The Prosecutor. Adrienne Giordano

      “Hi. I’m Emma Sinclair.”

      The receptionist smiled. “He’s expecting you. Come in.”

      Emma was ushered down the short, carpeted hallway to an office where a man sat at a metal-framed desk. The receptionist waved her in and the man stood up. He wore khaki pants and a long-sleeved golf shirt that stretched across his protruding belly. She guessed his age at about fifty, but she never was any good at figuring out a person’s age. His lips curved into a welcoming grin and the wrinkles around his eyes bunched. Nice smile. Emma returned the gesture. She’d come to appreciate someone smiling at the sister of a man convicted of murder. Even if that man were innocent, most people didn’t take the time to think of her feelings in that regard.

      “I’m Emma Sinclair. I believe Penny Hennings told you to expect me.”

      “Sure thing. I’m Glen. Glen Beckett. Have a seat.” He waved her over to one of the two chairs in front of the desk. “You know the date you’re looking for?”

      I sure do. “Yes. March 21st—two years ago. Not last March.”

      Glen swung to the computer and grabbed the mouse. Emma leaned forward. “On second thought, Glen, would you please wait one second? Someone is meeting me here and I don’t want to start without him. Let me make a quick call.”

      She dialed Penny, who picked up on the second ring. “He’s coming.”

      “Who?”

      “Zac.”

      “Really? Not an investigator?”

      “Zac’s court appearance was continued and my brother is no fool. If I’m requesting someone be with you, he knows I’m not playing games. My extremely smart brother wants to see for himself what evidence I’m going to hit him with.”

      The door behind Emma flew open and Zac Hennings, all wide shoulders and six-foot-plus of him, marched into the office. For reasons she didn’t understand herself, Emma stepped back. Zac certainly knew how to enter a room and command it.

      “He’s here.” Emma disconnected and shoved the phone in her jacket pocket. “Hi.”

      Zac nodded. “Emma.” He turned to Glen, held his hand out. “Zac Hennings. I’m an Assistant Cook County State’s Attorney.”

      “Holy...” Glen shot a look at Emma then went back to Zac.

      “I’m only here to authenticate the video if we find something.”

      “Oh,” Emma said. “We’ll find something. My brother said he walked Melody to her car and she drove him back to Magic.”

      Glen faced his computer again. “Then we should have it. The camera by the exit records all vehicles as they leave. Do you know what time?”

      “Somewhere around 12:30 a.m.”

      A few clicks later a video popped onto the screen. Emma jumped out of her seat and crashed into Zac, her shoulder nailing him right in the solar plexus as they both attempted to round the desk. He let out a whoosh of air and clasped both her arms to keep her from stumbling. Emma stared down at his hands—good strong hands that had to be capable of all sorts of things—and sucked in a breath.

      “Sorry!” she said. “So sorry. Are you okay?”

      “I’m fine.” He waved her through. “Go ahead. You’ll recognize him before I will.”

      She wedged herself between Zac and the desk and stood next to Glen, who scrolled through a video while checking the time stamp.

      “I can stop it around 12:25, if you want. Then you can watch it in slow motion.”

      “Thank you,” Emma said.

      Behind her, Zac inched up, his body not touching hers, but close enough that an awareness made it hard to focus. He had that way about him. Commanding, but reserved. Somehow she didn’t think Zac Hennings had to beat on his chest and holler in order to control a room. He had a sense of authority about him that completely unnerved her.

      She kind of liked that. Or maybe she was just lonely. Either way, she couldn’t think too much about it. Her loneliness depressed her and she had no interest in analyzing that fact. Or the fact that he was the prosecutor on her brother’s case. What a mess that would be. Allowing herself to want him darn near guaranteed another heartbreak.

      “Do we know what kind of car we’re looking for?” Glen asked.

      Emma stepped forward, adding space between her and hunky Zac Hennings. “It’s a Dodge Neon.”

      Zac nodded and three pairs of eyes focused on the screen. Three minutes later, Emma checked the time stamp again. 12:35. No Dodge Neon. No Melody. No Brian.

      Come on. Inside her shoe, she wiggled her toes. Her head pounded as the seconds ticked away. Please be there.

      “There it is!” Glen yelled.

      Emma brought her gaze to the car on the screen. The pounding in her head tripled and she squeezed her fingers into fists. This could be it.

      Zac leaned closer, his chest nudging Emma’s shoulder. “Can you slow this down?”

      Had they been anywhere else, she would have poked him with her elbow and given him the back-off-buddy look, but she refused to take her eyes off that screen.

      Glen tapped at the mouse and the car slowed to barely moving as it proceeded through the open gate.

      “Here we go. This should be it,” Emma said as two figures—one male and one female—came into view. As the car rolled forward, the camera finally captured their faces and—bang—there was her brother’s smiling face. Energy roared into her, made her a little lightheaded, and moisture filled her mouth. She swallowed once, twice. He’s there.

      “Freeze it,” she yelled before the car drove off screen. She turned to Zac. “That’s him. That’s Brian. And Melody.”

      “12:37,” he said. “Okay.”

      “Okay? Okay what?”

      Zac shrugged. “We have him on tape. This gets admitted into evidence.” He turned to Glen. “I’ll need a copy of this video.”

      Clearly, the prosecutor didn’t want to say another thing in front of Glen. Fine. She’d wait. At least until they got outside. Then they’d chat.

      “Make it two,” Emma said.

      * * *

      ZAC STEPPED ONTO THE sidewalk and contemplated jumping in front of the bus pulling up to the curb. His sister would go crazy over this video. Not only would she smell the blood, she’d swim faster to get to it.

      Emma had stayed on his heels on the way down to the building exit and parked herself in front of him. Forget the impending self-inflicted death.

      “12:37,” she said. “That proves where he was.”

      “Yes. At 12:37. Doesn’t necessarily help, though. We have the time of the murder narrowed to an hour. He could have done it after Melody dropped him back at the club.”

      She flapped her arms. “Oh, please. This is a guy who worried enough about his friend to walk her back to her car and then ride out of the garage with her. You think he goes from there to killing someone? It makes no sense.”

      The bus pulled away with a whoosh and left a batch of engine fumes to poison Zac’s lungs. Once again he contemplated the bus. Should have jumped. He looked back at Emma. “Nothing ever makes sense in my job. I go with the evidence. Tell me about the victim’s ex-boyfriend and the abuse.”

      Emma jerked her head back and stared up at him with those big brown eyes that made him think of liquid chocolate and all the things he liked to do with it. Now he’d have to figure out a way to get that thought out of his mind.

      “Yeah,” he said. “I know about that. I talked