misjudged the woman?
“We found evidence at the scene that implicates her son, James Colby, Jr.”
The name echoed inside Emily. She thought of the name on the letters. Surely he couldn’t be the same James Colby…
“I’d like you to tell me what you sent to the Colby Agency this morning. It may be relevant to your father’s case.”
This didn’t make sense. The letters were old. She hadn’t read the contents of any of them. There had been no reason to.
“I’m sorry, Detective,” she said, confusion and uncertainty reigning supreme. “I don’t understand what a handful of old letters has to do with my father’s murder.”
“Tell me about the letters,” he pressed.
Why hadn’t she looked at the letters? It had seemed like nothing at the time. How could it be significant to the investigation?
“I didn’t read them,” she explained, exasperated. “The postmark was nearly twenty years ago and they weren’t addressed to my father.”
“Who were they addressed to?”
“James Colby.”
Franko leaned back in his chair. “We’re going to need to execute a search warrant of your father’s home, Miss Hastings. Is that going to be a problem? Just so you know, we’ll be executing several.”
A search warrant? What would they expect to find in her father’s home? Would he be doing this same thing at the Colby Agency, too? No doubt.
“Of course it’s not a problem,” she said, her thoughts fragmenting as she tried to make sense of what all Franko’s questions meant. “But I don’t understand. You’re telling me that you have evidence that James Colby, Jr., had something to do with my father, and I get the impression that I’m a suspect, as well. What’s going on, Detective Franko?”
His gaze fixed on hers. “Right now, Miss Hastings, anyone connected to your father is a suspect.”
This was insane. She hadn’t even been to Chicago in years.
“As difficult as it is to say that to you, Emily,” Franko went on, “this is standard procedure. It’s not personal.”
She blinked, unable to rally a response. Her father was dead, for God’s sake. There was no way it could be anything but personal.
Her father had been murdered and she was suddenly a suspect. This couldn’t be right.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
VICTORIA SAT perfectly still, uncertain she could bear to hear what Lucas had to say. But it was, unfortunately, necessary. She couldn’t let this fester. The hurt twisted inside her, tearing apart all she’d ever believed in…all she’d managed to rebuild.
Lucas sat down in front of Victoria’s desk and heaved a weary sigh.
He’d wanted to discuss this at home, but she’d refused. She felt stronger here at the Agency. She needed that strength right now, that and more.
“Yes, I knew about Madelyn.”
Victoria’s eyes closed as the hurt squeezed her heart.
“But it wasn’t what you think—”
Her eyes snapped open. “Don’t even try to pardon what he did.” The words roared out of her with more strength than she could have imagined she possessed just now.
Lucas leaned forward, settling those caring gray eyes on her. “Victoria, I’m not pardoning anything. The truth is, I’m not certain there is anything to pardon.”
“I read the letters, Lucas!” How could he tiptoe around the issue? James Colby had had an affair. Pain stabbed deep all over again.
“That was a tough time for both of you,” Lucas reminded her, as if he’d needed to. “The strain on your marriage was immense. James needed someone to talk to. To my knowledge, that’s as far as the relationship went.”
“She was in love with him,” Victoria countered, the word relationship making her seethe.
Lucas nodded. “She probably was, but that doesn’t mean he was in love with her.”
Victoria held up her hands in an act of self-protection. “I can’t talk about this anymore.”
“Why don’t you let me have a look at the letters and I’ll try and get to the bottom of what really happened, if you’re certain that’s what you want.”
“No,” she said sharply. “I’ll do that myself. But there’s no time now. Our full attention has to be on Jim. It’s going to take both of us working together to get him through this.” Victoria closed her eyes again and tried to find a place of calm in her mind where she could think straight.
“We have to assume that they have some sort of evidence against Jim or they wouldn’t have been prepared to make an arrest,” Lucas offered.
That much was true. Thank God Zach had been able to get a jump on the detective in charge of the case, Detective Franko. Apparently under Zach’s legal eagle scrutiny, whatever Franko had hadn’t been sufficient to proceed against Jim just yet. But Jim’s arrest was imminent. They’d taken him in with the intent of pressing formal charges. After tangoing with Zach, the district attorney, rather than risk running into a double-jeopardy wall, had suggested that Franko hold off until his facts were further substantiated. But that had only bought Victoria a little time; it hadn’t actually changed anything.
She had seen the way the very men who just a few days ago had respected her agency had looked at her son. One of their own was dead, and they believed they had his killer. She knew exactly how hard they would work to prove their theory.
Jim was at the clinic undergoing a full evaluation. He would not be allowed to return home unless the doctors were confident that Tasha could keep him under control and under constant supervision.
Tears burned in Victoria’s eyes. She didn’t want to believe that any of the men or women she knew and respected in Chicago PD would harm her son. But right now, considering the current circumstances, she wasn’t sure she could say that.
When a cop died, the whole law enforcement community wanted justice. She could understand how they felt. She wanted justice for Carter Hastings, as well. But not if it meant railroading her son for a crime he surely could not have committed. Her son hadn’t even known Carter Hastings.
“We need to know what they’ve got,” Victoria agreed.
“Ashton will get that for us,” Lucas voiced his certainty on the matter.
He would, in time. But did they have time? That was the question. Could they sit around here like this and assume that the police—who were obviously less than objective on the matter since one of their own had been murdered—would conduct a thorough investigation? Or would the boys in blue simply go after what they considered the sure thing?
Victoria knew human nature, and human nature
