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Noah was meeting with the U.S. Attorney’s office this afternoon, and he hoped he wasn’t chewed out for his aggressive warrant and investigation. But first, he had to call Kate. She had to know about Cody Lorenzo’s murder—and Jager’s threat to pull Lucy’s file in discovery.
Noah believed in the letter of the law, but he saw nothing good about opening Lucy’s records for the world to inspect and second-guess. He had a sense now of what Kate and the rest of them had gone through six years ago when faced with a trial versus a plea agreement with Roger Morton.
Except that if anyone could handle the pressure, Noah had no doubt Lucy could.
Sean slowly pocketed his cell phone.
Lucy wasn’t going to take this well. He had to spin it right so that she didn’t take it personally. So she didn’t heap the guilt on herself for something she had no control over.
She was asleep on his family-room couch. Sean had taken the morning to catch up on business—it was getting away from him. RCK East didn’t advertise because they didn’t need to; most of their business came from word of mouth and referrals. With only two people on staff and no admin, they didn’t need to create more business than they could handle.
But with Patrick gone, and Sean occupied with everything that had been going on, he had ignored his business emails and phone messages. He was nearly caught up when Kate called with the news of Lorenzo’s murder.
He didn’t want to tell Lucy, and he certainly didn’t want to wake her up to give her the news, but he knew she wouldn’t want him to shield her from the truth.
He sat down on the coffee table and watched her sleep. Lucy was more mature than most young women beginning their careers. Yet in sleep, she looked young and vulnerable. Her face was relaxed, her mouth slightly open, her hands together under her cheek. Sleeping Beauty. And Sean wanted her to stay this peaceful; she needed the rest.
She opened her eyes suddenly, a brief look of panic on her face.
“It’s me,” Sean said, angry with himself for staring at her for so long. Even in her sleep, she had sensed his gaze.
“What time is it?”
“Two.”
She slowly sat up, dazed. “I slept until two in the afternoon?” she asked, incredulous.
“You were up early; you needed a nap.”
She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Three hours. I never sleep during the day.” She tilted her head and frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Sean hadn’t thought his expression revealed his unrest over the news. He was blunt. “Cody didn’t commit suicide. The FBI proved conclusively that he was murdered.”
Lucy began to shake. Cody was murdered. Because of her investigation. Why hadn’t she called in Kate earlier? Or would Mallory have killed her sister-in-law in his failed attempt to cover up his vigilante group?
“Luce?” Sean sounded worried, and Lucy reached out for him. His hands held hers tightly and her body stopped shaking so violently. She took a deep breath.
“Maybe…maybe I’m relieved.”
“Relieved?”
How could she explain it? She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, focused on slowing down her racing heart. “The idea that he killed himself because of me—”
“It wasn’t because of you!”
“I meant, because of his feelings for me. That he’d be depressed enough to kill himself because I didn’t love him.” Her voice cracked. “But I should never have asked him to help in the first place. I should have gone to Kate or Dillon—or anyone in the FBI. I don’t know why—”
“Because you didn’t know what was going on. You were protecting people you believed were innocent.”
“And Cody is dead because I was worried about Fran.” Her anger leaked out in her voice. “I hate her! Even if she didn’t pull the trigger, she had to have known. How could she do that to Cody? The time and energy he gave to WCF. And now—damn!” Her voice cracked again and she shut her mouth.
“There’s one more thing. Cody wasn’t stalking you.”
She shook her head. “Wh-what?” It made no sense. “But the flowers—you talked to the florist.”
“The FBI proved that the same man who wrote the fake suicide note also wrote the card from the florist. They compared it to handwriting known to be Cody’s, and there’s no way he could have written either the card or the suicide note.”
“But the florist—”
