“You wouldn’t say that if you met her. She was telling the truth. I know it.”
“Bree. Kelly Ralston is where he belongs.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew him the way I know him. He’s kind. And gentle.” She rushed ahead before he could bring up his scar again. “If he cut you, he had a reason. But he wasn’t really trying to kill you.”
Eric looked away, only for a moment, but long enough that she knew she’d hit home.
“It’s not even my decision to make,” Eric tried again. “Daniel has the last say.”
“He changed his mind because you convinced him to. And you can unconvince him. Just talk to Philomene. She promised she would speak with someone from Project Justice so long as her statement didn’t go on the record. She’s committed to finding the real culprit, who’s out there somewhere, and she’s willing to undergo hypnosis or answer any questions. She just doesn’t want to talk to the police. Please, talk to her. Ten minutes. If you aren’t convinced after that, I’ll drop it.”
“And if I don’t agree to meet with her?”
She smiled, letting him see her teeth. “I won’t give up. I’ll be your worst nightmare.”
Eric sighed. “All right, I’ll meet with her.”
Bree grabbed a pad and pen from her purse and scribbled down an address. “This is the local diner, called the Home Cookin’ Café. Best meat loaf in the world. Might as well have dinner while you’re there.” She ripped off the page and handed it to him.
“Tonight? You want to do this tonight?”
“Sooner the better.”
“You’ll be there, too, right?”
“Of course. Philomene is very fragile. I wouldn’t send her to meet a strange man alone.”
“Then I’ll see you...” He looked at the paper again. “Tuckerville?” He’d heard of it but had no idea where it was.
“Only a couple of hours away.”
“A couple of hours? I have a little girl at home. Evenings are the only time we have together.”
Bree found herself smiling. “Really? How old?”
“Six.”
“I love that age. I’ll keep her entertained while you and Philomene chat. Heck, bring your wife, too. Make it a family outing. Tuckerville is a charming little town.”
His features hardened. “I don’t have a wife. Look, I’ll be there. I said I would. But don’t get your hopes up.”
“Fair enough.” She stood and gathered her things. She’d sold jewelry to help pay her living expenses in college, and she knew that when she’d made the sale, it was time to leave—before she ruined it. She was frankly surprised that Eric had agreed to meet Philomene at all. “I’ll see myself out.”
“I’ll walk you to the door. If I don’t, Celeste will eat me for lunch.”
“Let me guess. The lady at the front desk?”
“That would be the one. The first thing they told me when I walked through the door yesterday morning was to do what she says, or else.”
They retraced their steps to the lobby. Now that she was less on edge, Bree was able to take in her surroundings more. The hallway was floored in a beautiful parquet pattern, and original oil paintings lined the walls. The light fixtures were real chandeliers.
They parted ways at the front desk. Bree shook Eric’s hand again. “See you tonight.”
Just as she hit the door, she heard Celeste say in a loud stage whisper, “You work fast.”
Then came Eric’s rapid denial. “It’s not a date.”
Of course it wasn’t a date, Bree thought as she tried to remember where she’d left her car. She didn’t spend much time in the city and wasn’t used to having to park blocks away from her destination. But her heart felt lighter knowing she’d once again pulled Kelly’s case out of the ashes of destruction and blown the embers to life. And maybe because tonight she’d be seeing a certain dashing single-dad lawyer again and would find out why he was making up lies about Kelly.
Then she was going to make sure he knew the meaning of the word justice.
* * *
“DADDY!” THE MOMENT Eric hit the front door of his brother’s house in Timbergrove, MacKenzie launched herself at him like a cat on a very large mouse. He scooped her up into his arms and reveled in the sweet little-girl smell of strawberry shampoo and crayons. She clung to him like a burr.
“Hello, angel-cakes. How’s my big girl?”
“I’m good now that you’re home.”
Judging from the chatter going on in the kitchen, and the smell of garlic and tomatoes, his brother, Travis, was already home from work and making dinner with his wife, Elena. Between the two of them, Travis was the better cook, but Elena could whip up a few Cuban dishes from her homeland.
He hoped they weren’t going to too much trouble, given that he was going to miss dinner.
“Uncle Trav is making spaghetti,” MacKenzie said as Eric slid her down to the floor. She didn’t seem to want to let go of him. Once upon a time, MacKenzie had been a bright, inquisitive, fearless child. But ever since a lowlife named John Stover taught her that there were things to fear in the world, MacKenzie had been a different person—shy, timid, withdrawn. During those few times she’d been allowed to visit Eric in prison, she’d barely said a word.
She was starting to come out of her shell now that she had her father back, but she had a long way to go. For one thing, she was excessively clingy and wanted to know where Eric was every minute. He’d warned her that he wouldn’t be home until after five o’clock, that he’d started a new job, but she’d still had a meltdown when she’d arrived home from school and found him gone. Elena, who was watching MacKenzie after school, had called Eric, and he’d been the only one who could calm her down and reassure her that he wasn’t back in prison and that he would be home soon.
It almost killed him that he had to leave again—and all because he’d been suckered by a pair of eyes as deep as the ocean. Philomene Switzer could say whatever she wanted, but Eric wasn’t going to change his mind.
He told himself he’d agreed to Bree’s proposition because it was the only way to get her out of his hair. She’d promised to back off if he did this one thing, and he was going to do it. He couldn’t afford for Daniel to devote any more time, attention and effort to the Ralston case. Because if he looked into it very deep, he’d find out Eric was lying. Daniel’s investigator could talk to other prisoners, cell mates, friends and relatives on the outside, and he’d discover that Kelly had never confessed his crimes to anyone. In fact, tough and mean as he was, he’d always vehemently proclaimed his innocence.
Eric still believed he’d done the right thing. And the proof was this little girl, clutching his hand with complete trust. Ralston had said he could get to her even from prison—that if Eric ratted him out, he could count on never seeing his daughter again, one way or another.
Eric hadn’t said a word to the warden. He hadn’t even sought medical treatment for the cut, not until the infection got so bad that a guard found him unconscious in his cell. Still, when questioned, he’d refused to name Kelly Ralston.
Somehow, though, the warden had found out, and Ralston had gone into solitary for a week, pretty much guaranteeing that his upcoming parole hearing wouldn’t go well.
So far Ralston hadn’t made good on his threat. But if he