Sarah looked up at Colt’s brother, Mike, looming over her. She was struck again by how much he and Colt really looked alike. Strong jaws and beautiful cheekbones. Deep dimples and cleft chins. Tall, well-proportioned bodies.
But seeing Mike only made the gravity of Colt’s condition that much more vivid. The contrast between how Colt should look and did look was jarring. The rosy color was gone from his handsome face and the liveliness she loved so much was missing.
“How’d you get in here?” Mike said, his face red.
Sitting in her wheelchair, Sarah blinked up at him. Dammit. She didn’t want to get anyone in trouble, including Officer Reynolds.
Sarah put on her “Hammer” face. “Obviously, I wheeled myself in, counselor. How the hell else?”
“Well, as you can see, my brother is unwell. And unconscious. So any business of the court will have to wait.”
“I’m sorry,” she said in her toughest, bitchiest tone possible, “but I have to ask; what crawled up your khakis? I’m not the one who shot him. In fact, I was shot because of one of his crazy fans.”
Mike took a breath and let it out. “I’m sorry, Your Honor. It’s been a rough few days.”
His genuine anguish deflated her façade in an instant. “Any signs of progress?”
Mike nodded, staring at his brother. “Yes. The nurse says that he spoke your name this morning.”
“Really? That’s great news.” Sarah could see that Mike felt injured in some way.
Maybe the jerk deserved it. After all, he’d had zero issue with blackmailing her. Who knew what else he’d done?
Stop. This isn’t the time. His brother might die.
“I’m sure Colt only wanted to know how I was since we nearly died together,” she offered. “But he’ll be awake soon and then you can yell at him: Bros before hos, man.” She made a little fist pump in the air.
Mike shrugged, not amused by her attempt at humor. “Once he wakes up, he won’t ever want to talk to me again.”
“Why’s that?”
Mike straightened his spine, looking uncomfortable, like he’d said something he shouldn’t. “Oh, you know how us brothers are—it’s always the other one’s fault.”
Weird. Mike was lying. She could sense it in her gut. The question was, what was he hiding? The guilt practically oozed from his skin.
No longer unable to resist judging, Sarah’s mind started hunting for answers. Honestly, she already knew Mike was a sleazeball. He’d colluded with Wright to blackmail her all because he wanted to make sure Colt played that first stop on his tour, which was worth one point five million dollars to Mike.
It was a very underhanded thing to do, but Mike hadn’t seemed to feel one bit guilty when he’d spoken about it at the charity ball.
So what other things had Mikey done to ensure his brother kept bringing in the big bucks?
“I know this isn’t any of my business, but why do you think Colt’s mind refuses to remember certain things after the accident? There must’ve been something that emotionally traumatized him.” Colt was no wuss; that was for sure. But he was also the sort of man who led with his heart. In a completely fearless, badass kind of way. If something had caused him to block out the incident, then maybe there was a reason beyond just his wreck.
Mike gave Sarah a look of sheer hatred, as if to say “How dare you ask me that?” He pasted on a fake smile. “Who knows? What’s important is that he’s going to heal and his career isn’t ruined, so he’ll have that to look forward to when he’s recovered.”
“So you think his memory will come back, and he’ll be able to perform?” The concert was in two weeks and way too soon for Colt to play, but she wanted to see how Mike would react.
“The tour was postponed.”
“Oh wow. That’s got to be rough. It means Colt won’t get his ten million dollars.” She shook her head.
“How’d you know about that?”
“I read his contract.”
“You spied on my brother?” he growled.
“No. Didn’t Colt tell you? He asked me to read it. Oh, wait—of course he didn’t tell you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? My brother trusts me. I’m the only one who has his best interests at heart. The money means nothing.”
As a judge, Sarah’s rule of thumb was that when a person was caught doing something wrong, they generally denied it, even if there could be other offenses or crimes within the realm of possibilities. For example, a seventeen-year-old boy gets caught with a can of spray paint in his hand while sitting at a bus stop late at night. A policeman sees him and goes to investigate, the officer asks something like, “Where’d you get the spray paint?” If the reply is, “I found it in my dad’s garage,” that’s probably the truth—or at least a fifty-fifty chance. However, if the reply is something like “Hey, I didn’t steal it,” then the kid, in all likelihood, did. Stealing was a leap the kid made on his own.
She hadn’t accused Mike of manipulating his brother for money, yet he’d brought it up and defended himself.
“What I meant, Mike, was that Colt didn’t tell you about having me review the contract because he was shot right after. Why are you so defensive?”
Mike seemed flustered. “Like I said, it’s been a long few days. And it’s time for you to go.”
Sarah nodded, thinking through what she should do. She had no doubt in her mind that Mike had done something—something bad. But what? Maybe he’d taken advantage of his brother’s condition in some way. Or perhaps Mike had finally realized that Colt wasn’t going to recover in time for his show and it was far better to forgo the money than have Colt get up on stage and make an ass out of himself.
Sarah thought about that for a moment. Mike had mentioned that if Colt didn’t recover in time, he’d come up with something. And for certain, they didn’t want the public finding out about his condition since they believed it would dilute his star power. So had Mary been the backup plan? Getting shot would provide a really good excuse to cancel the tour, one that wouldn’t expose Colt’s secret.
No. That still doesn’t make sense. Why would Mike do everything possible to ensure Colt played his gig, but then have him shot so the tour could be cancelled? Why would Mike risk killing his own brother?
Sarah tried to sort the pieces into a clear motive, but they wouldn’t fit. Including the fact that Mary had said “he” was making her do it.
Let’s see if Mike knows Mary.
“Sure, I’ll go. I’m pretty tired anyway,” she said, starting to wheel herself out. “Oh, by the way, any news on that Mary woman?”
Mike’s gaze drilled into Sarah like he wanted to cut out her tongue. “I don’t know the assailant. And if I had seen her, I would tell the police. Not you.”
Crap. His lie had just told the truth. He knew Mary. And he had seen her.