Touch Of The White Tiger. Julie Beard

a relative and a producer at WFFY-TV. If you’re going to walk my sister, then you’re going to have to walk me, too.”

      The officer nodded and we moved ahead. Hank held out an arm, forcing the reporters to keep their distance.

      “Back off!” he shouted. “Come on, give us a break. You got your voice-overs, now go on back to your vans.”

      Finally, we gained some distance from the news crews. Hank explained that was because they needed some wide shots to intersperse with the close-ups they’d already recorded, not because the reporters were having mercy on us. Accepting the bizarre fact that we were now both newsworthy, Hank placed his arm around my shoulder and held me close. I leaned into him, fighting tears. He was my kid brother and he’d rescued me. He’d fended off his own colleagues to protect me.

      “Thanks, pal,” I said with emotion. “I owe you.”

      “Everything’s going to be okay, Angel,” he reassured me. “I called Mom and Dad when I heard the story on the police scanners. They’re waiting for you in the processing center. They’re working on getting you a lawyer. Maybe Jack Berkowitz, he’s one of the best.”

      “Okay.” I wasn’t going to turn down legal help a second time, although I didn’t like having to trouble Henry and Sydney for it. They were the Evanston couple who’d rescued me from two years of hell in an abusive foster home after Lola had gone to prison for bookmaking. The Bassetts were well-to-do, educated and had completely accepted me into their family. At times like this, I didn’t feel worthy of their unconditional love.

      I hated having to face Henry after embarrassing him like this, and I worried that he’d taken the news of Victor’s death very hard. My fears were confirmed when I entered the family conference room on the third floor of the criminal processing center.

      Henry sat at the table, looking older than his sixty-five years. His silver hair was not quite in place and shadows lined his cheeks down to his Vandyke. Sydney sat by his side, looking lovely as usual, with her frosted hair pulled back in a bun and the best makeup money could buy, which made her look as if she wore none, except for the coral pink on her quick-to-smile lips.

      She was the first to see me, and the look of worry and relief that washed over her about broke my heart.

      “Angel!”

      “Sydney,” I said. We hugged tightly. I inhaled her Armand Gervais perfume and the comfort it brought me made my eyes puddle up. “Thank you for coming.”

      She patted my back, then gripped my forearms and regarded me fiercely with her pastel blue eyes. “We’re here for you, Angel. One hundred percent.”

      I nodded but was unable to find the words to express my gratitude. I glanced over at Henry. He hadn’t budged. He still sat, his tall, lanky frame sprouting from the small chair.

      “Henry?” I said, but he didn’t respond.

      My heart started pounding. I could take just about anything—a bullet, murder charges, even a guilty verdict—but I couldn’t bear Henry’s disapproval. I walked slowly forward and sat across the table from him, searching his face for forgiveness, just as I had when I was a child reporting for punishment.

      My foster sister, Gigi, would always start the trouble, but when Henry demanded to know who was at fault, I was invariably the one who would break the stalemate with a false confession. Henry would look at me doubtfully and ask me if I was really to blame. Yes, I’d insist, but please don’t send me away. Never, Henry would reply. Then he’d create some chore as penance and send me on my way with a wink. Gigi would be happy and that meant Sydney was happy. Little Hank would call me a sucker, but he was on my side. Yes, I could take anything but Henry’s rejection.

      “Henry,” I said, willing my voice not to shake, “please look at me.”

      When he finally did, I winced at the sadness I saw.

      “I’m sorry, Henry. I’m sorry I had to drag you into this.”

      “Victor…” His voice faded and he shook his head.

      “Yes, Victor was killed. It’s a horrible tragedy. Have you talked to his father?”

      Henry nodded, then looked at me in a way that turned my blood cold—as if I were a stranger. “Did you do it, Angel?”

      All breath vanished from my lungs. How could he even think such a thing? “Did I do it?” I repeated incredulously.

      He leaned forward. “I know what you do for a living. It’s a risky business. Did you have a contract out on Victor?”

      “Christ, Henry!” I shouted at him, which was a first. I pounded the table three times with my fist until I was sure it was bruised. “Christ! I can’t believe you just said that. You make it sound like I’m an assassin. I didn’t shoot Victor! I’ve never killed anyone. Henry, please! Sydney, tell him!”

      “Calm down, Angel,” Sydney crooned.

      He nodded and leaned back, his face regaining some color. “Of course you didn’t.”

      I turned my head away from him so he wouldn’t see me struggle with tears. The one thing I’d had to see me through my trying life was Henry’s faith in me. Now even that was gone.

      “You and I know you’re innocent,” Henry said, the numbness fading from his voice. “But the police think you are guilty.”

      “I’ve been set up for a fall,” I said in a low voice, sniffing and turning back to my foster parents. It was time to get down to business. “You know I have lots of enemies. Roy Leibman called me and asked for help, but someone has erased all traces of his call from my phone records. If I can find out who did it and why, I’ll be able to prove my innocence. But I need to get out of here so I can investigate.”

      “Of course,” Sydney said. “We’ve already made arrangements to post bail and have retained the Levy and Berkowitz law firm.”

      My jaws tightened like rubber bands stretched to the breaking point. “How much?”

      Sydney blinked several times, then said quietly, “Ten million for bail and ten million for the retainer fee.”

      I choked out an incoherent reply. “You don’t have that kind of spare change, Sydney.”

      “We’re going to mortgage the house,” Henry said.

      I blanched. “I won’t let you do that. It’s absurd. I should be released on my own recognizance. And what kind of lawyer would ask for that much money?”

      “A very good lawyer,” Henry replied sternly. “A lawyer who is risking his reputation taking the side of a retributionist in such a high-profile case.”

      Humbled, I nodded. Henry continued.

      “I talked to the mayor and gave him my word you wouldn’t jump bail. So he put in a call to the judge handling the case. The judge threw out Lieutenant Townsend’s decision to override the D.I.V.A.S. test results. If I wasn’t a close friend of Mayor Alvarez, you wouldn’t have gotten bail even if we had a billion dollars. He’s in pain, but he knows I’m in pain, too. And he wants you to have a fair trial, even though he thinks you’re guilty. Just be grateful it worked out this way.”

      My shoulders slumped, and I pressed a hand to my nauseous stomach. Henry had really gone out on a limb for me. But at what price? Henry was a former television news director and college journalism dean who had always told us that his only retirement fund was the house, a beautiful lakefront mansion. If he lost that because of me…

      “Don’t worry,” Sydney insisted, reading my thoughts, and smiled. “We know you’re good for it.”

      “But you’ve got to clear your name, Angel,” Henry said. “Don’t let us down.”

      Don’t let us down. At least I was home. I hadn’t let Lin down. Not yet, anyway. I had to prove my innocence. Sure, I wanted to clear