Page 37

THIRTY-SIX

SARAH MORGAN

It’s true what they say. You can get used to anything—like reporters swarming and shouting out questions or comments nearly every time I pull up to the office. Luckily, they’re only around in the morning, and they leave shortly after I enter the building. But they’ll be here as long as there’s a story, and I know our story isn’t finished yet. I exit my vehicle and hold my head high because I have nothing to be ashamed of. My stilettos clack against the pavement while cameras flash incessantly and microphones clutched in the hands of overzealous reporters are thrust into my face.

Ms. Morgan, do you have any thoughts on Ryan Stevens’s death? Are you glad he’s dead? Did you want him dead after what he did to you and your husband? Were you involved? Do you think Ryan killed Kelly Summers? What does your current husband think of all of this?

The sheriff’s office released a statement on Ryan’s murder last night—along with a grainy still of a man dressed in scrubs and a surgeon’s cap and mask—and a plea to the public to come forward with any information that would help them identify the suspect. I don’t answer or acknowledge any of their questions, even the loud ones. Any lawyer worth their salt knows sometimes the best thing to say is nothing at all, and the second-best thing to say is a lie.

“Goddamn,” Roger grumbles as I arrive in the lobby. The media knows not to enter, but that doesn’t stop them from pounding on the glass doors. Roger gets to his feet and shuffles around the front desk. His hand hovers a foot or so from the gun nestled in his holster. It’s supposed to make me feel safe, but I think I feel less safe with him having it.

“Get. Get,” Roger yells, waving them off. He turns to me. “You all right, Sarah?”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m fine. They’re mosquitoes,” I say, flicking my wrist. “Just a nuisance, nothing serious.”

Roger makes a humph sound. “Mosquitoes kill more people a year than any other animal, including humans.” His eyes go to the screaming reporters and then back to me. “So, I’d say that’s an accurate description.” He smirks.

“I’m not worried about them.” I tightly smile as I continue through the lobby and call for the elevator. “Have a good one, Roger,” I say, stepping into it.

“You too, Sarah.”

Natalie stands from behind the reception desk as soon as I push open the door to the Morgan Foundation. “Good morning, Sarah.”

“Morning, Natalie.”

“Here’s your coffee,” she says, extending a to-go cup from a local café to me.

I take it and thank her.

Anne appears from around the corner. “There you are,” she says, breathing a sigh of relief. She’s dressed in a pencil skirt and matching blazer with a folder tucked under her arm.

“Yep, here I am.” I gesture with my coffee cup before bringing it to my lips and taking a quick sip.

Anne falls into step with me, and we walk through the office. I smile and acknowledge my employees as I pass by them.

“I heard the police were here yesterday,” Anne whispers.

“You heard right,” I say, unlocking my office door and flicking on the lights. “Sheriff Hudson and his chief deputy had some questions for me about the Kelly Summers case,” I add as I drop my bag beside my desk and take a seat. “Where were you yesterday?” I ask, looking to Anne, realizing I didn’t see her at all. I just assumed she was here because she’s always here.

“I took a sick day,” Anne says, having a seat. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Are you feeling better now?”

She nods. “Yeah, it was just a migraine. Did you see the news about Ryan Stevens?”

“Briefly,” I say, unpacking my bag. “But Hudson had already filled me in on it yesterday before the news broke.”

“I can’t believe he’s dead.” Anne chews on her thumbnail, looking off in the corner as though she’s deep in thought. “Who would even want to kill Stevens?”

“A lot of people in this town wanted Stevens dead.” I place a stack of folders on my desk.

She draws her brows together. “So, he stopped by to talk to you about the Summers case but then brought up Stevens’s murder. Does he think they’re related?” Anne’s asking a lot of questions right now, and I’m not sure I like that.

“He didn’t say. What’s the status on the appeal?” I say, changing the subject.

“Oh, sorry. That’s why I ran to find you. We just got word: The court granted the appeal.”

I force my mouth to curve at the corners. It’s good news... I mean if I wanted the case to be reopened, which I don’t. But I knew it would be.

“Good,” I say. “Are they reversing it and sending it back to the circuit court for a new trial or dismissing it entirely?”

“Still being determined. I think they granted the appeal quickly due to the media blitz and pressure from the public. Plus, some of the strings the foundation was able to pull. What do you think they’ll decide on?”

“Reversed and sent back to court for a new trial. Dismissals are extremely rare.”

She nods and stares at me, quiet for a moment. “How are things going with the separation? Is Bob still giving you grief?”

“Always. Plus, he’s completely unreliable. I let him take Summer to DC for one night this past weekend, and he left her alone for hours.”

“What!?!” Anne’s voice rises. “Why? What the hell was he doing?”

“I don’t know. When I asked him, he said, quote, ‘That’s none of your business.’”

“That’s ridiculous. That’s your daughter. It is your business.”

“That’s what I said, but Bob’s too thickheaded to understand that.”

Anne shakes her head in dismay. “Too bad whoever offed Stevens couldn’t take out Bob too.” She laughs.

“Divorce is making him suffer far worse than death would.” I faintly smile.

Anne extinguishes her laugh, her face turning serious again. “And how’s Summer through all this?”

“Not great. We told her about the separation last night, and she didn’t take it well, and now she’s refusing to talk to me.” I sigh.

“She’ll come around. My parents divorced when I was thirteen, and I remember hating them at first until I realized how much better it was to live in a house without constant fighting and screaming.” Anne pulls her lips in.

“I hope so because I can’t stand her hating me. Everything I do is for her. She just doesn’t realize it.”

“No kids do, but she will someday.”

My phone vibrates against my desk, and Unknown is splayed across the screen.

“I should take this.”

Anne nods, stands from her seat, and walks to the door. Before she exits my office, she turns back. “If you need anything, anything at all, just let me know.”

I know she means it.

“I will,” I say.

She closes the door behind her as I hit Accept .

“Sarah Morgan.”

“Sarah, it’s Sheriff Hudson. Do you have a moment?”

“You had more than a moment of my time yesterday.”

“This isn’t about Kelly Summers or Stacy Howard,” he says.

“Then what’s it about?”

“Carissa Brooks. Now, I understand your company did some pro bono legal work for her, is that correct?”

“Yes,” I say. “But there is attorney-client privilege here, Sheriff.”

“I know, Sarah.”

I hear him let out a long sigh, maybe out of frustration, maybe out of exhaustion. I’m not sure. But it rattles the speaker, forcing me to pull the phone from my ear for a moment. He sounds desperate, and I’m not surprised based on everything he’s dealing with—or attempting to deal with. I take a short, deep breath, deciding that I’ll throw him a bone.

“What do you need, Sheriff?” My tone changes from defensive to agreeable, so he knows I’m willing to go out on a limb for him just this one time, regardless of attorney-client privilege.

“Do you know if Carissa had any family out of state she could turn to?” he asks.

“Not that I can recall. All I know is she had an ex who treated her like a punching bag.” My free hand balls up into a fist at the thought of that poor excuse of a man. And I’m aware that’s ripe coming from someone like me. But we all have a moral code. Some are just more lax than others.

“And your foundation helped Carissa get a protective order against her ex, George Carrigan?”

“Yes, twice actually,” I say, spinning in my chair.

“And it was set to expire next month, is that correct?” Sheriff Hudson asks.

“That sounds about right. They’re good for two years, so yes. I’m not sure on the exact date though... Actually, I’m surprised I haven’t heard from her. I assume she’d want to file a motion to extend it again.”

“When’s the last time you heard from her?”

“Around the time we filed the last one. I mean, I’ve seen her around town since then and waved and said hi, but I haven’t had a conversation with her regarding the protective order... Why? Is she okay?”

He lets out another heavy sigh. “I don’t know, but she’s missing.”

“Missing!? Have you talked to her ex? If something happened to her, he had something to do with it.”

“We have talked to him. He doesn’t have a solid alibi, but we’ve got nothing tying him to it yet.”

“Tying him to what?”

Sheriff Hudson is quiet, and for a second, I think the call has disconnected. I pull the phone from my ear, checking the screen. The timer for the call length is ticking up. “You still there, Hudson?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this since it’s an active investigation, but you were her attorney, so you know more about the relationship between her and her ex than anyone else.”

“What is it?”

“Carissa’s salon was ransacked late Sunday night. Nothing was stolen. Her car, purse, and cell phone were left behind, and... there was blood everywhere.”

“Jesus! You’ve gotta go after that fuckface ex of hers.”

“I’m with ya, but here’s the thing though: We don’t know if the blood we found in the salon even belongs to her because she’s not in the system and we’ve got no family to compare it to.”

“At the very least, you know she’s missing.”

“Yeah, we do, and if her ex had anything to do with her disappearance, we’ll find out.”

“Good. You better.”

“I appreciate your cooperation, Sarah.”

“I’d say anytime, Sheriff, but you know that’s not the case.”

“Oh, I know,” he says, and I can practically hear him smile on the other end of the line. “Take care.”

“You too.”

Before I can even set my phone down, there’s a knock at my office door.

“Come in,” I call out.

It opens slowly, revealing Alejandro on the other side, dressed in a button-down and a pair of jeans.

“You never showed yesterday, so I figured I’d come to you.” He meekly smiles.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I got swamped with some stuff and then it just slipped my mind. Come in,” I say, beckoning him with my hand.

Alejandro closes the door behind him and takes a couple steps toward me, his eyes scanning the room.

“Nice office. It serves you well.”

“It does.” I gesture to a chair. “Have a seat.”

He sits and crosses his legs, resting his ankle on his knee. “Did you purposefully forget to stop by?”

“Not at all,” I say, pulling my checkbook from a drawer. Plucking a pen from a cup, I click it and place the tip on the amount line. “Think I’d skip out on a bill?” I look to him.

Alejandro stares back at me. “No, I just figured you didn’t want to see me again.”

“Like I said, I got swamped and it slipped my mind.” The pen glides across the paper.

“I could charge you interest, you know?” The corner of his lip perks up. “For being late with payment.”

“You could,” I say. “But how about dinner instead?”

His smile grows. “I suppose I could accept those terms. When?”

“Tomorrow night at seven.”

I tear the check from the booklet, extending it to him. It’s a couple hundred more than we discussed, not for interest, just because I know he needs it more than I do—and he’s earned it... or at least, he will. He takes it from me and gets to his feet. Folding the check in half, Alejandro slides it in his back pocket without even looking at it.

“And how do I know you won’t stand me up again?” he asks.

“You don’t. But we can have dinner at my house, so I won’t have the opportunity to stand you up.”

“And what if you’re not home?”

“I will be,” I say. “Promise.”