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Dillon laughed and hugged her. “Don’t over-think everything, Lucy. I have that problem, too. Maybe it’s the curse of having a degree in psychology.”
Sean brought his laptop into the dining room and set it up so he could see anyone who approached the entrance. He glanced at the papers Kate had been reading when he’d first walked in with Lucy over an hour ago—they appeared to be emails from Morton’s computer. He didn’t have time to read them now; he had to ensure his bugs were operable and recording.
They’d have to tell Dillon and Kate about Prenter’s murder and the possible connection to Lucy’s work at WCF, but first Sean needed more information. Lucy had uncovered little of value while she went through the WCF files. She verified that no one person had been assigned to all eight parolees who had been killed, which made sense considering that the murders were all over the country. The one apparent connection was that each assigned cop reported that the felon didn’t show—and the parolee was killed miles from the original stakeout.
Sean put in his earbuds and logged into his server where the recordings were archived. He focused on the recordings from Fran’s office. After Lucy explained the operation, he knew nothing happened in WCF without Fran Buckley’s knowledge and consent. It would hurt Lucy, but Sean read people well—and his gut told him Fran was somehow involved.
The first sounds recorded were of Fran working at her desk—typing, on the phone in a boring conversation—but he didn’t want to fast-forward for fear he’d miss something. Talking, typing; then he heard Cody’s voice.
“Fran, we need to talk.”
“Come in,” Fran said.
A door closed. Shuffling of a chair.
“Brad Prenter is dead.”
“Cody—”
Sean sat upright and replayed the last minute of the recording to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. He glanced at the time stamp. Five-fifteen. Right after he picked up Lucy.
Lucy walked into the dining room with a tray of coffee, cream, and sugar. “You like yours cream only, right?” She narrowed her gaze. “What’s wrong?”
He paused the recording and glanced at Dillon standing behind Lucy. “Lucy—I’m listening to the bugs we planted.”
“What?” She put the tray down, the dishes rattling.
“You planted bugs? You mean listening devices?” Dillon asked, too surprised to sound irritated.
Lucy bit her lip. “I was going to tell you and Kate, but then this all happened tonight with Cody…remember the parolee project I told you about at WCF? One of the guys we were tracking was murdered. Someone used my account to set him up.”
Kate stood in the doorway next to Dillon. “What the hell are you talking about?” she exclaimed.
“Sit down,” Lucy said. “I have a lot to tell you.”
TWENTY-FIVE
When Lucy was done telling Dillon and Kate everything she knew about the parolee project, Kate swore and Dillon stared at his sister with his deep-thinking gaze. But Lucy didn’t know exactly what he was thinking, and she felt so tiny she wished she could go to bed and hide under the covers. She hated that she’d been caught in the middle of something like this—that it might have been Fran using her, she didn’t even want to think about it.
“Say something!” she finally said.
“This is fucked,” Kate snapped.
Lucy had to agree with Kate, but right now Dillon’s opinion meant more to her. It always had.
“Dammit, Dillon, tell me I was a stupid idiot, say something!”
Dillon’s expression softened. “You’re not stupid, Lucy.”
“Naïve, then.”
He shook his head. “I’ve interviewed hundreds of convicted criminals. And there were some I knew, if they ever got out on the streets again, they’d rape or kill. I knew it here.” He punched his stomach. “But there was nothing I could do except testify to make sure they stayed in prison for their maximum sentence, and hope—pray—that they’d die before they were released.”
“I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t know,” Lucy said, her chest tightening. “You can’t believe I did!”
“Of course I believe you, Lucy.”
“Then what are you saying?”
