He lifted his gaze to hers. She recoiled at the wounded look in his eyes.

Nodding, he said, “Two policemen came to the door and said they needed to talk to me at the police station. They wanted me to go in their car, but Dad drove me instead.”

Many people would have been interviewed on Saturday and Sunday as the police sorted suspects from witnesses.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“I thought it was fine.” His brows lowered. “I guess I was wrong.”

“Did they advise you of your Miranda rights?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Miranda rights were generally read to suspects, not witnesses. They’d zeroed in on Nick almost immediately. By itself, that wasn’t alarming. But a search warrant required the police to establish probable cause, so the police must have had more than just a hunch that Nick was guilty. The probable cause affidavit wasn’t attached to the search warrant. Sometimes, to expedite the search, a judge signs the warrant with the understanding that the affidavit will be attached within twenty-four hours.

But Morgan would have liked to have known the extent of the evidence right now.

“Did you understand that you could have had an attorney with you while they asked you questions?” Morgan asked.

“Yes,” he said. “But I didn’t think I needed one. I wanted to cooperate. I want them to find who . . .” His eyes filled with moisture, but he blinked back his tears. “I want them to find whoever did that to Tessa.”

“What were the names of the officers who asked you questions?” she asked.

“Police Chief Horner asked all the questions,” Nick said. “But the detective in the living room was there too.”

So, Stella must have been pulled from the case because she knew the primary suspect: Nick.

“Do not say anything else without a lawyer,” she said.

“I didn’t do anything. How could they think . . . ?” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“Nick, I want you to promise me you will not answer any more questions from the police without an attorney present. It’s important.”

“Yeah. I get that now.” He raised his eyes. “And letting them swab my mouth was probably dumb too. But I honestly didn’t think I had anything to worry about. I couldn’t ever have hurt Tessa.” A tear slid from his eye. He wiped it away with an angry swipe of his hand.

A sick feeling settled in Morgan’s belly. They’d swabbed Nick for DNA on Saturday.

How much evidence did the police have?

Guilt swamped Morgan. She’d been hiding under a metaphorical rock for the past few days. She’d known the police would bring Nick in for questioning. Why hadn’t she asked him about his interview?

“Can we go outside?” Morgan asked the officer babysitting Nick. “We’re probably in the way.”

He nodded and stepped back so she, Bud, and Nick could pass. The cop followed them, sticking close to Nick. Out on the front lawn, the situation didn’t improve. Another police car had arrived, and two officers were searching the exterior of the property.

Nick balled his hand into a fist, and his posture stiffened. He looked like he was working hard not to cry. Maybe she should have kept him inside, but watching the police search your home was bound to be upsetting.

“It’s going to be OK, Nick.” Bud’s voice was calm.

Nick shook his head. They waited as the policemen walked the grounds, stopping periodically to squat and inspect the grass. Morgan’s heart broke at his distress. Usually, he was an easygoing kid.

The officers rounded the house and disappeared from view. Bud paced, Morgan leaned on a tree, and Nick stood stock-still in the center of the lawn. Twenty minutes passed.

“Brody!” an officer came running from the side of the house.

Brody exited the house and rounded the building. A few minutes later, he walked back toward them. His eyes were grim. His gaze flickered to Morgan. Clearly, he didn’t want to do whatever was next.

Brody stopped in front of Nick. “Nick Zabrowski, you are under arrest for the murder of Tessa Palmer.”

Nick’s body shook. His face went white, and his mouth dropped open. “No.”

A uniformed officer stepped forward, handcuffs out and ready. “Turn around. Put your hands behind your head. Interlace your fingers.”

Instead of complying, Nick backed away. “No. This can’t be right. I would never hurt Tessa. I didn’t do anything.”

“Give him a minute,” Bud said.

“Turn around.” The cop reached for Nick’s arm.

The cop’s hand touched Nick’s bicep, and his body jerked, his legs tangling as he turned to flee.

The uniform tackled him, taking Nick to the ground facedown and straddling his back.

“Stop! Get off me,” Nick screamed into the grass, terrified.

Despair welled in Morgan’s throat as tears burned her eyes.

“Nick, try to calm down,” she said. “Fighting them will only make the situation worse. If you can be quiet and cooperate, this will be easier for you.”

Nick went still, but they all knew that nothing about what was going to happen to him next would be easy.

Chapter Nine

What the hell?

Lance parked at the curb in front of Morgan’s house. Across the street, four police cars were parked in Nick’s driveway. A news van had arrived. A reporter and her cameraman scurried up the grass like rats with microphones.

In the center of the front lawn, a cop knelt on a man on the ground. Another man in a red shirt was lunging at the pair on the grass. Nick’s dad? Morgan stood in front of him, holding him back with both hands on his chest.

The reporter shook out her hair, lifted her mic, and checked her lipstick in the lens of the camera. The cop on the ground jerked the handcuffed man to his feet.

Shit. That was Nick.

The scene came together in one, horrible rush.

Nick was being arrested for Tessa’s murder.

The young man stopped struggling. His body went stiff, his face completely impassive, as if he’d simply shut down.

Lance got out of the car. He was not getting involved in Tessa Palmer’s case, and Morgan shouldn’t either. The DA wouldn’t be happy to find her at the prime suspect’s house.

“Nooo!” A high-pitched yell came from behind him. Lance spun. Sophie came flying off the front step, with Gianna at her heels.

“Sophie, get back here!” Gianna shouted.

The little girl’s face was a mask of panic and rage. Lance darted left and intercepted her with an arm around her middle.

“No!” she howled. “They’re hurting Nick. Make them stop!”

Lance swung her into his arms and hugged her close to his chest, trying to turn her face away from the scene. Not that it would help at this point. She’d obviously already seen the worst part.

Tiny fists pounded on his chest. “Dowwwn!”

“Shh.” Holding tight, he rubbed her back. “It’s going to be all right.”

The reporter pointed at Lance, and the cameraman swung around to aim the camera at him. He shifted Sophie to shield her from the camera’s view with his body.

Across the street, Morgan’s face was sheer devastation as a stiff-legged Nick was dragged toward a police car and put into the back. The cameraman went back to filming Nick. Morgan released her grip on the man in red. He slumped, wiping a hand across his face, and nodding blindly at whatever she was saying to him.

Lance carried Sophie inside.

“I’m sorry.” Gianna held out her arms.

“Hold tight.” Lance bent to hand her over. Sophie’s spindly arms and legs were surprisingly strong, but she’d stopped fighting and started sobbing. “Keep her inside. I don’t want those vultures from the press putting her on the evening news.”

Gianna took the child, wrapping her arms around her small body, and walked toward the rear of the house. Over Gianna’s shoulder, Sophie shot Lance a mutinous stare, her face an angry, tear-streaked red. She was never going to forgive him.

He went out onto the front stoop to see what was happening. The car containing Nick had left. Cops, including Brody, swarmed over the grass. Morgan had pulled Nick’s dad to the side of the property and was talking to him. The man’s face was locked in pain and despair.