The Prosecutor

Chapter Seven


Sunday mornings were always Emma’s favorite. Her schedule didn’t allow much downtime, and with all the studying she had to do, Sundays were no exception. At least hitting the books could be done in her pajamas with a steaming cup of peach tea.


She sat at the dining room table, tea in hand, flannel PJs keeping her warm and her books sprawled in front of her. If civil liberties and constitutional law weren’t the most stimulating reading, she had no one to blame but herself. Typically, she’d be engrossed. Today, though, her mind repeatedly wandered to that soul-scorching kiss Zac Hennings had plastered on her.

Total charmer, that one. But nice. The nice part was the problem. If he’d been a jerk, she could justify hating the prosecutor handling Brian’s case. If he’d been a jerk, she could let her anger fester, eat away at her and push her to work harder to free her brother. If he’d been a jerk, she’d have been disgusted by that kiss.

Because he was a good guy, Zac ruined everything.

Above her, a floorboard squeaked. Mom in her bedroom, probably changing the sheets. Another thing that happened every Sunday. Routine kept her mother from thinking too much about Brian.

Emma sighed and went back to her constitutional law book. It was easier than contemplating her mother’s state of mind.

The house phone rang and Emma pushed out of her chair to grab the cordless. “Got it!”

She checked the display and saw the too familiar prison phone number. Brian calling. Each inmate paid for calls using his commissary account, which for Emma and her mother, saved a ton on the phone bill.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Sinclair?”

Not Brian. Throbbing panic shot up Emma’s neck into her head. “No, this is her daughter, Emma.”

The sound of shuffling paper drifted through the line. “Yes, Emma, this is Trent Daniel.”

Brian’s prison caseworker. They’d spoken before. Emma’s head continued to pound and she pressed her fingers against her temple. Please, let him be okay.

“We’ve had an incident with your brother.”

He’s not okay. “Is he sick?”

“He was attacked this morning in the prison laundry. The nurse believes he has several broken ribs. We’ve sent him to the local hospital.”

Emma leaned against the counter, thinking prison caseworkers should be required to take classes on bedside manners.

He’s alive. She focused on that. Everything else she could deal with.

“Why was he attacked?”

“We’re still looking into it. It appears he didn’t initiate the fight.”

“What hospital has he been sent to?”

“Good Samaritan. They may keep him overnight.”

An overnight stay would give him time to rest. She squeezed the phone tighter and, for the first time in years, wondered why their family had to endure so much. But that kind of self-pity never yielded any solutions. Typically, Emma found it a useless endeavor and a complete waste of energy. She relaxed her grip on the phone. “Can we visit him?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” She hung up and stared at the ceiling. Her mother hadn’t come down yet. Should she even tell her? Would withholding that information make her a horrible daughter? Or a humane one? Since Penny had taken their case, Mom’s mood had lifted some. This news might send her spiraling back into depression.

And Emma wasn’t sure she could handle that. Selfish? Yes. Right now, though, with this latest development, she needed to deal with the immediate problem. She needed to protect herself until she could tell her mother that Brian would be fine.

She scrolled back to the prison number, ran her thumb over the SELECT button and considered her options again. None appealed.

DELETE.

Hoping Mom hadn’t looked at the upstairs phone—she’d clear that one in a minute—she charged down the basement steps while speed dialing Penny. It went straight to voice mail. Plus, it was only ten o’clock, so Penny was most likely still at the lake house with her parents. Emma left her a voice mail regarding Brian’s condition and that she’d be heading north to visit him.

After hanging up, Emma stood among her boxes of research, wondering what she’d tell her mother about rushing out.

Studying...with a friend. A lie she hoped would be forgiven, but at that moment, standing in that basement, the place where she’d spent countless hours strategizing how to get her brother out of prison, Emma couldn’t come up with a compelling reason why she should tell her mother that Brian had been attacked.

She marched up the stairs and found Mom in the kitchen making a fresh pot of coffee. “Hi. Do you want coffee?”

“No. Thanks. I need to shower and run out.”

“Why?”

Emma held the phone up. “That was a friend from school. We’re studying together. Will you be okay for a while?”

Mom shrugged. “Sure. Take your time. You should go out for something to eat. Have a little fun.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“Maybe we’ll do that this week. The two of us.”

Wait. What? Had her mother, the shut-in, just agreed to go out for dinner? “Really?”

“Really.” Mom glanced around the kitchen she’d called her own for thirty years. “The house is closing in on me.”

Emma rushed to her, wrapped her in a fierce hug and a spurt of tears welled in her eyes—what a morning so far. “Thank you. I hate that you stay in all the time.” She backed away from the hug. “Let’s do it. One night this week. We’ll go someplace nice for dinner. How’s that?”

“I’d like that.”

Headway. Finally. All Emma could hope was that her mother’s optimism, like every other time, wouldn’t get snatched away.

Thirty minutes later Emma made the left off their street. Her cell phone rang and, not bothering to check the ID, she pressed the button on her earpiece. “Hello?”

“It’s Zac.”

Had he heard about Brian? “Hi.”

“Where are you?”

“On my way to Wisconsin because my brother was injured in a fight and he’s in the hospital.”

“I know. Penny called me. Stop by my place. I’m going with you. She’ll meet us there.”

Too much information flew at her and Emma shook her head. Suddenly, she had all these people worried about her brother. A good thing she supposed, but unusual. “Wait. What?”

“Penny called me. My folks are thirty minutes from that hospital. She’ll borrow a car and meet us there.”

“You don’t have to come.”

He hesitated. “I want to. Besides, I need to confirm that this incident doesn’t have something to do with his case.”

“You think someone beat him up because of that?”

“I don’t know. I’ll find out, though. He’s been an exemplary inmate—yes, I checked. Suddenly he’s attacked. It’s not sitting right.”

Emma pulled to the side of the road and parked. Deep breath here. Her work on Brian’s case might have gotten him injured. God help her.

“Emma?”

“What if it’s my fault?”

“It’s not. Get to my place and I’ll drive. It’ll give you a break.”

Emma sat quietly, her brain processing the events of the last hour. The hole inside opening wide, ready to claim her. Not only had she lied to her mother, but Brian might have gotten hurt because of her.

“Emma?”

Don’t think about it. She shifted the car into gear and pulled from the curb. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.”

* * *

ZAC FOLLOWED A CHARGING Emma down the hospital hallway where she’d almost taken out a nurse and apologized profusely, but it didn’t slow her down. People should know better than to get in her way when she was on a mission. Yeah, he loved that about her.


An armed guard stood outside Brian’s room and Emma halted in front of him. After showing her ID, as well as Zac’s credentials, they were allowed into the room.

Penny sat in the chair next to a battered Brian Sinclair. Having only seen pictures of the guy from the trial, Zac wouldn’t have recognized him. His face looked like a harvesting tractor had torn through it. His bottom lip was swollen and stitched together, the black thread menacing and violent. His right eye didn’t look much better. Ugly, black bruises marred the upper lid, the side and underneath.

Emma stopped short and gasped at the sight of him. “Oh, Brian. I’m so sorry.”

To his credit, Brian held up a hand. “Don’t freak.”

Penny nodded her agreement. “The doctor was just in. He has a couple of broken ribs, but that’s the worst of it.”

Zac stepped around Emma and extended his hand to Brian. “I’m Zac Hennings.”

“Yeah,” Brian said. “Your sister told me you were coming.”

“Zachary,” Penny said. “Don’t think you’re going to interview him.”

Cripes. Penny wouldn’t give him a break. “Relax, Pen. I only want to know what happened. Then I’ll leave the room so you all can talk.”

“Fine, but don’t pull any funny stuff. I know how you are.”

“Pen! I get it. Go back to your lair and let him tell me what happened.”

Brian turned to Emma. “They’re funny, huh?”

“This is nothing. I can’t wait to see them in court.” She bit her bottom lip, slammed her eyes closed for a second and squeezed his hand. “I’m so happy to see you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m good. Don’t worry. Does Mom know?”

“I couldn’t do it to her. Maybe later I’ll tell her, but I wanted to see you first.” She glanced at Zac, then went back to her brother. “Zac’s a good guy. You can tell him what happened.”

“I’ll keep him in line,” Penny cracked.

His sister never gave up, which was probably a good thing. If she had, he’d have to send her to a shrink because something would be seriously wrong. He shook his head at the thought of his sister harassing a psychiatrist. Poor guy would run from the room screaming. Crazy, Penny.

“Whatever you’re thinking, Zachary, stop it.”

He waved her off and leaned against the wall, his body loose and unthreatening, while Emma took the second chair on the opposite side of the bed.

Penny tapped her hand on the bed rail. “Go ahead, Brian.”

After boosting himself in the bed, he winced. “I was in the laundry room. That’s my work detail. One of the inmates, I don’t know who he was, but he was big and sure not happy with me, came up behind me.” Brian pointed to the back of his head. “He smacked me on the head with something. Next thing I knew, I was on the floor and he was pounding away at me.”

“Any idea why?”

Brian glanced at Emma then looked away. This kid would be a terrible poker player.

Immediately, Emma’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Brian,” Penny said. “Tell them what he said.”

From where Zac stood, he watched Emma’s posture go completely erect. Stiff. She knows.

“You can say it,” Emma said.

“Don’t get nuts on me.”

She offered a poor excuse for a smile. “Good luck with that.”

Brian nodded. “He knew my name, told me to tell my sister to shut up. That’s it.”

The words came out fast, like a ticking bomb he wanted to toss. Not wanting to give Emma time to overthink the situation, Zac boosted himself off the wall. “That’s all I needed. I’ll dig around. See if I can figure out who this guy has a connection to.”

Emma spun around to him, threw one hand out. “No. He has to go back to that place. You’ll make it worse.”

“Hey,” Brian said, “I’ll live with it.”

“Brian!”

“Forget it, Em. Whatever you’re doing is shaking things up. If I have to take a beating to get me out of that hellhole, I’ll do it. No problem there.”

She gaped at her brother—yeah, she’s not happy. Zac gave Penny the do-something look, but his conflict-loving sister ignored him.

“They’ll kill you.” Emma’s voice rose, the sound breathy and panicked. “Is that what you want?”

“If it means proving I’m innocent, I’ll take it. What kind of life do I have? Being locked up for something I didn’t do? I liked Chelsea. She was a nice girl and I hate that people think I did that to her...and I miss her.”

Apparently, Penny had heard enough. She stood and waggled her fingers at Zac. “I want him segregated from the other prisoners. At least until this is over. Will you back me up on it? It’ll carry more weight if the prosecutor agrees.”

Zac shrugged. “Of course. We can’t have this happening to him. I’ll make some calls.”

Emma spun around to him, her face, for the first time, not so pinched and he wanted to think maybe he’d helped with that. “Thank you.”

Yeah, he’d helped.

He jerked a thumb toward the door. “I’ll be outside. Take your time.”

“Zac?” Brian said. “Or Mr. Hennings? What do I call you?”

“As I told your sister, Mr. Hennings is my father. I’m Zac.”

“Okay, Zac. This has got to be weird with your sister being my lawyer, but thanks.”

Weird was probably the best description out there. Zac grinned. “It’s definitely weird. But rest assured, she’d like nothing more than to pin me to the courtroom floor.”

“Ha!” Penny said. “And you don’t want that?”

“Hell, yes. But if you win fair and square, I got no beef.” He turned back to Brian. “She’s a pain in the butt, but she’ll take care of you.”

Penny batted her eyes. “Oh, Zachary, how you flatter.”

Brian pointed at his sister. “Emma says she’s a rainmaker.”

That sounded like Emma. “She’s tough and she’ll make sure your rights are protected. That’s about all you can ask for.”

Zac touched Emma’s shoulder. “Take your time. You’re good here until visiting hours are over.”

* * *

EARLY EVENING HAD ALMOST succumbed to darkness when Emma strapped her seat belt on. While waiting for Zac to turn on the engine, she stared at the neon hospital sign sitting atop the six-story cement building. Ironically, for the first time since Brian’s incarceration, she’d sleep tonight knowing her brother would be safe.

She rested her head back, closed her eyes and willed the twinge in her neck away. Every muscle ached. And she still had to face her mother, whom she’d lied to and kept in the dark about her son’s condition. Maybe Emma could slip into the house, head straight for her bed and not tell Mom about Brian tonight. The worst of it was over and, at this point, maybe she shouldn’t tell her at all.

Did a mother need to see the brutal remnants of a beating that had left her son’s face swollen and held together by harsh, black stitches? Would she want to see it?

A slow prickle moved up Emma’s spine. What have I done? Keeping Brian’s condition from their mother may not have been fair. God, I don’t know. A mother would act on basic parenting instincts by going to her child when that child needed care. Emma had stolen that opportunity, ripped it from her mother’s hands.


Her stomach twisted and she held her breath. What have I done? Panic, slow and vicious and cutting, flooded her system and her heart slammed, just hammered, hammered, hammered at her. Then she felt it. Tears. Don’t cry. Not here. She bit her bottom lip, squeezed her eyes closed.

Zac backed out of the parking spot and glanced at her. “You okay?”

No. “Yep,” she croaked, turning away from him. Don’t let him see. “Just tired. Long day.”

“That it was. Can I get you anything? I’m hungry.”

Food. She hadn’t had any since that morning. “I guess we should eat.” She threw her hands in the air. “Oh, and I’m such an idiot. We should have brought Brian some decent food. What am I doing? I’ve screwed this whole thing up.”

“Hang on.” Zac guided the car from the middle of the lot and parked behind a group of empty cars. “Screwed what up?”

Emma hit the window button and sucked in cold air, let it fill her lungs and quiet her battered conscience. She couldn’t look at Zac. Not now. He wouldn’t understand. How could he? He was Mr. Perfect Family. Mr. I’ve-got-it-all-together.

Stop. Of all people, he didn’t deserve that. If anything, he’d been nothing but helpful. Not many prosecutors would help a convicted man.

“Hey.” He rubbed the backs of his fingers over her cheek, a soft, brushing motion that eased the pounding in her body. “Talk to me.”

Even in the dark, she saw it, the compassion in his eyes, the driving need to help. She tilted her head, pressed her cheek against the warmth of his fingers. Being touched was underrated. Or maybe she just hadn’t been touched this way in ages. “I rushed into a plan, and robbed my mother of seeing her son outside of prison. Now, I can’t decide if I should tell her or just let it be. Either way, I’ll probably break her heart. I wouldn’t blame her if she was furious with me.”

He didn’t look away, didn’t roll his eyes and didn’t judge her. I could love him. And, yeah, that was big trouble. Thinking like that would lead her smack-dab into the middle of heartbreak when Zac convinced a judge that her brother should stay in prison. That sinkhole inside her would have a huge payday.

“First off,” Zac said, “there’s not a right or wrong answer. You had no idea what his condition was. You wanted to protect her.”

There he goes, Mr. Perfect. “When I saw that he was okay, I should have called her. I should have gone home and gotten her so she could see him.”

He dropped his hand from her cheek. “Come on, Emma. How much are you supposed to do?”

Mr. Perfect wasn’t so perfect. Thank you.

“It’s a ninety-minute drive,” he said. “By the time you’d have gotten home and back, visiting hours would have been over.”

“Then I should have gotten someone to drive her up here.”

He let out a harsh breath. If he thought he was frustrated, he should climb inside her brain. He had nothing on her.

She unfastened the seat belt and shifted to face him. “You think I’m being ridiculous?”

He turned his head toward her, his blue gaze shooting daggers. “I didn’t say that.” The edge in his voice, so quiet and controlled, took on a gritty, strangled tone. “If I thought that, I’d have said it. I think you’re exhausted and you’re overanalyzing.”

“And rightly so.”

“Wrong!” he yelled.

“Hey!”

He held up his hand, pressed his lips together for a second. “My point is you should give yourself credit for managing an unmanageable situation. There’s no instruction manual for this. How would anyone know what the right move is? What it comes down to is you took care of your brother and you saved your mother from worry. Beating up on yourself doesn’t help you, your brother or your mother. That’s what I think.”

Emma stayed silent, but folded her arms. Because down deep, tearing away at her, nibbling like a slow-moving cancer, was the urge to crawl across the console and smack him. Just let him have it. She didn’t want him making sense of her life right now, trying to fix every damn thing. What she wanted was sleep, and food and a way to forget about her life for a while.

Zac blew air through his lips and rested his head back. “I’m sorry I yelled. I want you to understand that there’s no playbook, Emma. No playbook. Don’t beat yourself up. You’re extraordinary and you don’t have to do this alone.”

Mr. Perfect returns. “You can’t help me, Zac. Your job is to keep him locked up.”

“My job is to go into court and prove he did it.”

Now they were getting to the meat of the issue. “Do you think he did it?”

He stared out the windshield, drummed his fingers against his thigh. After a minute, he turned to her. “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t. I need to talk to witnesses, find the rest of the damn reports that should have been in that box and figure out what’s going on with this case.”

His being unsure could work for her. Maybe he wasn’t committed to finding the real killer, but it was more than she’d gotten from any prosecutor or law enforcement official thus far. “I can help with that.”

Light from the dashboard illuminated his narrowed eyes. “How?”

“You told me to prove it to you. I’ll give you copies of all my notes. If Penny wants to use them at trial, we’ll have to turn them over anyway, but I’ll give it all to you. Even the stuff we don’t use.”

For her brother, she’d do that. She’d even help Zac sort through it all and explain it to him.

He eyeballed her. “You said it was eighteen boxes. You’ll give me all eighteen boxes?”

“I’ll give you copies. Not that I don’t trust you—you and your sister are the only ones I do trust. Everyone else terrifies me. I need to protect my originals, but I have no problem going over it all with you. I’ll show you the inconsistencies in your rock-solid case.”

Zac grinned at her. “You’ll give me everything? Leave nothing out?”

“I have nothing to hide.”

He turned and shifted the car into gear. “You, Ms. Sinclair, have a deal.”

“Excellent. My brother is innocent. You’ll see.”