Irrefutable Evidence (22 page)

“They’re FBI!” Connelly shouted. The wind carried his voice away but she could tell from reading his lips what he said. She nodded to indicate understanding. And then because it seemed prudent, she dropped the dead guy’s arms and raised her hands toward the sky.

Over the ocean, long low flashes of lightening crashed just above the foamy whitecaps.

Sasha shivered.

The man reached them a step and a half ahead of the woman.

“FBI,” he announced.

“How’d you get here? I thought the roads in are closed?” Connelly yelled.

“They are,” the female agent confirmed. She cut her eyes toward her colleague. “But the shoulder isn’t. I’m Javon. He’s Brenner.”

“Nice driving. Any idea who this dirtbag is?” Connelly asked. He nudged the corpse with the toe of his shoe.

“That
was
my former partner. Nino Carlucci. He killed Yim. And you two were next,” Brenner said.

“We figured out that last part,” Sasha said.

“We got stuck up north yesterday afternoon when the roads washed out. And I guess the tracker Carlucci put on your car got swept away by the storms because we found it stuck up under a fence at the turn off from North Croatan Highway,” Javon explained.

“Tracker? Like a GPS box?” Connelly asked.

“Right. That’s how Carlucci followed you.”

“Well, if the GPS isn’t under the car, how’d you find us?” Sasha asked.

“Your friend Hank figured this is where you’d head.”

She considered that for a moment. Hank must have remembered the same conversation with Will that she’d recalled. She turned her attention back to the more pressing question. “How’d
he
find us?” Sasha jerked her head toward Carlucci’s body.

“Your guess is as good as mine. He must have gone house by house looking for you. He had good instincts. He was a good agent. Until he wasn’t.” Brenner cleared his throat.

Everyone looked away for a moment.

Agent Javon broke the silence. “Are either of you injured?”

“We’re fine.” Whatever bumps and bruises she had, she’d deal with them on her own. Sasha’s use for the FBI was limited, at best.

“Let’s get you two inside, okay? Agent Brenner will secure the scene. Come on.” The woman gestured over her shoulder.

Sasha lowered her hands and trailed the woman up the stairs to the bi-level deck and through the balcony door.

Connelly clomped along behind her and closed the door. Javon grabbed two cotton blankets and threw them over Sasha and Connelly’s shoulders. Sasha squeezed the excess water out of her wet hair and tried to will herself to stop shaking.

“What happened out there?” the agent asked.

Sasha opened her mouth to explain but more than a decade of practicing law took over. “I’m invoking my Fifth Amendment right to remain silent, Agent Javon. And so is he,” she added, tilted her head toward Connelly.

Connelly stood mutely in the doorway and stared at her. Behind him, the ocean swirled and crashed and lightening crackled just above the surface of the water.

The atmosphere inside the house was suddenly as electrically charged as the air outside. After a long pause, Agent Javon grinned. “Well, this is going to be a Christmas to remember, isn’t it? By the way, you can call me Trinka.”

Sasha smiled tightly. She didn’t plan to call her anything.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-FOUR

Early January

Sasha’s desk phone lit up and Caroline’s polished voice came over the intercom, breaking the silence of the office, which seemed unusually quiet since Will had banned holiday music on the first of the year.

“Sasha, there’s a Charlotte Cashion here to see you. Were you expecting her?”

Sasha let the legal journal she’d been reading fall to the desk. No, she wasn’t expecting Charlotte. She hadn’t heard from the U. S. Attorney’s Office since her return from the Outer Banks. But she’d known this day would come. It wasn’t as if she could kill a federal agent and blithely go about her business as if nothing had happened. She pressed her finger down on the speaker button and considered her answer.

“Go ahead and send her back. Thanks, Caroline.”

Her stomach tightened like a fist. Her pulse thrummed. Her heart raced. Her face felt flushed.

Get a grip,
she told herself.

She stood up quickly and entered tree pose. A minute of yoga might help to get her emotions under control. It couldn’t hurt. She pressed her palms together and closed her eyes, focusing on the in-and-out rhythm of her breath. Her heartbeat slowed to something less than a gallop. The heat drained from her cheeks.

Ah.
If Charlotte was coming here to tell her the Justice Department had decided to charge her in connection with Nino Carlucci’s death, the least she would do was face the news calmly. She opened her eyes when she heard Caroline’s heels clicking against the floor outside.

Caroline tapped on the door and then pushed it open to usher Charlotte inside.

“Can I bring you some coffee?” Caroline asked, hovering in the doorway.

“Nothing for me, thank you,” Charlotte said with a polite smile as she unwound her cashmere scarf and unbuttoned her wool coat.

Caroline reached out her arms to accept the coat then looked at Sasha. “What about you? Jake has Steel City back in the rotation.”

Sasha shook her head. The way her stomach was jumping, the last thing she needed was caffeine—even Pete and Tamsin’s low-acid blend gave her a stomach ache. “No, thanks, Caroline. But I’d kill for a glass of ice water.”

Sasha’s unflappable receptionist nodded and backed out into the hallway. Before she pulled the door closed, she gave Sasha a pointed look and raised one eyebrow—whether at the news that Sasha had just turned down a cup of coffee or at the truly unfortunate turn of phrase, Sasha couldn’t tell. She was too busy wishing the floor would open up and devour her to give it much more thought.
Kill for a glass of ice water—way to go, brainiac.

If Charlotte was taken aback, she covered it nicely. “It’s good to see you,” she cooed, leaning in for what Sasha thought was a handshake.

But as she stuck out her right hand, Charlotte grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her an awkward hug.

“You’re looking well,” Sasha said, disengaging herself. It was true. Charlotte looked well-rested and sun-kissed, as if she’d treated herself to a mini-vacation.

“Spa day,” Charlotte chirped. “You should sneak one in. You’ll be amazed at how rejuvenated you feel afterward. I recommend Nemacolin Woodlands, personally.”

Sasha assumed that was socialite code for
‘Thanks, you, on the other hand, look like death warmed over.’
She forced her mouth into the approximate shape of a smile. “Noted. So, what brings you here?” she asked, unwilling to continue dancing around the issue of her impending arrest.

“May I?” Charlotte asked as she lowered herself into one of the guest chairs.

“Uh, sure. Of course. How rude of me.” Sasha plopped herself into the chair across from Charlotte’s and decided to wait out the prosecutor.

Charlotte opened her mouth as if she were about to speak, but Caroline choose that exact moment to return with the ice water. Charlotte snapped her mouth shut. Sasha thanked Caroline quietly and took a sip of the water, appraising her old classmate over the rim of the glass. She didn’t look like someone who came bearing bad news, but then, most assistant U.S. attorneys had decent game faces. One wouldn’t last long as a prosecutor without the ability to bluff.

Finally, Charlotte coughed into her fist. When she spoke, her voice was low and steady. “I just wanted to tell you in person that the grand jury heard evidence about your role in Nino Carlucci’s death today. They returned a no true bill. It took them all of six minutes to vote. And from what I understand it only took that long because they got sidetracked into a discussion of giving you a medal.” She smiled wryly.

“Wait,” Sasha said, as her brain tried to keep up. “There was a grand jury proceeding? And they came back with no true bill? They voted not to indict me?”

“Right. But, sadly, they don’t have the power to award a medal. Sorry.”

Sasha felt dazed. “How could they consider the evidence and not indict? I killed a federal agent, Charlotte.”

“Correction: you killed a rogue agent with one grizzly murder under his belt who had stalked you and your husband through four states with the intent of shooting you. He attacked you, and you defended yourself. The crime scene supports the statement you provided through Will. You and Carlucci struggled, you gained the upper hand; and then kicked him with sufficient force that he broke through the railing and fell to his death.” Charlotte’s voice suggested she didn’t fully believe the crime scene evidence but that she’d made her peace with it. “They made the right call. For what it’s worth, I don’t think my office should have even convened a grand jury, but everyone wants to be squeaky clean so Carlucci’s death doesn’t overshadow the Manetto trials.”

Sasha blinked. “You’re going forward with the arson-for-profit and the RICO prosecution?”

“Of course. I’m also adding charges stemming from Laura Yim’s death. Our legal interns have done the research, and I think we’re on solid ground to impute Carlucci’s actions to his co-conspirators. He clearly wasn’t acting as a federal agent when he murdered a witness.”

For all her honeyed sophistication, Sasha’s old classmate had a spine of solid steel.

“Well, I hope you nail all their hides to the wall,” Sasha said. “I’m relieved, obviously, about the grand jury’s decision. No, relieved isn’t the right word—I’m beyond relieved. But I can’t imagine I’ll be the most credible witness for you at trial considering … the circumstances.” The version of events she’d given in her statement happened to be true, but she recognized it strained credulity.

Charlotte waved off the concern. “I’m not going to need to call you. These guys are falling all over themselves to testify in exchange for a deal?”

“What? What about the blood oath or whatever?”

“You watch too many movies. Only the dinosaurs believe in
omertà.
The people inside at Mid-Atlantic? They couldn’t wait to start talking. And the fire inspector’s main concern is keeping his public pension. He turned over his personal diaries going back a decade.”

“Oh. What about … me? Am I safe?”

“You’re not even on their radar. They’d probably thank you if you were. You took care of Carlucci for them.”

She blinked at the unexpected news. “Oh. Okay. Then I guess I should offer my congratulations. It sounds like this case is going to go really well for you. You deserve it.”

Charlotte leaned forward. “I really don’t feel as if I earned it. You dropped Laura Yim in my lap. And then you stepped in when she went missing. So I just wanted to come here in person to thank you and let you know we won’t be pressing charges.” She stood. “I hope the new year treats you well, Sasha. Many blessings and new beginnings for you and your husband.”

Sasha was touched by the sentiment and, to her surprise, her eyes grew moist. By the time she tamped down her emotions and found her voice, Charlotte was halfway out the door.

She steadied her hand and took another sip of water. For the first time since Christmas Day, she allowed herself to imagine her future.

CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE

Two weeks later

When Sasha and Connelly walked through the doors of Steel City Roasters’ new space, Tamsin clapped her hands with glee and Pete swooped in for a hug. He picked up Sasha and swung her around in a circle. Her head spun and, when he deposited her back on solid ground, she was woozy—as if she’d just been on an amusement park ride.

Connelly cocked his head and wrinkled his brow in concern. “You okay? You look a little green,” he whispered.

She felt a little green. But that had become her new normal. She’d been queasy and shaky for weeks now, ever since the trip to the Outer Banks. She knew it was worrying him. Truth be told, she was more than a little worried herself. She’d thought she’d feel better after the grand jury decided not to indict her, but—if anything—she’d begun to feel even worse. She’d finally gotten so sick and tired of feeling sick and tired that she’d carved out time earlier in the week for an unheard-of visit to her doctor.

“I’m okay. I just need some water.” She gave Connelly’s arm a reassuring squeeze.

Pete overheard her and reared back in mock horror. “Water? Nonsense. You’ll have a cup of our newest roast—Southside Smoothside. It’s another low-acid roast. Nice caramel tones, full-bodied but not aggressive. You’re going to love it.”

Tamsin was already walking toward her cradling a small steaming mug in her hands. Connelly stepped back with an amused grin.

He’d questioned the wisdom of stopping by the Maravaches’ grand reopening party given the state of her stomach, but she’d insisted. She wasn’t about to let some stomach bug interfere with the favorite clients’ celebration of their expanded operations.

“Thanks,” she said weakly as Tamsin thrust the mug into her hands.

Pete looked on expectantly, ignoring his other guests and waiting for her reaction.

She raised the mug to her lips, inhaled the robust, earthy smell of her favorite substance on Earth and … her stomach lurched. Sweat beaded at her hairline. Her throat closed.

“Oh, no,” she groaned. She pressed the cup into Connelly’s hands and covered her mouth with her hand. She ran past Tamsin and Pete, who appeared to have realized what was about to happen because he pulled open one of the doors in the hallway and ushered her inside a small bathroom.

She pulled the door shut behind her and barely made it to the toilet before her dinner came back up.

After she rinsed her mouth and splashed water on her face, she checked herself in the mirror.

“Classy,” she said to her reflection.

“Sasha?” Connelly’s tentative voice called through the door. “Are you all right in there?”

“You mean other than mortified? Yeah, sure. I’m peachy.” She smoothed her hair into place.

“Pete and Tamsin are worried about you.”

“I’ll be right out,” she said. She stopped to pick up her purse, which she’d tossed to the floor in her hasty race for the toilet. As she lifted the bag, her cell phone began to ring from within its depths. She dug through the accumulated stuff with still shaking fingers and located the phone.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Connelly?”

“Uh, sure, why not.”

“Excuse me? Is this Sasha Connelly?” a puzzled female voice pressed.

“It’s Sasha McCandless-Connelly, actually, but, yes, that’s me.”

“Oh, okay. I’m calling from Doctor Sullivan’s office with results of your bloodwork.”

Sasha gripped the edge of the sink with her free hand and waited for the bad news—she wondered what sort of ailment she’d contracted that caused fatigue, nausea, insomnia, dizziness, and, inexplicably, extreme hunger. She bet it was something exotic. Hopefully curable. She inhaled deeply. “Okay, give it me straight. What do I have?”

The young woman on the other end of the phone laughed then coughed quickly as if to cover it. “Congratulations. According to your blood tests, you’re expecting.”

Expecting? Expecting
what?
She stood there for a moment, one hand on the sink, one hand on the phone, until her brain caught up.

“I’m pregnant?”

“Yes. Based on the levels of human growth hormone in your blood, you’re probably about six weeks along. You should call your ob/gyn and schedule an appointment. Let us know who you’re seeing and we’ll send over your lab work. In the meantime, start taking those prenatal vitamins!” the girl chirped in her ear.

Sasha mumbled a goodbye and dropped the phone back into her bag. Her entire body was numb. She walked to the door and pulled it open. Connelly was leaning against the opposite wall.

“Sasha?” he asked. “You look worse than you did when you went in there.”

She shook her head, still dazed. “We’re pregnant.”

“We’re … what?”

“Pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.”

Excitement and wonder bubbled up through her disbelief. Connelly must have been feeling something similar because he whooped like a little boy and grabbed her around the waist, swinging her in the air. Like clockwork, her stomach turned.

Here we go again.

She kept her mouth clamped shut and pounded on his shoulders with her fists, hoping he’d get the message and put her down.

“Oh, sorry. I’m so sorry.” He put her down gently but very quickly.

“It’s okay. I love you!” she shouted over her shoulder as she raced back into the bathroom.