But with Patrick gone, and Sean occupied with everything that had been going on, he had ignored his business emails and phone messages. He was nearly caught up when Kate called with the news of Lorenzo’s murder.
He didn’t want to tell Lucy, and he certainly didn’t want to wake her up to give her the news, but he knew she wouldn’t want him to shield her from the truth.
He sat down on the coffee table and watched her sleep. Lucy was more mature than most young women beginning their careers. Yet in sleep, she looked young and vulnerable. Her face was relaxed, her mouth slightly open, her hands together under her cheek. Sleeping Beauty. And Sean wanted her to stay this peaceful; she needed the rest.
She opened her eyes suddenly, a brief look of panic on her face.
“It’s me,” Sean said, angry with himself for staring at her for so long. Even in her sleep, she had sensed his gaze.
“What time is it?”
“Two.”
She slowly sat up, dazed. “I slept until two in the afternoon?” she asked, incredulous.
“You were up early; you needed a nap.”
She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Three hours. I never sleep during the day.” She tilted her head and frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Sean hadn’t thought his expression revealed his unrest over the news. He was blunt. “Cody didn’t commit suicide. The FBI proved conclusively that he was murdered.”
Lucy began to shake. Cody was murdered. Because of her investigation. Why hadn’t she called in Kate earlier? Or would Mallory have killed her sister-in-law in his failed attempt to cover up his vigilante group?
“Luce?” Sean sounded worried, and Lucy reached out for him. His hands held hers tightly and her body stopped shaking so violently. She took a deep breath.
“Maybe … maybe I’m relieved.”
“Relieved?”
How could she explain it? She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, focused on slowing down her racing heart. “The idea that he killed himself because of me—”
“It wasn’t because of you!”
“I meant, because of his feelings for me. That he’d be depressed enough to kill himself because I didn’t love him.” Her voice cracked. “But I should never have asked him to help in the first place. I should have gone to Kate or Dillon—or anyone in the FBI. I don’t know why—”
“Because you didn’t know what was going on. You were protecting people you believed were innocent.”
“And Cody is dead because I was worried about Fran.” Her anger leaked out in her voice. “I hate her! Even if she didn’t pull the trigger, she had to have known. How could she do that to Cody? The time and energy he gave to WCF. And now—damn!” Her voice cracked again and she shut her mouth.
“There’s one more thing. Cody wasn’t stalking you.”
She shook her head. “Wh-what?” It made no sense. “But the flowers—you talked to the florist.”
“The FBI proved that the same man who wrote the fake suicide note also wrote the card from the florist. They compared it to handwriting known to be Cody’s, and there’s no way he could have written either the card or the suicide note.”
“But the florist—”
“Noah thinks Mallory planned everything. That since Cody was investigating Prenter’s murder, if he discredited Cody in your eyes by making it seem like he was stalking you, either you’d believe Cody really had killed Prenter or you would have nothing more to do with him. They were trying to protect their operation.”
“He died for nothing?”
Sean pulled her head down to his chest. At first she resisted, then she let him hold her. She didn’t cry. She had no more tears. Her head ached from her grief, and sitting here with Sean helped.
Slowly, the tension eased from her body. When she could breathe normally and her heart stopped racing, she looked up at Sean. “I need to go.”
“You don’t—”
“I have to go home and shower and get ready for Cody’s prayer service.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No—I need to go alone.”
“I don’t think you should be alone.”
“Cody’s friends will be there. Family. I won’t be alone.”
“But—”
“Everyone’s in prison. Mallory, Fran—”
“I’d still feel more comfortable if I could keep my eye on you until we know for sure the FBI arrested all the players.”
“You can drive me if you’d like. The church will be filled with cops.”
“Lucy—”
Her voice cracked, but her eyes were dry. “I believed it was Cody. How could I do that? We were friends. I was with him for nearly two years. And I believed the worst. I let my fear cloud my judgment. I should have known Cody would never do anything to hurt me. He never had before, and yet—I didn’t even give him the benefit of the doubt. I need to mourn for him, and I want to do it alone. Do you understand?”
Sean kissed her on the top of her head and held her close. “I do. I’ll drive you there and pick you up. You won’t leave the church, right?”
“Promise. Thank you for understanding.”
THIRTY-SIX
Noah and Hans faced Mallory in a private interview room in the county jail.
“You lied to us, and you lied to Lucy,” Noah said.
Mallory stared at Noah. His expression was defiant, but his eyes were weary, as if he hadn’t slept.
Hans said, “Cody Lorenzo was murdered. There’s no question.”
Mallory frowned but didn’t speak.
“You killed him because he was getting close to exposing your vigilante group.”
“I didn’t kill Cody Lorenzo,” Mallory said with a sigh.
“We don’t believe you.”
Mallory closed his eyes. “You found my guns. Every single one of them is labeled with the name of the scumbag. Name and date. Every one. Cody Lorenzo is not there.”
It took Noah a second to realize the problem with that argument. “You left the gun there. Tried to pass it off as a suicide.”
“If you do your research, you’ll find that not all the names on those guns were fired. The gun I was carrying at the time was retired, so I could remember every one of them. I didn’t kill Lorenzo.”
“Lorenzo was a cop. Automatic death penalty,” Noah said.
Mallory laughed humorlessly. “Death penalty? Bring it on.”
“Lorenzo was killed between eleven p.m. and midnight Monday. I don’t suppose you have an alibi?”
“Home. Fran came over a little before seven, worried because of the questions Lorenzo had been asking. I told her to calm down, that nothing connected us to Prenter’s murder.”
“Fran could have killed him. You’d be an accessory.”
“Fran didn’t kill him.”
“I’m not buying this.”
“I don’t care.” Mallory sighed. “Your warrant was thin, and you know it, but I’m not getting a lawyer, and I’m not going to defend myself. I don’t want to. I’ve given you everything. I’m done.”
Noah frowned, a thought coming to him, but then it left. Hans picked up on the silence and said, “Fran lawyered up. Clark Jager.”
Mallory shrugged. “You really want to put her in prison?”
“She killed at least one man.”
“Who deserved it.”
“Who didn’t have a trial. She’s scared.”
Mallory nodded. “She was always the weak link. But she’s not talking, because the only one she can turn on is me, and I’ve already given myself up. What more can I tell you?”
“Fran’s lawyer is threatening to pull the police records of every WCF staffer—and volunteer. Their argument is that if someone at WCF is involved, it’s not Fran Buckley, but one of her staff.”