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The woman had a backbone of steel. If Gabby had asked Great-Aunt Isabel, the woman who’d taken her in when her mom died, to drive here from Ohio and rip down the house with her bare hands, she would have. She was that woman. Strong. Decent. Pissed. A retired prosecutor and the reason Gabby had gone to law school in the first place. The perfect ally.
Gabby looked at the copies she’d kept. Wrinkled, with sticky notes posted all over them. Each death reviewed, analyzed, and cataloged. The companion list Tami had started about possible related cases led in more directions, added more fuel, but finding common denominators across the cases proved futile.
Some cases had one therapist, but just as many cases had other professionals, or none. Different judges and lawyers. Someof the deaths had nothing to do with a court case or divorce. In every single one, if she looked long enough, she found a nasty rumor or an allegation that eventually got dropped.
Melissa Schone popped up regularly as the detective, but she didn’t have a say in calling cause of death in any case. Gabby also had to admit that Schone worked in the area. Her being involved in most of the Maryland cases made sense. They’d happened in her jurisdiction. A Dr. Downing had also made more than one appearance when kids were involved.
“This is getting me nowhere.” She let out a yell loud enough to echo through the duplex but not loud enough to draw attention from the neighbors. She chalked the shouting up to a form of primal scream therapy.
With her concentration waning, her mind traveled to Liam and Kennedy. She’d worried about them all last night during their drive to New York. More than once, she’d called and talked with both of them. Not about important things like parentage or danger. About easy topics like Liam’s terrible taste in music and strange love of fast-food tacos.
With them safe, or as safe as they could be, Gabby tried to focus on the papers in front of her, but the ink blurred. Her mind made connections then abandoned them. Her notes were a jumbled mess of nothing, or possibly something. The work involved meticulous knot untying and string making.
“This is impossible.” She made the comment to the silent room as she stood to refill her coffee mug. Maybe the sixth cup would help her experience a breakthrough... or finally convince her that Rob saw a conspiracy where none existed.
Coincidences happened. All of that buildup amounting tonothing was possible . . . except for his death. She’d tried to find more information about that on the Internet, but details were sparse. Everyone seemed to agree he’d died in a tragic hit-and-run that likely would never be solved. A horrible story but not an unheard-of one in a city.
“Even I don’t believe in that much happenstance.” She walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked out at the front of the building.
Police.The word flashed in her brain as she watched two police cars pull up. Then a van turned into the horseshoe-shaped entrance. She couldn’t read the side of it or the jackets of the people scurrying around down there, but she made out the wordforensicsas police filed into the building.
A woman got out of a sedan. She flashed something and talked with two men in suits. When she glanced up toward the window, Gabby jumped back, out of sight.
Melissa Schone, way out of her jurisdiction this time.
The police were here. At Liam’s building. Walking into the lobby. Were they coming for her here? This didn’t feel like another turn at asking her questions about Rob’s death. The forensic squad suggested something bigger. Something other than a break-in and death that touched her tangentially but was notabouther.
An itchy sensation of being watched, hunted, filled her. Hot, on fire, restless. Each one rolled through her.
Ihave towarn him, just in case.She reached for the phone to call Liam right as the doorbell chimed.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Jessa
Thriving. Jessa couldn’t think of a better word to describe how her life had turned. Being a partner came with a huge raise. More responsibility but less pressure for billable hours. She had lawyers beneath her now. People who answered to her.
She put a deposit down on an apartment. She loved Faith, but living together in a one-bedroom would get old fast.
She leaned back in her big chair and looked around her office. The bouquet on the edge of her desk, delivered less than an hour ago, came from Retta and Earl.
She’d spent her entire life on the outside, looking in. Never the smartest or the most popular. Attractive but not the prettiest or the thinnest. Always aching to be a bigger presence, more in control of the conversation—the person other people looked at and said,I want to be her.
Getting here required sacrifices. She’d made some decisions others would find questionable. She saw them as necessary. The climbing, the worrying, the jealousy. It had all paid off. Finally.
That’s why the idea of being in a club and not knowing the rules didn’t bother her. She’d work around them, follow them, or defy them, as needed. Being on the inside gave her that clout. Opened up possibilities.
She heard the knock on her office door and smiled. Her two-o’clock appointment had arrived, and she couldn’t wait for this face-off.
Stan, Darren Bartholomew’s attorney, stepped inside. He’d left his usual blowhard,you’re not worthy of my timepersona on the street, because this Stan was a subdued Stan.
She didn’t bother getting up. “I bet you didn’t think you’d be having this meeting anytime soon.”
“About that.” His forced smile hesitated while looking at the bouquet before settling on her face. “Of course, you know everything that happened in our case was a result of zealous client representation and nothing personal.”
She treated him to a dramatic wince. “A backpedal that hard must hurt. Did you injure yourself?”
“Excuse me?”
