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Even the old gator Boo Radley wasn’t as terrifying as what waited on the other side of the door. Savannah smoothed her damp palms on her navy skirt and took a deep breath before trying on a smile. It felt more like a grimace to her. The undercurrents of uncertainty had been hard to miss in these final days of tenure approval. She should have been a shoo-in, but Tony Guzman’s résumé was formidable. While her PhD came from the University of Alabama with honors, Tony’s had come from Yale. Alabama was a good school, but it couldn’t compete with an Ivy League one.

With her smile in place, she twisted the doorknob and stepped into the conference room in the administration building with her head high and confident. “Good morning.”

Professor Charlie Hinkle’s warm brown eyes smiled back at her from under his white brows. He was serving as acting head of the history department, and his white hair stood on end, as if he’d run a distracted hand through it. She didn’t know the acting provost, Gerald Saunders, well, and she almost wished Ellison Abernathy back from the grave. At least he was a known personality, even if they’d often clashed.

Gerald, with his thick black hair, put her in mind of an aging Elvis, and she resisted the urge to break into a rendition of “Don’t Be Cruel.”

She bit the inside of her lip to choke back the nervous laughter struggling to erupt.

“Have a seat.”

Gerald steepled his hands in front of him on the table. He waited until she slid into a chair at the other end of the conference table. “You have an impressive résumé, Savannah. Your family’s long history with TGU is much appreciated too.”

She absently fondled her bracelet before forcing herself to stop. They’d given her five years’ experience full credit when she was hired two and a half years ago, and she’d come with full expectations of being granted tenure. She was a Legare and that meant something here. “Thank you. I love TGU and my students. I have many fond memories of running through the swamps and open fields in my youth. It’s wonderful to be back.”

She wanted to add “permanently,”

but it felt presumptuous. She had to be granted tenure. The future she planned with Hez centered around TGU and the surrounding community.

“We have two very talented individuals competing for the same position. I wish we could offer tenure to both you and Professor Guzman.”

The but hovered in the room like an early morning fog off the swamp. Her stomach tightened at the sympathy on Professor Hinkle’s gnomelike face. “I wish that were possible too. Tony is an excellent professor.”

She’d sat in on Tony’s lecture on the Neo-Babylonian Empire and had noticed how enthralled the committee had been when he’d mentioned protecting ancient sites in Iraq. He’d worked to recover priceless artifacts looted from Iraqi museums as well. It wasn’t even his specialty, but he’d been passionate and knowledgeable about all of it. But her expertise in pre-Columbian artifacts had made a huge contribution to the university already. No one else had her wide breadth of experience and knowledge about the Willard Treasure—not only the artifacts themselves but the history behind them as well. That had to count for something. The university press was going to publish her book on the Willard Treasure too. That was big news.

Gerald exhaled. “I’m sorry to tell you we have decided to offer Professor Guzman the tenure position. We’ll have to eliminate a professorial position and switch the course load to adjuncts, so there’s just not room in the budget for both of you. I know you were hoping for a different outcome.”

The news stole her breath, and nausea roiled in her stomach. “I—I understand. Tony is an excellent choice, and I wish him well.”

“I’ve already written you a glowing letter of recommendation,”

Hinkle put in. “Several other members of the committee are doing the same. I hate to see you go, Savannah. I’m sure you’ll land a wonderful position soon. I hate losing you.”

She couldn’t wrap her head around the realization she had to leave this haven she’d found. Her legs wobbled when she stood. “Thank you for the recommendations. I appreciate them so much.”

She fled the room before she disgraced herself by crying or throwing up. Finding another job wasn’t as much of a problem as having their lives upended when they’d already been through so much. Jess had guaranteed Hez his legal clinic here. How could she tell him he had to relocate now? He needed the stability of his beloved law while he continued the road to recovery. They both did.

Ella was buried in the family cemetery, and Savannah wanted to be able to visit with her baby girl at any time. She couldn’t move clear across the country where it would require a flight to sit by her daughter’s grave and watch the mourning doves pecking seeds in the grass.

Savannah shut the door behind her and, breathing heavily, leaned her back against it. Hez was testifying right now, and she couldn’t talk to him. Did Jess already know? Savannah escaped the building and rushed to her sister’s office across the green space. Tears burned in her eyes, and she wished she could blame it on the stiff January wind that made the fifty-five-degree weather feel like the forties. She entered Jess’s building and spotted her open door.

The clatter of Savannah’s heels on the marble tile alerted Jess as Savannah rushed toward the room. Eyes wide, Jess stood and came around the side of her desk. “Savannah, what’s wrong?”

She tucked a strand of chin-length blonde hair behind her left ear.

Savannah stopped and pressed a hand to her midsection. “I didn’t get tenure, Jess. They offered it to Tony. I have to find another job.”

Jess’s mouth opened and closed before she clenched her jaw. “The rats. I’m sorry, Savannah.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. Tony is a terrific professor. If I were on the committee, I would have picked him too.”

She stepped past her sister and yanked a tissue from the box on Jess’s desk. “I don’t want to leave here. I want to be with you and Simon.”

She blew her nose. “Where is he anyway?”

“He’s at the gym playing basketball with some of the guys. I told him to be back here in an hour.”

Jess gripped Savannah’s upper arm. “There’s just enough time for some coffee and a cinnamon roll at University Grounds. Some carbs will settle your nerves. Try not to worry. I’ll help you find something.”

Savannah let her sister tug her toward the door. By the time Jess had to be back for Simon, Hez would be out of court, and they’d have to decide together what came next.

* * *

Martine took Hope’s place at the lectern. “Good morning, Mr. Webster.”

Her voice held a hint of a French accent from her Paris childhood. “Let’s start with a standard preliminary question that Ms. Norcross forgot to ask. Are you under the influence of alcohol or any other substance that might impair your ability to testify accurately and completely?”

The gleam in her dark eyes said that she knew all about Hez’s past.

Hez smiled. He’d expected her to try to rattle him. “Nothing except caffeine.”

“I’m glad to hear it. Mr. Harrison was friends with Savannah, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, though that was before he tried to kill her.”

Martine’s full lips twitched. “We’ll get to that. As her friend, it would make sense for him to be concerned for her welfare, correct?”

“I suppose.”

“And that would explain why he was so interested in seeing her cleared of an unjust murder charge, right?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask him that.”

Which almost certainly wouldn’t happen. No competent defense lawyer would put the defendant on the stand in a case like this. A prosecutor like Hope couldn’t comment on Beckett’s decision to take the Fifth, but Hez was a mere witness today, so the same rules didn’t apply to him.

Martine’s eyes narrowed. She adjusted her notes on the lectern, knocking a pen off in the process. She bent over to pick it up, flashing her ample cleavage at Hez. He suppressed a chuckle and kept his gaze fixed on the back of the courtroom. She had told him about this trick over drinks when they dated briefly before he met Savannah. She called the tactic “blinding ’em with boobs”

and used it to knock difficult male witnesses off-balance.

Martine straightened. “The video allegedly showing Mr. Harrison with Ms. Legare’s fleece does not show his face, correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, the only reason you think it shows Mr. Harrison is the scar on his leg, correct?”

“That, plus the fact that his build and gait are the same as the man in the video. Plus, he had been in Ms. Legare’s office on multiple occasions and likely knew she kept a fleece there.”

“Are you aware that Mr. Harrison is an avid cyclist?”

“I’ve seen him dressed in bike shorts on occasion.”

“Are you aware that many cyclists have scars on their legs?”

Hez shrugged. “I know a lot of bikers, and I’ve never seen a scar exactly like that.”

“But some of them do have scars?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever see the murder weapon in Mr. Harrison’s possession?”

“No.”

“Did you ever hear him threaten to kill either Ellison Abernathy or Peter Cardin?”

“No.”

“Did you ever see him act aggressively or violently toward either of them?”

“No.”

“Did you ever see a trafficked artifact in Mr. Harrison’s possession?”

“No.”

“How about fraudulent documents designed to allow the sale of such artifacts? Did you ever see him with any of those?”

“No.”

“Would it be fair to say that you never liked Mr. Harrison?”

“We weren’t friends, if that’s what you mean—but I didn’t really have anything against him until I realized he was a murderer and was trying to pin his crimes on my client, Ms. Legare.”

“But he was friends with your ex-wife, correct?”

Hez felt his blood pressure rising at the memory of seeing Savannah and Beckett together. “Yes.”

“Close friends?”

Close enough that Hez once walked in on Beckett giving her a shoulder massage. Hez did his best to purge the image from his mind. How had Savannah let such a sociopath into her life? “You’d have to ask them,”

he forced out.

“Did their friendship bother you?”

Hope stood. “We’re getting pretty far afield. Counsel is simply harassing the witness now.”

Martine wrinkled her forehead. “Harassing? No, Your Honor. I’m merely demonstrating that the witness is biased against Mr. Harrison.”

Hope leaned forward. “The defendant kidnapped and tried to kill the witness, his wife, and his nephew. I think we can stipulate that the witness probably doesn’t have warm feelings for the defendant.”

The judge nodded. “You’ve made your point, Ms. Dubois. Move on.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

Martine turned back to Hez. “In each of the attacks you claim occurred, you admit that Mr. Harrison did not act alone, correct?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, aside from him allegedly striking you on the boat, he never touched you in anger, correct?”

“Yes.”

“In every other case, someone else struck you, clamped a drugged cloth over your mouth, and so on, right?”

“Yes.”

“And one of these violent individuals was on the boat with Mr. Harrison at the time of the alleged attempted murder, correct?”

“There was another man on the boat, but I don’t know whether he was the same one who had attacked me before. I never saw their faces.”

“Are you aware that the other man on the boat with you, Deke Willard, has a long criminal history, including convictions for assault with a deadly weapon and attempted murder?”

“I didn’t know anything about Mr. Willard at the time, but I subsequently learned about his past.”

“Mr. Harrison had previously stated that he was attempting to protect you, Savannah, and Simon from dangerous individuals, correct?”

Hez blinked. Was Martine really trying to portray Beckett Harrison as a frightened pawn trying to protect them from Deke Willard? “Yes—but it’s pretty clear from the surrounding circumstances that he was lying.”

“Is it possible that your bias against Mr. Harrison has colored your memory?”

“No.”

Martine picked up her notes. “Pass the witness.”

The judge looked at Hope. “Any redirect?”

She stood. “No, Your Honor.”

The judge leaned over the bench and peered down at Hez. “Thank you, Mr. Webster. You’re excused.”

Hez got up and walked out of the courtroom on stiff legs. The adrenaline crash hit as he stepped out into the cold January sunshine. All he wanted to do was get to the old couch in his condo and take a nap. He’d never realized just how exhausting it was to testify.

The lawyer part of his brain refused to shut down, though. His testimony had gone about as well as it could, and Hope had made the right decision in forgoing redirect. She’d gotten everything she could on direct, and Martine hadn’t done any damage that could be fixed on redirect. Still, she had done damage.

Was it enough to establish reasonable doubt in the minds of the jurors?