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What would calling Granger on Monday have done? Tell him sooner the man was dead? He hadn’t wanted to make waves, knowing Granger would reach out when he needed Grant’s official statement. And in the back of his mind, Grant hoped that everything Granger believed was wrong. Because if he was right? Grant’s life as he knew it was over.
It never occurred to him that Granger was dead. Maybe it should have. After all, Tom was investigating Very Important People, all of whom had their own reasons to shut him up.
Grant should never have helped him. Ethically, professionally, personally. He’d overstepped and would be disbarred.
If anyone found out.
Granger was dead. Maybe Grant was next. Someone cleaning up loose ends.
A chill ran down his spine. There was so much at stake.
Tom Granger had come to him three weeks ago and turned his life upside down. There was no going back, Grant knew.
“One of these people had your son killed.”
Tom Granger—Tommy to his close friends, of which Grant was not one—had called Grant and asked—ordered—him to come to his house in Reston. Then he laid out a conspiracy that seemed so wild, so bizarre, so improbable that Grant had laughed. Until Granger lost his temper and told him that he—Grant Warwick—had been the target the day his son was killed last summer.
“No,” Grant had said, not certain he spoke out loud.
“Right in front of you. You were the target, but Chase got in the way.”
“Shut up!” Grant pounded his fists on Granger’s desk. “Do not mention his name.”
“Dammit, do you think I wanted to come to you for help? After what you said to Regan? After how you treated her at the worst time of her life?”
Through clenched teeth Grant hissed, “Chase was my son, too.”
“Which makes it worse. Help me, Grant. I’ve gotten as far as I can on my own, but I need you to get me files from your office. Names, payments.”
“I’ll be disbarred.”
“Peter Grey was jerking my chain most of our meeting, but he told me one thing that I believed. One ofyourclients wanted you dead.”
“What? What the fuck did that bastard say?”
“He said maybe I should be looking at who wanted you dead, not Chase. That one of your clients wasn’t happy with your work.”
“People don’t kill lawyers when they’re not satisfied; they fire them. You and Regan were the only ones pushing that insane theory—if Hannigan wanted me dead, it was because of Regan!”
Tom was angry, but Grant didn’t care; it wasn’t because ofhimthat his son was dead. Regan had the dangerous job, not him.
“Peter Grey wasn’t lying,” Tom said through clenched teeth. “I don’t know which of your clients—he wouldn’t say—but he was clear. The FBI got the motive flat wrong, and you’re going to help me prove it. Regan deserves the truth. Even you deserve to know what really happened the night Chase was killed.”
“You believe the word of that killer? Grey killed four people!”
“All of whom he killed for Brock Marsh Security. Including Adam Hannigan.”
“Brock Marsh?” Grant had been confused. He knew that name. He knew that business. He’d worked with them from time to time. They were primarily an investigation firm, though they started with personal and corporate security. They did a lot of work for Archer Warwick Bachman Law Offices. Why would Peter Grey even know about them?
“But—would that have come out? Wouldn’t the FBI have investigated Brock Marsh?”
“Grey sold them on his motive for killing Hannigan, and the FBI had a nice, neat closed case. Why go the extra mile and do their fucking job?”
“You’re pulling this out of your ass. You don’t know—”
“Did you know that at one time Adam Hannigan had been employed with Brock Marsh?”
“That can’t be.”
