The Prosecutor

Chapter Twelve


After her morning class on Wednesday, Emma headed to her mother’s favorite Italian restaurant, a little hole-in-the-wall near the United Center. With her crazy schedule, she and her mom hadn’t managed to arrange a dinner out together, so they’d found a sliver of time to squeeze in lunch.

As she drove, Emma turned up the volume on the radio and sang along. At the traffic light, still wailing, she glanced at the car next to her and found the driver, a young guy wearing a baseball cap, howling at her. Hey, whatever. She threw her arms up and wiggled them. Still laughing, he shook his head and waved her off. Fun stuff, that. It had been too long since she’d allowed herself to lighten up, to keep from being so serious about every darn thing.

Blame it on the orgasms—as in multiples. Thanks to one Zachary Hennings, whom she couldn’t seem to stop thinking about today. A total stud.

Bad, Emma. Bad.

Emma made a left on a tree-lined street where the homes, in typical city fashion, had roughly six inches of space between them. She found a parking space a block away from the restaurant and called it a done deal.

Not a bad day for a short walk. She tightened the belt on her coat and faced the unseasonable cold. Even if the temperature hadn’t made it out of the forties yet today, the sun’s warmth poured over her. She’d take it after the vicious winter they’d had. Above her, a few birds chirped and the clear blue sky stretched as far as she could see. She stopped, tipped her head up and the damp smell of early spring tickled her nose.

Two years of her life had slipped away, two years of not taking a few seconds to enjoy a pretty day or belt out a song. Two years of being smothered under the blanket of a wrongfully accused brother.

As was typical of her life, the piercing shriek of a police siren interrupted her moment of grateful appreciation. Out of curiosity, she spun toward it and spotted a Chicago squad car near the corner, where he’d made a traffic stop. A car that looked suspiciously like her mother’s. Oh, come on. Mom finally leaves the house and she gets pulled over? And for what? The woman barely drove the speed limit. If anything, she’d be cited for driving too slowly.

To be sure, Emma moved closer and—yep—that was her mother in the driver’s seat. The officer hadn’t gotten out of his car yet and as Emma got closer, she found her mother digging through the glove compartment, probably looking for her registration and insurance card. Emma pulled off her glove and tapped the passenger side door. Her mother flinched, glanced up and slammed her hand against her chest.

“Open the window,” Emma said.

From the driver’s side, her mother lowered the window and Emma stuck her head in. “What happened?”


“I don’t know. He just signaled me over.”

“Did you run the light or something?”

Mom scoffed. Perhaps the timing stunk, but Emma laughed. She had to. “Sorry. Stupid question.”

The cop finally heaved himself from his car, slipped his cap on and headed their way. Emma backed out of the window and stood tall. “Hello, officer.”

“Step away from the car, please.”

He wore a light jacket, obviously padded with a vest underneath. In this town, any cop would be nuts not to wear one. This was her home, but it was still a city and cities had gangs and drugs and guns that could steal a life.

“This is my mother.” Emma jerked her thumb down the street. “We’re meeting for lunch.”

“Yeah, fine. Step away from the car.” The cop’s nasty gaze focused on her and he pointed to an area in front of the car. “Move. Now.”

What the heck? A second officer—this one younger and not as tall, but bigger-chested—got out of the car and walked toward her. “Ma’am, step to the side.”

Mom leaned over to the passenger side and spoke through the window. “Emma, it’s fine.”

The second cop puckered his lips, glanced at the other cop and gave a subtle nudge of his chin.

Emma eyeballed them both. “Why are you pulling her over?”

“Broken taillight. License and registration, please.”

Emma angled around the second cop to check the taillights. If Mom had a broken taillight, it had just happened because they were fine this morning. Both taillights were intact. She pointed to the taillights. “They’re fine.”

The first cop wandered to the back of the car and stared at the driver’s-side taillight. “This one is burned out. I saw it when she made the turn.”

“Mom, hit the brakes.”

Both taillights lit up. Emma gave the first cop a hard stare, daring him to argue with her. “It seems you’re mistaken.”

The cop shrugged. “She must have a short in the wiring. Better get it checked before she has an accident, Emma.”

And the way he said her name, sarcastic and taunting and drawing out the m’s. She jerked her head back and then came the “aha” moment. Her mother didn’t have a broken taillight. Her mother had a daughter making the CPD look bad. Clearly, they didn’t like that because not only had they pulled her over on a trumped-up violation, they’d suggested that her mother might have an accident.

That, Emma would not stand for. She threw her shoulders back, held her head higher. “Are you threatening us?”

The cop placed his hand over his chest in mock horror and Emma thought her blood would seep clear through her pores. She’d like to climb over the car and pummel him. Just beat him senseless for being an idiot.

“Ma’am,” the second cop said to her mother from the passenger side, “we’ll let you go with a warning today, but you need to get that light checked.”

A warning. They’d given the warning all right.

The second cop stepped around Emma and headed back to their car. She watched him for a second and zeroed in on his name tag. Collins. Gotcha. She brought her attention back to jerk number one. She hadn’t gotten close enough to catch his name, but she had his partner’s. She’d find them.

Jerk number one tipped his hat. “Enjoy your lunch, Emma.”

With all the crime happening in a city the size of Chicago, these creeps had nothing better to do than harass a widow whose son was in prison, wrongfully convicted.

Despite the brisk air, hot stabs punctured Emma’s skin. They weren’t harassing her mother, they were harassing her. First it was the detective coming to the house and now this. From the curb, Emma watched the lights on top of the police car move down the street. That crazy detective and his friends were trying to scare her by targeting her loved ones, by letting her know they could find them wherever they happened to be. Well, guess what? She was out of loved ones.

Emma stooped down and looked at her mother through the still-open window. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I don’t understand what happened with that taillight. I’ll have to have it checked.”

Part of Emma wanted to tell her mother that it wasn’t about the taillight, but what was the point? Why give her another thing to worry about when she was finally finding her way out of depression? Giving her mother any questionable news might send her back to that joyless, mind-numbing state she’d been in for too long.

Emma opened the car door and slid in. “I’ll take care of it. Let’s find a parking space and have a nice lunch. Maybe we’ll even have a glass of wine. What do you think?”

Her mother grinned. “Drinking at lunch?”

“It’s one glass.”

“Why not? It wouldn’t kill me.”

Yes, and right after lunch, from the privacy of her car, Emma would put a call into their pit-bull lawyer and let her know that certain members of the Chicago Police Department were harrassing her.

* * *

THE JUDGE TOOK PITY and called an early recess for the day. Zac had no issues with that and lugged his stuffed file cart out of the now-empty courtroom. Two o’clock and he hadn’t eaten lunch yet. Reminding him of his crashing blood-sugar levels, a nagging ache thumped at the center of his forehead. He needed food. Fast. He’d run his cart back to the office and hit the corner deli for a bite. Then he’d study his cases for the next day.

From his right jacket pocket, his phone—the personal one—buzzed. Office phone was left pocket.

He checked it. Penny. “Hey.”

“Zachary, I just thought you’d like to know I’m about to file a complaint against the City of Chicago.”

Zac rolled his eyes. Let the drama begin. “Okay, Pen, I’ll bite. What is your complaint?”

“It starts with the Chicago Police Department harassing Emma Sinclair. From there, I’m sure I’ll come up with plenty of other misconduct violations.”

Zac’s headache pounded away and he closed his eyes. What the hell was Penny talking about? “What happened?”

At the elevator bank, he swung into the corner alcove and leaned against the windowsill. Afternoon sun shot rays of light against the marble floors and he centered himself in its path to soak up the heat.

“Emma and her mom had a lunch date and her mother got stopped for a broken taillight. Guess what, Zachary?”

The headache suddenly went nuclear, his skull nearly coming apart. “No broken taillight?”

“Excellent guess.”

“Emma was with her?”

“They were meeting at the restaurant. Emma had just parked and saw the whole thing.”

“What’d the cops say?”

Obviously reading from notes, Penny recited everything Emma had told her. He stayed quiet, listening, absorbing it all, ignoring the spine-busting grip of tension and remaining focused while the warm sun made him think of needing a vacation. “Hang on.”

“What?”

“The part about the accident. They said she’d have an accident?”

“They implied it, yes.” Paper shuffling came from Penny’s end of the line. “They said she’d better get it checked before she had an accident.”

That made him boil. It was one thing to pull her over, but to imply that someone would get hurt? Epic fail. Zac stood tall, stretched his shoulders to crack his back. “You’re sure that’s what they said? No paraphrasing?”


“Yes. That’s what Emma said. Her mother heard it.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Have him hold,” Penny said to someone on the other end. “Well, how about that, The Herald is on the other line. They’re returning my call.”

Damn, Penny. “You went to the press?”

“You bet your butt I did. I’m done playing. Gotta go.”

The line went dead and Zac squeezed the phone hard enough to snap a knuckle. This damn case. He couldn’t get a break. Witnesses, Emma being threatened. He didn’t know how the hell to deal with that particular issue. Well, he did know, but he’d definitely lose his job if he dug his fingers into someone’s throat and tore it out. Add to that his boss being mad at him for not controlling the spin and he was cooked.

And worse, he’d gotten emotionally involved with Emma. Whom he’d made love to last night, a couple of times, which he wanted to do again in the very near future.

He ran his free hand over his face. “What am I doing?”

At the window, he tilted his head to the bright sun hoping it would calm his rioting brain. Think. But the headache reminded him that he needed fuel. He opened his eyes and stared down at the street where a steady flow of pedestrians came and went from the building. The lunch truck was still parked at the curb.

First things first. He’d grab a sandwich from the truck, go back to his office, call Emma and get the story from her.

Then he’d kick some tail.

At least he had a short-term plan. An excellent plan. With the way this case was going, that plan would probably be blown in the next five minutes but for now it would do.

After jamming the sandwich down his throat and settling in at his desk, Zac popped three ibuprofens. Excessive, but he had King Kong tap-dancing in his head. He hit Emma’s number on his personal cell. Voice mail. She might already be at work. She’d mentioned it the night before.

Next he dialed Detective Leeks, that scumbag. If Leeks wanted mind games, Zac would bring it on. This guy would not threaten Emma. Not without some backlash, and Zac had enough firepower to grab the detective’s attention.

Another voice mail. No one wanted to answer today. He waited for the beep. “Detective Leeks, this is ASA Zac Hennings. Have your son in my office at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. If he doesn’t show, I’ll get a subpoena. Your choice, detective.”

Pleased with the message, he hung up. That’d rattle some cages.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Ray stood in the hallway, hands on his hips, his fingers drumming. This is a problem. Keeping his focus on his boss, he sat back, forced his shoulders down and did his best to appear casual.

“Hey, finished up early in court.”

Ray stepped into the office, his face pinched and red enough that his already high blood pressure had probably spiked a couple hundred points. When he closed the door behind him, Zac tapped a foot. Ray didn’t often close doors. When he did, people got a few extra holes ripped into them.

Here we go.

Ray jabbed a finger. “You’re not the investigator. I talked to the SA and we assigned an investigator. You’re not him. He will question witnesses. You want answers from the Leeks kid, you can watch from another room.” Ray stopped, took a breath and dropped his hands. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but you’re too close to this. It’s killing your judgment.”

Zac stood and got eye to eye with his boss. He wouldn’t yell, wouldn’t wisecrack, wouldn’t take an attitude. He’d just lay it out, as he always did. “What’s killing my judgment is detectives and cops threatening witnesses. Emma Sinclair’s mother—her mother, for God’s sake—got pulled over today on a bogus stop.”

“What bogus stop?”

“A busted taillight that’s not busted. Emma was there and the cop told her they’d better get it fixed before her mother gets hurt.”

Ray sighed.

Yeah, right there with ya, pal. “So, if I’m whacked out it’s because I’ve had it with a small group of Chicago’s finest. We need to get this Leeks kid in here and ask him if he wore a white shirt the night of Chelsea Moore’s murder. Fairly simple.”

Ray put his hands up. “Okay. Okay. Relax. Let’s get the Leeks kid in here tomorrow. We’ll have the investigator talk to him. A conversation only, nothing too hard, and see what happens. Give me a list of questions you want answered and we’ll have the investigator ask.”

“Ray—”

“That’s the best I can do. I’m not letting you question that kid. Hell, I’m not letting you in the room. Whatever is going on with you and this detective, it’s not going ballistic on my watch. Do us both a favor and back off. Got it?”

Zac didn’t answer.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Ray left the office and Zac stared at the now-open doorway, pains shooting down his neck from clenched teeth. Back. Off. Handed an explosive case and the minute he uncovered something questionable, he was supposed to ease up. What they should be doing is touting a political win for the new State’s Attorney, a woman who campaigned for honesty in a city plagued by corruption.

Whether Brian Sinclair was guilty or not, this case deserved a second look. Justice demanded it. Justice for Chelsea Moore, for Brian Sinclair and for Emma, who’d been fighting this battle for so long.

Maybe his emotions were getting in the way, but someone had to ferret out the truth. If for no other reason than to figure out what had happened to a young woman in a dark alley, Zac wanted answers.

Either way, he wanted answers.

* * *

THIRTY MINUTES BEFORE closing time, Emma stood at the bar waiting for her customer’s drink order when Zac strolled through the door. Immediately, relief flashed and spread through her. His presence did that to her, brought a sense of comfort and security to a life that had very little of either.

He spotted her, tilted his head and their gazes locked. This time, she didn’t have that panicky feeling at the sight of him coming into the restaurant. After what had happened this afternoon, she’d half expected him. Penny was right about her brother. He was indeed predictable in all the ways that mattered.

But something was off about him tonight. At this late hour, he still wore his suit, minus the tie. His shirt collar was unbuttoned and his jacket could have used a good pressing. So not Zachary. His body language wasn’t right, either. Sure he’d slapped a smile on his face, but his shoulders slumped and that was one thing she’d never seen. Zac always, always, entered a room with his head high and shoulders back, his aura screaming power and control. But tonight that aura was utterly absent.

The bartender loaded drinks on her tray and she detoured in Zac’s direction on her way to the table.

“Hi,” she said. “I’ll bet you’re looking for another ferocious brownie.”

“Thought I’d escort you home after your run-in with the P.D. today.”

She nodded, thankful for his thoughtfulness. “I’d like that. You look sad, Zachary.”

That got a smile out of him. When all else fails, do the Penny voice.

“I’m fine. Tired.”

“Everything okay?”

He glanced around the nearly empty restaurant. “Yep.”

She jerked her head to the bar. “Have a seat. I’ll send you a brownie.”

Barely a smile out of him. Yeesh, this boy was in a world of hurt. She delivered her drinks and swung back toward the kitchen to get Zac his dessert. On the way, she noted the hostess, a perky sex kitten of a blonde, sniffing around the bar. Hands off my man, honey. Really, though, Emma couldn’t blame the girl. Zac was definitely sniff-worthy.


Her friend Kelly marched into the kitchen behind Emma and backhanded her on the butt. “I see the hot prosecutor is back. I think Miss Emma has a boyfriend.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Emma has something. She’s not sure what it is, but it definitely makes her toes curl. And that’s all I’m giving you, so don’t bother asking.”

“Come on. Give me a little more.” She squeezed her thumb and index finger together. “Just a little.”

Emma put Zac’s brownie into the microwave and grinned. “He looks great naked.”

“I knew it!”

The microwave dinged. She retrieved the brownie, gave it an extra scoop of ice cream and finished it with chocolate sauce, whipped cream and a cherry. He’d love this.

“Bye, Kelly.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Nope.” She pushed through the kitchen door, swung around the bar and slid the brownie in front of Zac. “Here you go, handsome. I made it myself.” She leaned in and ran one hand over his shoulders. Locked up tight, they were. The man needed to de-stress. “It looks like you had another rough day so I gave you an extra scoop of ice cream.”

“You’re too good to me, Emma.”

She glanced at her table then back at him. “I don’t like seeing you with a long face. It’s not you.”

“I’m okay.”

Not for a minute did she believe it. But she had two tables to close out and she’d have to quiz him about his day when they were out of here. “I have customers. Enjoy your brownie.”

Ninety minutes later, Emma parked in her minuscule driveway with Zac pulling in behind her and temporarily blocking the sidewalk. Home. Safe and sound. What a day. She’d checked on her mother a few times throughout the evening and all was quiet. No lurking cops to be found.

Zac yanked open her door, held his hand out and she grabbed it. “Thank you, sir.”

“My pleasure. You gave me a brownie. Least I could do.”

Once out of the car, she eased her hand away, but Zac held on, entwining his fingers with hers. Nice. They walked to the door hand in hand and Emma slowed to a crawl, wanting to prolong this feeling of being attached, of being a couple. When was the last time she’d had a casual stroll while holding hands? And was it pathetic that such a simple gesture should make her feel so desperate for the moment not to end?

Loneliness had apparently turned her into a sap because there was most likely a hateful detective watching them, taking note of the prosecutor getting friendly.

At the door, she stopped and faced Zac. “Thanks for coming home with me.”

For a minute, he simply stared at her, his gaze traveling over her face until he lifted his hand and ran the back of it over her cheek. “You should have called me this afternoon. I would have helped.”

She shrugged. “I wanted to.”

“And what?”

“I couldn’t decide if I was calling you because you’re the prosecutor on my brother’s case or because you’re the guy I went to bed with last night. It’s confusing.”

He eased his hand away from her face. “Sure is.”

“What happened today, Zac? Why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad. I’m frustrated. My boss thinks I’ve let myself get emotionally involved in this case and I can’t dispute that.” He puffed his cheeks up and blew out a breath. “That’s tough for a trial lawyer to admit.”

“I can imagine.”

He leaned in, dropped a light kiss on her lips. “I worry about you. I won’t apologize for that. I’m standing on this porch knowing someone could be watching and I’m not sure I care because I haven’t done anything I wouldn’t have done before getting involved with you. I’ve done my job.”

Was she dreaming? Had to be. Things like this didn’t happen to her. People like this, folks who fought for her, took care of her and made her believe life wasn’t always a matter of handling one crisis after another. “But I don’t want you risking your job for me. That’s why I didn’t call you today. It’s not fair to you. Penny has a handle on it.”

“I know she does. And, you’ll find this out, but Leeks’s son is coming in tomorrow. That’s what got me in the penalty box.”

“Oh, Zac.”

He shrugged. “I was aggravated. I know Leeks is behind those cops pulling your mom over. I figured I’d up the pressure on him. Ray heard me on the phone and reamed me out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It needs to be done, Emma. It’s the right thing. Someone has to question this kid without his father influencing the interview.”

A girl had to love a man willing to rail against the establishment. “Obviously, I agree, but maybe you shouldn’t be the one to do it.”

“I’m not. Ray told me to forget it, which, at the time, aggravated me even more. Now? I agree with him. I have to be careful here. A neutral party should question that kid and I’m not neutral anymore. Not with the way I feel about you and definitely not with the way I feel about that scumbag Leeks.”

Emma threw her hands up. “Okay, Mr. Prosecutor. Let’s take it easy now. Don’t destroy your career for me. The guilt would kill me and then I’d spend the next two years figuring out how to save you, too.” She cracked a smile, hoping he’d grasp the sarcasm. “I’m a little tired of saving everyone. It’s exhausting work.”

He grabbed her around the neck and kissed her—bam—all heat and tongues and crazy, lovable passion and everything inside her burst open. I’m crazy about him.

Since he’d come into her life, she didn’t feel so alone, so at war with the world. Being with Zac brought her peace and a sense of calm. How he did it, she wasn’t sure, but he was one of those men who gave people hope.

The front door opened. “Oh!”

Emma jumped back and turned to her wide-eyed and horrified mother about to slam the door closed. Emma shoved her hand against it.

“I’m so sorry,” Mom said.

“It’s okay. I want you to meet someone. This is Zac. Hennings. Penny’s brother.”

Mom’s gaze slid to Zac, then back to Emma. “He’s the...”

The prosecutor. “Yes.”

Zac stuck his hand out. “Mrs. Sinclair, nice to meet you. You have an amazing daughter.”

“I’ll agree with you there.” Mom took his hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you as well. Thank you for all you’ve done. It has to be awkward.”

Emma coughed. Then, as if sensing her misstep, Mom’s eyes got big. “I mean with Penny being our lawyer. Not with...” Mom ran her palm up her forehead then held it there for a second. “I think I’ll shut this door. I’m sorry, Emma. I heard you pull in and wondered where you were. I didn’t know you had company.”

“Zac met me at work. He didn’t want me to come home alone.”

Mom stared at her, a slight smile threatening before she looked at Zac. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“No problem, ma’am.” He squeezed Emma’s arm. “I should go. Busy day tomorrow.”

The Leeks kid. Right. “I know. Thanks for bringing me home.”

She wouldn’t ask him to keep her posted. He was still the prosecutor and she was still the defense. Confusing. Besides, Penny would have her spies out and would fill her in.

Zac nodded. “Make sure you lock up. I’ll call you tomorrow.”