“The Wolfes don’t scare me,” Morgan shot back.

“Maybe they should,” Zach said.

“Are you kidding me? Half my colleagues were on—” He stopped abruptly.

Zach’s eyes darkened. “Go on,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Nothing,” Morgan said. “Ms. Bancroft, please have your client take a seat.”

“No way,” Moira said.

“Yes,” Morgan said, “because if you don’t, I’ll have her arrested and dragged down to the station.”

I gulped audibly as my heart pounded.

Moira whipped her hands to her hips. “On what grounds?”

“Failure to cooperate in an ongoing criminal investigation.”

“Try it,” Moira said. “I’ll tie you up in court for years.”

“You’ll regret that.”

“I’ll take my chances. Let’s go, Zee.”

I walked, sandwiched between Moira and Zach, out of the conference room.

Two lawyers protecting me.

But they wouldn’t always be there.

Had I done the right thing? Telling my story to the detective?

One thing I’d learned in my relatively short life—the what-if game served no purpose. What if I’d stayed at a different hotel in Queens? What if I hadn’t gone to New York? What if I’d driven straight to Smith?

I’d be a doctor now.

“I’m so sorry,” Moira was saying.

“I am too,” Zach agreed. “Mr. Wolfe will take care of this. Plus, you’ve given Morgan enough to call Father Jim in for questioning about the murder.”

Had I? Would justice truly be served?

I’d given up on justice long ago.

“I’ll take you to Mr. Wolfe,” Moira said, smiling.

Mr. Wolfe. Reid.

Yes, Reid would protect me. I felt certain.

But who would protect him?

38

Reid

Back at the office, I called in a team to thoroughly search Rock’s and my offices for surveillance equipment of any kind. I’d had my own searched after we all became implicated, but it didn’t hurt to be sure.

Besides, I was rapidly learning to trust no one but my family and Zee. I looked around. Terrence. Any of the others. A fucking mail clerk, for God’s sake. My father could have gotten to any of them. Already Terrence was a suspect, given the issue with his calendar.

This was a nightmare that was getting more horrific each day.

I was lost in thought when my phone buzzed. Good. It was the PI who’d searched St. Andrew’s, a colleague of Leif’s.

“Give me some good news, Buck,” I said into the phone.

“Got lots of it,” he said, “but also some bad.”

“Fuck.”

“I don’t want to talk on the phone. I’m heading to your office.”

Trust no one. The words emerged in my head seemingly of their own accord. “I’d rather go somewhere public. The café a block over. It has outdoor seating. I was just there with Rock and Lacey to discuss some stuff.”

“Are they still there?”

“I have no idea.”