The Prosecutor. Adrienne Giordano

edge.

      “I do realize that. My concern is why I didn’t know about this receipt and what other information I might not know about. I’d like a copy of the receipt.”

      He remained silent, his gaze on hers, measuring, waiting for her to cower.

      “Zac, I’m happy to call Penny and make her aware of it. I’m sure you realize that all evidence must be shared with the defense.” For kicks, she grinned at him.

      He sat forward, his elbows propped on the desk, all Mr. I-won’t-be-taken-down-by-a-law-student. “You and my sister will get along great.”

      “Excellent. I’d like the receipt, please.”

      “Sure.” He pointed at the open box on his desk. “It’s probably in here.”

      Slowly, she turned toward a brown banker’s box sitting on the desk. The lid was off, but nowhere in sight.

      One box.

      A small box at that.

      “Those are my brother’s files?” She surveyed the office. “Where are the rest of them?”

      Zac stood, his tall frame looming over the desk, his focus on the files. “We’ll start with this one.”

      A niggling panic curled in Emma’s stomach. “Tell me there’s more than this. Tell me my brother wasn’t convicted of murder based on half a box of files.”

      The prosecutor wouldn’t look at her. Not even a glance. He busied himself sifting through the box. Her brother’s freedom rested on the contents of one minuscule box. How dare they. Eighteen months of keeping Brian from descending into emotional hell, eighteen months of her digging in, eighteen months of begging anyone who’d listen for help—it all bubbled inside. Emma locked her jaw and gutted her way through an explosion of anger that singed her. Just burned her alive from inside. These people were so callous.

      She grasped the upper part of the box and yanked it toward her. Finally, he looked at her and if his eyes were a bit hard and unyielding, well, too bad. “Tell me there’s more.” But darn it, her voice cracked. Emma Sinclair wasn’t so tough.

      He continued to stare, but something flicked in his blue eyes and softened them. “Right now, this is all I have. There’s more. On a six-month investigation, there has to be more.”

      “Where is it?”

      He propped his hands on his hips and shook his head. Emma folded her arms and waited. She wanted to know where those files were.

      “Emma, I’m not about to go into court without every scrap of evidence from the first trial. A young woman is dead and I want her killer locked up, but if your brother is innocent, I’ll be the first one to say so.”

      Brief silence filled the room. He hadn’t answered her question about the whereabouts of the rest of the files. She could argue, kick up a fuss about the injustice of it all, but what was the point? All she’d do was alienate the man responsible for keeping her brother in prison. That didn’t seem like a class-A plan.

      Plus, for some reason, she believed him. Maybe it was his eyes and the way they snapped from hard to sparkly or the way his confidence displayed strength and a willingness to fight, but above all, Zac Hennings screamed of honor and truth.

      Emma imagined that not much rattled him and she suddenly had a keen desire to see him in action, in front of a judge and jury, arguing his cases. Maybe she’d make a research trip to the courthouse and size up the enemy. She’d always believed there were multiple ways to win any brawl. Pinpointing her opponent’s strengths—and weaknesses—was one of them.

      Yes, a trip to the courthouse was definitely in her near future.

      She shoved the box back at him. “I still want a copy of that receipt. If you don’t have it, I’ll have Melody call her credit card company. Either way, I’m getting that receipt.”

      After a long stare, one where the side of his mouth tugged into a brief smile, he dug through the box and pulled out a thick manila envelope. “I should advise you that I’ll have everything copied and sent to Penny’s office. That’s what I should do.”

      “But you’re not going to?”

      “No. And it’s highly improper. The receipt you want is probably in this envelope. I’ll go through it with you. Document everything. That’s the best I can do.”

      * * *

      THERE WAS NO DAMN RECEIPT. Zac sat back and watched cute, pain-in-the-butt Emma Sinclair sift through the last stack of papers from the banker’s box. They’d gone through the whole box—not that there was much of it—and nothing.

      What was it with this case? He’d barely started and already everything felt...off.

      Emma restacked the pages she’d just gone through and shoved them back into the envelope. “No receipt.”

      “I’ll look into it. Right now, in fact.” He picked up his phone and dialed Area 2 headquarters to speak with John Cutler, one of the detectives who had investigated the case. This guy was legendary in Cook County. The cops often joked that he could squeeze a confession out of a brick. Problem was, some of those confessions got recanted. In this particular case, Brian Sinclair had never confessed. Detectives had kept him in an interview room—some would call it an interrogation room, but cops didn’t like to use that term—and questioned him for more than a day, never letting him rest, never letting him eat and never hearing a confession.

      Then the first of his four public defenders showed up. From what Zac remembered, one PD died—died for God’s sake—one got fired, the third quit and finally, Brian Sinclair wound up with Alex Belson, an attorney Zac had faced in court many times and had no problems with. Some of the PDs were tough, never willing to stipulate to anything. Belson, though, was reasonable. Zac could call him up, talk about a case and they’d hammer out a deal to take to the judge. He never minded calls with Alex.

      Zac was not a fan of Detective Cutler, however. His tactics were too rogue. Any confession pried free by Cutler always received extra scrutiny. Zac wasn’t about to head into court and have the confession thrown out because the suspect’s rights had been violated. No. Chance.

      He waited on hold for Cutler. Emma sat across from him, her back straight and her dark eyes focused. Maybe her shoulder-length brown hair was rumpled from her fingers rifling through it, but otherwise, she was all business, and he pretty much assumed she wouldn’t leave until he gave her something. And a dinner invitation probably wouldn’t do it.

      As a man who liked a challenge, he appreciated her ferocity. Her determination to find justice in a case that had more turns than a scenic drive. It didn’t hurt that he found her easy on the eyes. Not in a flashy, made-up way, like a lot of the women he’d dated. Why he went for those women was no mystery and it was definitely nothing deep. Guys were guys and Zac supposed most enjoyed the company, among other things, of a beautiful woman.

      Emma was different. She had a no-frills, natural beauty that left his chest a little tight and if she’d been anyone else, just an average woman he’d met, he’d have asked her out. Plain and simple.

      Judging by the intensity of her beautiful brown eyes, she wanted to skin him.

      The receptionist came back on the line and informed him that the detective was out. Of course he was.

      “Thanks,” Zac said. “Have him call me ASAP.” He rattled off his work cell phone number and disconnected the call. “He’s on a case,” Zac told Emma.

      She nodded then stood. “Obviously, Penny will need a copy of everything in this box.”

      She turned to leave, her body stiff and distant, and something pulled Zac out of his chair. Damned if he’d let her leave like this. Why he cared, he didn’t know, but he did—massively. He hustled around the desk. “Emma, look, I don’t know what’s going on with the case files, but I’ll figure it out. One way or another, I’ll figure it