CARS, TRUCKS, AND MEDIA VANS lined both sides of the street in front of the courthouse. The news of a possible suspect had drawn the attention of reporters and journalists from as far north as New York and all the way south to Miami. Camera operators jostled with one another for the best shot as their counterparts rehearsed their headline-grabbing hooks.
“He’s a baby killer.”
“Now her family can rest in peace.”
“Hides in the woods.”
Lane hurried up the steps of the courthouse, anxious to escape the scathing comments circling about Miguel, and pushed past the crowd hanging around the front door. Rumors were already starting and Miguel hadn’t even been named as a suspect—at least not officially. What did they find at his house that would make them believe he killed Sydney? She didn’t want to think about it. Whatever it was—there had to be an explanation.
The hallways of the courthouse were filled with people. Mondays were always busy arraignment days, but Lane guessed most of the people occupying floor space among the marble pillars were there because of Miguel. Lane paused outside her father’s office. What was she going to say?
“Lane, what are you doing here?”
His voice had a way of turning her insides into mush, and today was no exception. Lane turned to face Charlie. Blue eyes crinkled with concern even though his lips held the hint of a smile like he was glad to see her.
“Finding out the truth.” She hated the way seeing him made her heart race. How could she let herself fall for him so quickly? Believe there was a chance?
“Yes.” She licked her lips, avoiding the tender look in his eyes. “I want to make sure you aren’t going after Miguel because of any medical conditions he might have.”
He took a tentative step toward her. “Do you really believe we’re going after him because of that?”
“I don’t know.” Lane’s purpose began to waver in the wake of Charlie’s gentle expression. “Why are you going after him then?”
“It’s an active case.” Charlie looked sorry. “I can’t discuss details.”
“Somebody’s discussing something because there’s a crowd outside that thinks Miguel’s responsible for Sydney’s murder,” Lane said, her voice pitching defensively.
A few faces turned their way. A woman Lane recognized as an attorney’s secretary stepped into the hallway and flashed a tight smile at her and Charlie. This conversation wasn’t one Lane wanted to have in the middle of the courthouse. Charlie followed her into the corner of the hallway tucked behind one of the pillars. Her hand brushed against his, sending a longing to be wrapped in his arms again rolling through her body. She pushed away the desire.
Lane lowered her voice. “Please tell me you’re not like them.” Lane hitched her thumb in the direction of the courthouse’s front doors. “Miguel has PTSD and lives in the woods and keeps to himself, but he is not what they’re calling him. You have to believe me.”
Charlie drew in close and looked like he wanted to pull her into his arms, but then he stopped. Pushing his fingers through his hair, his expression pained, he finally said, “People with PTSD have been known to act out in unexpected ways.”
“He’s never hurt anyone before.”
“Maybe not, but people come home from war not right in the head—accident or not, they can be dangerous. I saw him the night when he hit you. I’ve seen too many buddies take the path of least resistance and try to numb their pain. It’s never ended well.”
Charlie’s voice was soft, as though he was speaking from experience. His friend, Tate. The one he couldn’t save. Her chest tightened. Charlie did understand—better than most—and yet it wasn’t enough.
“Do you know that for as long as Miguel’s come into my café, I’ve never even smelled a whiff of alcohol on him? Harley’s known Miguel since they fought in the war and even he can’t believe what you’re doing—”
“The evidence is there, Lane.” Charlie’s jaw flexed. “I know he’s your friend and you want to help, but it’s my job to follow the evidence.” Charlie closed the space between them by half. His fingers grazed hers. “Let me help Miguel by finding the truth. That’s the only way we can help him.”
“But have you heard what they’re saying about him out there?” She lowered her voice. “Even if you prove Miguel’s innocence, do you think the whole town will just forget he was once suspected of killing someone? It’ll haunt him the rest of his life, and I don’t know if he’ll recover.”
Suddenly, her father’s insistence about keeping what happened two years ago quiet made perfect sense. If people found out what she did—the circumstances behind Mathias’s death—her reputation would never recover. People would never let her forget. There’d be whispers. Questions. Assumptions.
This time Charlie took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, and drew her close to him. “Then we’ll make them see beyond their discrimination. We’ll show them the beauty in his sculptures and art. And if after all of that”—he squeezed her hand—“they still don’t see what you see, then it’s their loss. Not his.”
Whatever reasons Lane had built up to push Charlie away began to crumble. His confident voice of reason spoke louder than the whispers of doubt circling her mind. But what if Miguel wasn’t innocent? What if he was capable of hurting someone . . . like she was? Lane pulled her hand away and took a step back. “It’s more than that, Charlie. Miguel and I are the same.”
“The night my husband died. I—” She bit her lip. Was she really going to do this? Her stomach tightened with fear at what he would think of her when he knew the truth about what she had done. She licked her lips and started again. “I tried to kill myself. Swallowed a bottle of pills. But then Noah started to cry and I got scared. Mathias was on night duty. I called him and he was rushing home, but the roads were wet. His truck slid into an embankment and hit a tree.
“An ambulance and two state troopers showed up at my door, but it wasn’t until I was in the hospital that they told me . . .” She swallowed against the painful lump in her throat, unsure if she could go on. The truth hurt just as much now as it did that night, but Charlie had to know the truth, so she pushed the words out as fast as she could. “Charlie, Mathias died because of me. I would’ve died that night, but Mathias had already called the ambulance on the way to the house and now I’m here and he’s dead. It should’ve been me who died, but it was him. And I killed him.”
Someone behind them let out a gasp. Lane looked over Charlie’s shoulder and found a handful of people standing there, watching. Listening. Lane’s heart plummeted at the sight of her father. His campaign advisor, Jeffrey Adams, stood next to him—his mouth agape.
A woman wearing a lot of makeup smirked, shaking her head at a man in a suit to her right. Lane didn’t know who he was, but she thought she recognized the woman.
“So, this is how the justice system works?” The woman narrowed her eyes. “I should’ve known this small town was corrupt. Let me guess, as long as you’re the judge’s daughter or dating a deputy, you can kill someone and no one says anything. But if an innocent girl plays a joke on her friend, the whole town decides she’s a monster.”
“Ms. Carson, no matter what you think you heard, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Charlie kept his voice low, but it held authority.
Lane’s heart would’ve swelled with affection at Charlie’s defense if it weren’t pounding in fear. What had she done? She wanted to take it back. But it was too late.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t just hear her. She said she killed her husband,” Ms. Carson rallied. “And yet Jolene can’t even walk into school without someone whispering vile things about a silly little prank.”
The woman’s voice carried down the marbled corridor of the courthouse, drawing the attention of everyone nearby, including that of a very pretty woman hanging near the wall, her eyes fixed on the entire scene with insatiable interest. The reporter. Vivian DeMarco.
A loud commotion grabbed everyone’s attention.
“Where’s the sheriff?” a male voice boomed from across the hall. “I want to see the sheriff!”
Angry voices became amplified, causing the muscles in Charlie’s face to become tense. He moved around Lane, his hand held steady on the gun at his hip. “Stay here.”
The crowd parted and Lane’s heart jumped into her throat. Sydney’s father, face red and sweaty, stopped when he saw Charlie. Five more men stood behind him with something close to rage radiating from their faces. Near the back, Deputy Wilson, nostrils flaring, looked like a bull ready to charge.
“Sheriff Huggins isn’t here,” Charlie said calmly. “How can I help you gentlemen?”
“Where is the monster who killed my baby girl? I want to see him now!”
“Mr. Donovan, we’re doing everything we can to find out who killed Sydney.”
“You already know who killed her.” Spittle flew from the enraged man’s lips. “I want to know why you haven’t found him yet. Brought him in.”
Lane became nervous at the sight of the guns holstered on the sides of the men with Mr. Donovan. Probably why they had the attention of everyone in the room—including her father’s, who moved in behind Charlie.
“Gentlemen, I know the great state of Georgia allows you to carry those firearms, but in my courthouse, they are not permitted. I’m going to have to ask you to leave—”
“I ain’t leavin’ till I get answers!” Mr. Donovan screamed, making people jump.
“I’d be happy to answer your questions, but this isn’t the way it’s going to happen.” With slow, steady steps, Charlie moved forward. Lane held her breath. What would a hurting father do to bring his murdered daughter justice? “Judge Sullivan is right. Those guns don’t belong in here, and you’ve got me and my fellow deputy feeling a little nervous. Let’s do this the right way so justice can be served.”
“Justice?” Mr. Donovan reared his head back and laughed. “My daughter didn’t get any justice.”
A man with a lip full of chewing tobacco stepped forward. “We can offer our own brand of justice.”
“That’s not something you want to do.” Charlie set his jaw. “Any threat against another person is taken seriously. It’s not a path you want to go down.”
“But you got a name,” a heavyset man said from behind Mr. Donovan. “That guy who lives in the woods out there on Coastal.”
“They’re sayin’ you found something of hers in his house,” Mr. Donovan said. “I want to know what and why.”
“We can’t discuss the details of the investigation, but we’re getting closer to finding out who killed your daughter. Right now you and your friends are keeping us from doing our jobs.”
Mr. Donovan scowled before taking a step back. “He’s gonna pay for what he’s done to my baby. I don’t care if I go to jail. You better find him, Deputy.”
Lane cringed at the implied threat left behind as the men left. An old-fashioned lynch mob had formed with Sydney Donovan’s father at the helm? This Mr. Donovan wasn’t the same man who had stood next to his wife at the church’s benefit for their daughter, docile but grief-stricken. This was a father who wanted to inflict his suffering on the one who caused it. And it was frightening as much as it was shocking to witness the man’s transformation. Is that what Charlie meant earlier? People can do unexplainable things when they are suffering?
“Well, I tell you what”—her father’s campaign manager used a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead—“the installation of metal detectors in every courthouse will be the first thing on your father’s agenda.”
“That ain’t your only problem.” Ms. Carson sneered. “Don’t think that little fiasco erased my memory. I know what I heard—there are two killers living in this small town.”
“Alright.” Mr. Adams spread his hands out. “I think Judge Sullivan and his daughter need some privacy. Ms. Carson, I know your attorney charges by the minute, so I suggest you go on into his office, take care of whatever business you have, and make him earn his paycheck.”
Ms. Carson looked ready to argue, but her lawyer took hold of her elbow and led her away.
Charlie returned to Lane’s side. “Are you okay?”
“They’re going to hunt him down,” she said, her voice wavering. “They won’t understand his condition. If they find him—”
“Lane, my office,” her father said.
Charlie locked eyes with her and gave her a nod before she followed her father into the office, with Mr. Adams and Charlie following behind.
“Now, I have a signed warrant for Miguel Roa that explains why Deputy Lynch is here, but I want to know why you’re here.”
Lane’s composure slipped under her father’s penetrating stare, but having Charlie in the room made her feel less alone. “For Miguel.”
The vein in her father’s neck pulsed. “Why?”
“Did you not just see what happened out there?” She tried hard to keep the tremor shaking her hands from spreading throughout her body. “Those men are out there hunting him like an animal all because they think he did something he hasn’t even been charged with. As a judge, you should be interested in making sure his rights are protected.”
“His rights?” Her father’s posture straightened, bringing him to his full height so she had to look up to him. “What about the rights of that young girl?”
“I’m not saying he’s innocent,” she said. “But doesn’t he deserve not to be judged simply because his mind isn’t like everyone else’s? Or will he be forced to live a lie and take the fall for a crime he didn’t commit so you can win your election?”
“Lane.” A shade of red painted her father’s face. He pressed his lips together. “You have no idea what you’re doing or what you’ve done.”
“Don’t I? You think a second doesn’t go by when I don’t think about what I’ve done?”
“Well, this is great. Senate hopeful’s daughter advocates for suspected murderer.” Mr. Adams removed his glasses and slumped down into the couch, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The press is going to eat this up.”
“They can’t access her medical files and Mathias’s death was an accident,” her father said, wiping a palm over his forehead.
Lane clenched her teeth. They were talking about her like she wasn’t even standing there. “It’s good they know the truth. I’m so sick of the lies. My whole life I’ve been pretending like I’m everyone else’s version of normal. But how’s anyone supposed to get help if they can’t be honest about what they’re facing?”
“You don’t have to do this, Lane.” A pained expression stretched across Charlie’s face.
“No, I do.” She looked at the disbelief in her father’s face and felt her heart breaking. No matter what he believed, she knew that hiding in the shadows of lies to avoid the truth was hurting her more than the speculation of others. Fear of being defined by her depression and anxiety kept her from getting the help she needed. “I struggle every day, wondering if life’s worth living. If I have a reason to keep breathing. Or if that night it should’ve been me. If everyone would’ve been better off if it had been me.”
Lane couldn’t be sure, but she thought her father flinched. The hard look in his eyes softened. He started to open his mouth to say something, but a knock at the door stopped him.
Sheriff Huggins stepped inside. “Everyone okay in here?”
“We’re fine, Sheriff.” Lane’s father loosened the knot of his tie and picked up a piece of paper from his desk. “I was just about to give Deputy Lynch the arrest warrant.”
“Thank you, Judge.” Sheriff Huggins locked eyes with Lane before his attention went to Charlie. “Agent Edmonds is waiting for you.”
Charlie acknowledged the sheriff before turning to Lane. His hand caressed her cheek. “We will get to the truth. Trust me, Lane.”