Morgan touched his forearm, turned, and walked toward Lance. He met her in the middle of her driveway. Her eyes, usually deep with sadness, were on fire. Over the past few months, the only times he’d seen her truly happy and animated were when she was playing with her kids. Underneath, her grief ran deep. When she was alone, she tended to brood.

“What happened?” he asked.

“They found a knife, which appeared to be encrusted with blood, buried behind the shed.” Morgan met his gaze. That wasn’t all. “They also found a T-shirt with blood on it in his hamper.”

“No.”

The man in the red shirt hurried across the street. “Morgan?”

Turning toward him, Morgan gestured between them. “Lance Kruger, Bud Zabrowski. Bud is Nick’s dad.”

“This can’t be right,” Bud said. “Nick could never hurt anyone. For one, he can’t stand the sight of blood. Pukes every time. He could never do . . .” Bud clearly couldn’t vocalize the crime Nick had been accused of committing. “That to anyone, let alone Tessa. He really liked her.”

Bud inhaled a deep and painful-sounding breath. “What am I going to do? I can’t afford a defense attorney.”

“The court will appoint a lawyer if you can’t afford one,” Morgan said.

Bud shook his head. “Will that be good enough?”

That depended on who was assigned his case. There were good public defenders and bad ones, but frankly, they were all overworked.

“I don’t know.” Morgan was honest.

“I can try to mortgage the house, but I doubt there’s much equity. I took out a second mortgage to help Nick buy the equipment for his business. Do you know any good attorneys?” Bud asked Morgan.

She nodded. “I can give you some names.”

“Thank you. I have to try.” Bud shook her hand. “I’m going to start calling mortgage companies.” He hurried back to his house.

Morgan walked to the front step and sat down. She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and began to scroll. “Even if he mortgages his house, he’s going to have a hard time paying the bill of a top criminal defense attorney.”

“How hard will it be for him to find someone to take the case? If DNA on the knife matches Tessa’s blood . . .”

“I know.”

“What if he’s guilty?” Lance didn’t know Nick that well.

“He’s not.”

“How do you know that? If Brody arrested Nick, he has enough evidence to make a case, and he’s only been investigating for a few days.”

Morgan raised her gaze. “A few weeks ago, Grandpa sliced his hand out in the yard with a pair of pruning shears. Nick was working with him. One glance at the blood and he threw up in the driveway. It was an immediate reaction.”

“That’s not enough to build a defense.”

Morgan rose and dusted off her slacks. “Shadow of a doubt, right? Isn’t that what Nick’s entitled to?”

“It’s a pretty thin shadow.”

“It’s a start, and we don’t know anything about the case. What if the DNA on the knife doesn’t match Tessa’s?”

“Why would Nick have a bloody knife buried in his backyard?”

Morgan’s body went rigid. “If Nick killed Tessa, why would he hold on to the murder weapon? She was killed right near the lake. He could have thrown the knife into the water or left it at the scene. Only a fool would bring home the murder weapon he used to kill his girlfriend.”

“Not a fool,” Lance corrected. “Someone who hasn’t committed a crime before. Someone who panicked. Criminals don’t always do the smart thing. That’s how they get caught.”

“I know, but I can’t believe Nick is a killer. He plays chess with my grandfather. He reads stories to my girls.”

Maybe that’s why Morgan was so freaked out. Nick was a member of their community. She trusted him. She’d let him into her home, given him access to her children. If he could be guilty of murder, then how could anyone ever feel safe?

“I’ve never even seen him lose his temper,” she said.

But Nick had been very angry on that video.

Lance reached out to touch Morgan’s arm. “I know you don’t want to believe it, but Brody is a good cop.”

“I know Brody’s a good cop, but this time he has to be wrong.”

Or was he? Lance wondered how well Morgan really knew Nick. And for that matter, how well did anyone really know their neighbors and what went on behind closed doors?

Chapter Ten

He turned off the television. Nick Zabrowski had been arrested for Tessa’s murder. His plan had worked. He should be happy, but it didn’t feel real.

Standing, he walked to the window, almost expecting to see a police car outside. But the scene outside was the same as always. A squirrel bounded across the grass and raced up a tree.

Could he really have gotten away with what he’d done?

He glanced down at his hands. No matter how much he washed them, he couldn’t seem to get rid of the imaginary bloodstains. He curled his fingers into tight fists. His nails dug into his palms. The sharp bite of pain was grounding.

It amazed him that he could walk around in public, and no one saw through him. He knew what he was, and it wasn’t normal. Other people would be horrified at the things he dreamed about. He worked hard to pretend he was like everybody else.

All that hard work had paid off after he lost it Thursday night. He had gotten his shit back together and taken care of business.

Now he needed to act like everything was fine. But it was getting tougher to pretend. How does a monster act normal?

He listened for a few seconds but heard nothing. The house was empty. No police cars were parked outside. No one was waiting to expose his secrets.

He went to his closet, turned on the light, and moved aside a few boxes. In the back corner, he lifted the carpet, then pried up a small piece of the floor. Inside the hole was a shoebox. A chilly shiver of excitement passed through him as he held the box in his hands. It felt too light considering all that it held.

His secrets.

His demons.

His guilt.

Setting it on the floor, he opened it. Photographs of Tessa stared up at him. He picked up a picture by the corner. A tear slipped from his eye and landed onto the photo. He wiped it away with an angry gesture. The pain in his heart intensified.

I loved you. Why couldn’t you just love me back?

How could he live without her?

She’d been perfect. Sweet. Innocent. Beautiful.

She’d said she hadn’t loved him back. She’d tried to reject him. But she’d been lying to herself. No matter how hard she’d tried to deny it, she’d wanted him as much as he wanted her. Turning on him had been her ultimate betrayal.

But now she was gone. At first he’d blamed himself for his lack of control, but she’d forced him to do what he’d done. She knew about his temper, and still she’d backed him into a corner, she’d threatened him. He’d had no choice. He’d been relieved when he’d realized that it had been her own fault.

Why did you make me hurt you?

He flipped through the stack of photos, each one a stab to his heart. But by the time he’d reached the end of the pile, he’d become conditioned to the pain. He went through the pile again and again, until he could view each image without responding. Then he put the photos away.

He fished in the bottom of the box for the lock of hair he’d taken the night he’d killed her. He ran his fingers through it but stopped when he touched something hard and crusty. He held the hair to the light.

Blood.

Another reminder that she was gone. Nothing would ever be the same again.

His grip around the hair tightened. He left the closet and went to his bathroom. Running the water in the sink, he blocked the drain and washed the hair with shampoo.

Then he returned to the closet. The hair went back into the box. The box was placed in the hole, the floorboard and carpet put back. No one would know what he’d hidden there.

Just as no one would ever guess what he’d done. If his plan worked, the police would never suspect him. Yes, he’d lost control. He’d snapped. But he’d pulled himself together and cleaned up his mess.