

“The cop’s daughter?”

“That’s her.” Zac held the fifty between two fingers. “This is yours if you’ll put my shirt on and stand in the middle of this alley. That’s it. Fifty bucks. It’ll take two minutes.”

Come on. Take the money. He needed to see for himself if that shirt was visible from his vantage point. If not, he’d haul the detectives back here and prove to them that it couldn’t be seen from this distance. Something they should have done and something the SA’s office should have confirmed.

Dammit.

Zac didn’t know what to feel right now. Frustrated with shoddy investigating? Sure. Terrified that his case was coming apart? Definitely. Worried about Emma? Absolutely.

And yet, if the evidence fell apart, it would help her. But this was his job and his boss wanted to save face for the SA.

The bouncer glanced at the club’s doorway. Losing him. Zac flicked the fifty at him. A second later, the bill was gone. Zac hurried out of his jacket and Emma took it from him, watching as he stripped down to his undershirt. Did she have to do that? Talk about a distraction. Cold air blasted his bare skin, bringing his mind back to his task rather than taking his clothes off in front of a woman he’d like to see do the same.

Emma held his jacket up and he slipped his arms into it. “Thanks.” He went back to the bouncer. “Go halfway down the alley and stop.”

While the security guard made his way down the alley, Zac glanced at Emma and the red scrape he’d failed to notice when they’d first come out of the alley. His face got hot and his typically reined-in temper flared. Should’ve gotten here faster. He’d never considered himself a chest-pounding alpha male, but another man putting his hands on Emma made him want to gut someone.

And he was the prosecutor.

What a mess.

He propped his finger under her chin and tilted her head up. “You’ve got a scrape. Did he hit you?”

“No. He shoved me into the building, and my cheek crashed into the brick.”

“I’m sorry.” He leaned down, dropped a kiss on the spot. “I’m sorry you’re hurt and that I didn’t get here sooner. We have to be more careful.”

She squeezed his wrist. “I should have waited. Next time I’ll wait.”

“This good enough?” the bouncer yelled from the middle of the alley.

“Yeah. You’re good. Hang there a sec.” Zac took a few steps left, separating himself from Emma. He had to focus on his job, on not letting his growing feelings for this woman sway his judgment. He stared into the blackness. Nothing. He took two steps closer to the alley entrance.

“You remember where the witness was standing?” he called to Emma.

“He said he was walking past the club on his way to the garage so he’d have been on the sidewalk and crossing. You’re probably closer than he was.”

Then she was next to him, her energy an electric current zapping him hard. The two of them looked into the black mouth of the alley, not seeing a thing.

Now Zac had a problem.