“Apparently, I know him better than I know you!”
Jordan reaches his hands up and pushes his hair out of his face. I can see his frustration growing, but I don’t care. Can’t he see that the last thing I need is his questions on top of my own right now?
He looks me dead in the eye, and I see something else in his face now. Fear. “What if you don’t know him at all? What if they release him out on the streets and he hurts someone else? What if this time it’s your mom … or you?”
“I guess we’ll find out soon, because your dad called to say that he’ll likely be released next week!” I spit out the last word so hard that a dark strand of my hair swings in front of my face.
My words obviously shock him because a full twenty seconds pass before he replies. “This isn’t some game we can keep playing anymore, Riley.”
I jerk back. “This has never been a game to me.”
“I know it isn’t—I just meant—” He groans and I can see several emotions behind his expression. Then he seems to decide to go a different direction. “So you’re telling me that the moment the courts start believing he’s innocent—now you suddenly think the system isn’t broken anymore?”
“And you suddenly think it is?” Cynicism drips from my tone as I throw my hands up in the air and turn away. Every argument he uses on me, he could just as easily say to himself. How can he not see that? “You were there when Stacia confessed, too. You saw all the evidence she had—”
“Think about what we saw, though. She is clearly unstable, and also desperate to do anything to save the man she loves from being executed.” He speaks slower, obviously trying to keep our argument from escalating out of control.
“Fighting within the law, even threatening a judge or something, I could see her going that far. But you’re suggesting that she killed Mr. Masters and Valynne Kemp and now could very likely end up on death row herself?” I lift both my eyebrows. “You’re giving her credit for an incredible amount of loyalty.”
“Yes,” Jordan says, giving me a pointed look. “Something your father seems to inspire in women all over Texas.”
I draw in a sharp breath, bristling at the jab even though a voice deep inside tells me that he has a point. Before I dare speak, I bring my hands up and massage the back of my neck. The knot of tension there just keeps growing with this argument. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why wait eleven and a half years if she’s willing to do something this drastic? Why not just lie and provide him an alibi to begin with?”
This time Jordan falters. “I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t want to lie then, and seeing him in prison has made her desperate. I do know one thing though: my dad thinks she’s lying. He thinks people will be in serious danger if your dad is released—and I believe him.”
I just stare at him and then roll my eyes, not at all surprised to hear Chief Vega is following protocol on the release while secretly not believing Daddy should be back on the streets. I reply sarcastically, “And this is supposed to shock me?”
“Why did Mr. Masters even want to meet us? Have you thought about that?” When he says Mr. Masters’s name, I flinch, but with a determined look on his face, Jordan just keeps going. He shoots off more questions so fast that it’s obvious he’s been wondering about them as much as I have tried not to. “Why did she kill him at all? What was he going to tell us, Riley?”
My voice drops lower now as a fresh wave of pain about losing Mr. Masters washes over me. “Maybe he was going to tell us that Stacia did it. Maybe she killed him to stop him from doing just that.”
“And then just popped on down to the station to confess on her own? Why?” He presses on, like if he can just ask the question the right way, the truth will suddenly appear for me.
“She already told us that. She knew we both witnessed her killing him, and she decided that if she was going down for that one, she might as well come clean about all of them and save Daddy, too.” I stare hard at Jordan, preparing myself for whatever he has coming next.
“Or maybe she killed Mr. Masters to stop him from telling us something else, and she succeeded. Maybe she knew she was going down for that death, so she might as well save your father in the process. Plus, she’s a legal assistant for a criminal defense attorney. She has to know that, as a woman, her chances of actually being executed are far lower than his.” His argument is part plea and part reprimand.
“You can’t argue that she’s unstable and then argue that she’s reasonable enough to think all that through,” I say. “You’re grasping.”
“Maybe so, but come on, Riley, you have to see that Stacia’s story doesn’t really fit every detail.” I can see that my stubborn responses are starting to chip away at the composure he’s trying so hard to maintain.