Cold Case in Cherokee Crossing. Rita Herron

his very soul. “But there had to be someone else,” she said. “Hank only confessed because he thought I stabbed Wade. I can’t let him go to the death chamber for protecting me.”

      Jaxon wanted to believe her, but there hadn’t been signs of anyone else at the house.

      And without evidence or proof of her story, there was no way to save her brother.

      * * *

      AVERY SENSED THE warden was not on her side. He’d obviously heard hundreds of inmates declare their innocence.

      Death row inmates in the last stages of their lives probably always made a last-minute plea of innocence.

      But she believed her brother and had to help him.

      Because the person who’d really killed Wade Mulligan had escaped.

      Her heart hammered.

      What if I did kill him?

      The thought struck Avery like a physical blow. Hank must have had a reason to think she did....

      He’d mentioned that she had a knife.... She didn’t remember that.

      Did she have blood on her hands?

      For a second panic seized her.

      What if she discovered she had stabbed Wade, and that she’d let her brother take the fall?

      Bile rose to her throat.

      “Avery, are you all right?”

      Sergeant Ward’s gruff voice made her jerk her head up. His deep brown eyes were studying her with an intensity that sent tingles along her nerve endings. It was almost as if he were trying to see inside her head, trying to read her soul.

      She felt naked. Vulnerable. Raw and exposed in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

      Because she’d just confessed about the abuse, which meant others would be asking questions. And if Hank’s case were reopened, she would have to go public with her statement.

      Shame mingled with nausea. Could she open herself up to that kind of publicity? Then everyone would know....

      “I’d like to talk to Hank myself.” Sergeant Ward turned to the warden. “Can I do that now?”

      The warden’s scowl cut Avery to the bone. “Sure. But you’re wasting your time. In all the years Tierney has been here, this is the first time he’s ever claimed innocence.”

      “What kind of prisoner has he been?” the Texas Ranger asked.

      The warden pulled up his record on his computer. “A loner. Kept to himself. Got into fights a lot when he first got here.” He scanned the notes. “Prison psychologist said he kept saying he was glad Mulligan was dead.”

      Avery’s chest ached with the effort to breathe. “Was he abused in prison?”

      The warden folded his hands on his desk. “Lady, this is a maximum-security facility. We do our best to protect the inmates, but we’ve got rapists, murderers, pedophiles and sociopaths inside these walls. They’re caged up like animals and have a lot of testosterone and pent-up rage.”

      Avery bit her lip. She’d heard horror stories of what happened to prisoners, especially young men. And Hank had only been a teenager when he was arrested. Not able to defend himself.

      “When he was sentenced, he was only fourteen.” Sergeant Ward said. “Why didn’t he receive psychiatric care and chance of parole?”

      Warden Unger grunted and looked back at the computer. “The prosecuting attorney showed pictures of the gruesome, bloody crime scene, a dozen stab wounds altogether. That was enough for the jury to see that Tierney was violent and dangerous enough to be locked away forever.”

      Avery rubbed her wrist, a reminder of her past.

      And how far she’d come.

      At least she thought she’d survived. But she’d been living a lie. Never moving forward.

      Ignoring her brother who’d fought and lied and risked his life to save her.

      The system had failed them by placing them with the Mulligans.

      Shouldn’t the fact that she and Hank were being abused have factored in to the court’s decision? Hadn’t anyone argued for Hank that he’d been protecting himself and her?

      * * *

      JAXON STOOD, BODY TAUT. Avery Tierney was obviously upset and struggling over her visit with her brother. Had Hank Tierney manufactured this story as a last-ditch effort to escape a lethal injection?

      Was he guilty?

      An uneasy feeling prickled at Jaxon’s skin. If Avery didn’t remember the details of the murder, could she have stabbed her foster father, then blocked out the stabbing?

      Damn. She’d only been a child. But if the man had been abusing her, and she’d fought, adrenaline could have surged enough for to fight the man and inflict a deadly stab wound.

      Not likely. But not impossible.

      The more believable scenario was the one the assistant district attorney had gone with when they’d prosecuted Tierney. They had concrete evidence, blood all over the boy and his hands, and those damning crime photos. For God’s sake, Hank was holding the murder weapon and had admitted to stabbing Mulligan.

      And Hank and Avery were the only two people in the house at the time.

      “Talk to Hank and you’ll see that he’s telling the truth,” Avery said. “Please, Sergeant, help me save him.”

      Man, that sweet voice of hers made him want to say yes. And those soulful, pain-filled eyes made him want to wipe away all her sorrow.

      But he might not be able to do that. Not if Hank were guilty.

      Avery touched his hand, though, and a warmth spread through him, a tingling awareness that sent a streak of electricity through his body.

      And an awareness that should have raised red flags. She was a desperate woman. A woman in need.

      A woman with a troubled past who might be lying just to save her brother.

      He’d fallen into that trap before and almost gotten killed because of it. He’d vowed never to make that mistake again.

      But the facts about the case bugged him. Considering the circumstances, the kid should have been given some leniency. Offered parole. He’d been fourteen. A kid trying to protect his sister.

      Unless those circumstances hadn’t been presented to the jury.

      But why hadn’t they?

      His boss would know. But hell, Landers wanted Hank Tierney to be executed.

      Because he believed Hank was a cold-blooded killer?

      Or because he’d made a mistake and didn’t want it exposed?

Chapter Three

      Jaxon tried to reserve judgment on Hank Tierney as a guard escorted the inmate into the visitors’ room, shackled and chained. Hank’s shaved head, the scars on his arms and the angry glint in his eyes reeked of life on the inside.

      A question flashed in Tierney’s eyes when he spotted Jaxon seated at the table.

      “Hello, Mr. Tierney, my name is Sergeant Jaxon Ward.”

      The man’s thick eyebrows climbed. “What do you want?”

      “To talk to you, Hank. I can call you Hank, can’t I?”

      The man hesitated, then seemed to think better of it and nodded. For a brief second, Jaxon glimpsed the vulnerability behind the tough exterior. But resignation, acceptance and defeat seemed to weigh down his body.

      “I