In the center of the front lawn, a cop knelt on a man on the ground. Another man in a red shirt was lunging at the pair on the grass. Nick’s dad? Morgan stood in front of him, holding him back with both hands on his chest.
The reporter shook out her hair, lifted her mic, and checked her lipstick in the lens of the camera. The cop on the ground jerked the handcuffed man to his feet.
Shit. That was Nick.
The scene came together in one, horrible rush.
Nick was being arrested for Tessa’s murder.
The young man stopped struggling. His body went stiff, his face completely impassive, as if he’d simply shut down.
Lance got out of the car. He was not getting involved in Tessa Palmer’s case, and Morgan shouldn’t either. The DA wouldn’t be happy to find her at the prime suspect’s house.
“Nooo!” A high-pitched yell came from behind him. Lance spun. Sophie came flying off the front step, with Gianna at her heels.
“Sophie, get back here!” Gianna shouted.
The little girl’s face was a mask of panic and rage. Lance darted left and intercepted her with an arm around her middle.
“No!” she howled. “They’re hurting Nick. Make them stop!”
Lance swung her into his arms and hugged her close to his chest, trying to turn her face away from the scene. Not that it would help at this point. She’d obviously already seen the worst part.
Tiny fists pounded on his chest. “Dowwwn!”
“Shh.” Holding tight, he rubbed her back. “It’s going to be all right.”
The reporter pointed at Lance, and the cameraman swung around to aim the camera at him. He shifted Sophie to shield her from the camera’s view with his body.
Across the street, Morgan’s face was sheer devastation as a stiff-legged Nick was dragged toward a police car and put into the back. The cameraman went back to filming Nick. Morgan released her grip on the man in red. He slumped, wiping a hand across his face, and nodding blindly at whatever she was saying to him.
Lance carried Sophie inside.
“I’m sorry.” Gianna held out her arms.
“Hold tight.” Lance bent to hand her over. Sophie’s spindly arms and legs were surprisingly strong, but she’d stopped fighting and started sobbing. “Keep her inside. I don’t want those vultures from the press putting her on the evening news.”
Gianna took the child, wrapping her arms around her small body, and walked toward the rear of the house. Over Gianna’s shoulder, Sophie shot Lance a mutinous stare, her face an angry, tear-streaked red. She was never going to forgive him.
He went out onto the front stoop to see what was happening. The car containing Nick had left. Cops, including Brody, swarmed over the grass. Morgan had pulled Nick’s dad to the side of the property and was talking to him. The man’s face was locked in pain and despair.
Morgan touched his forearm, turned, and walked toward Lance. He met her in the middle of her driveway. Her eyes, usually deep with sadness, were on fire. Over the past few months, the only times he’d seen her truly happy and animated were when she was playing with her kids. Underneath, her grief ran deep. When she was alone, she tended to brood.
“What happened?” he asked.
“They found a knife, which appeared to be encrusted with blood, buried behind the shed.” Morgan met his gaze. That wasn’t all. “They also found a T-shirt with blood on it in his hamper.”
“No.”
The man in the red shirt hurried across the street. “Morgan?”
Turning toward him, Morgan gestured between them. “Lance Kruger, Bud Zabrowski. Bud is Nick’s dad.”
“This can’t be right,” Bud said. “Nick could never hurt anyone. For one, he can’t stand the sight of blood. Pukes every time. He could never do . . .” Bud clearly couldn’t vocalize the crime Nick had been accused of committing. “That to anyone, let alone Tessa. He really liked her.”
Bud inhaled a deep and painful-sounding breath. “What am I going to do? I can’t afford a defense attorney.”
“The court will appoint a lawyer if you can’t afford one,” Morgan said.
Bud shook his head. “Will that be good enough?”
That depended on who was assigned his case. There were good public defenders and bad ones, but frankly, they were all overworked.
“I don’t know.” Morgan was honest.
“I can try to mortgage the house, but I doubt there’s much equity. I took out a second mortgage to help Nick buy the equipment for his business. Do you know any good attorneys?” Bud asked Morgan.
She nodded. “I can give you some names.”
“Thank you. I have to try.” Bud shook her hand. “I’m going to start calling mortgage companies.” He hurried back to his house.
Morgan walked to the front step and sat down. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and began to scroll. “Even if he mortgages his house, he’s going to have a hard time paying the bill of a top criminal defense attorney.”
“How hard will it be for him to find someone to take the case? If DNA on the knife matches Tessa’s blood . . .”
“I know.”
“What if he’s guilty?” Lance didn’t know Nick that well.
“He’s not.”
“How do you know that? If Brody arrested Nick, he has enough evidence to make a case, and he’s only been investigating for a few days.”
Morgan raised her gaze. “A few weeks ago, Grandpa sliced his hand out in the yard with a pair of pruning shears. Nick was working with him. One glance at the blood and he threw up in the driveway. It was an immediate reaction.”
“That’s not enough to build a defense.”
Morgan rose and dusted off her slacks. “Shadow of a doubt, right? Isn’t that what Nick’s entitled to?”
“It’s a pretty thin shadow.”
“It’s a start, and we don’t know anything about the case. What if the DNA on the knife doesn’t match Tessa’s?”
“Why would Nick have a bloody knife buried in his backyard?”
Morgan’s body went rigid. “If Nick killed Tessa, why would he hold on to the murder weapon? She was killed right near the lake. He could have thrown the knife into the water or left it at the scene. Only a fool would bring home the murder weapon he used to kill his girlfriend.”
“Not a fool,” Lance corrected. “Someone who hasn’t committed a crime before. Someone who panicked. Criminals don’t always do the smart thing. That’s how they get caught.”
“I know, but I can’t believe Nick is a killer. He plays chess with my grandfather. He reads stories to my girls.”
Maybe that’s why Morgan was so freaked out. Nick was a member of their community. She trusted him. She’d let him into her home, given him access to her children. If he could be guilty of murder, then how could anyone ever feel safe?
“I’ve never even seen him lose his temper,” she said.
But Nick had been very angry on that video.
Lance reached out to touch Morgan’s arm. “I know you don’t want to believe it, but Brody is a good cop.”
“I know Brody’s a good cop, but this time he has to be wrong.”
Or was he? Lance wondered how well Morgan really knew Nick. And for that matter, how well did anyone really know their neighbors and what went on behind closed doors?
Chapter Ten