“To see Nick.” She crossed her fingers that she’d have the best news for him.

When they reached Sharp Investigations, Lance dropped her next to her minivan. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

She drove to the courthouse. With her stomach growling and her energy flagging, Morgan detoured to the vending machines for a pack of Peanut M&M’s. She ate them on the way to Bryce’s office. His secretary waved her through immediately. Morgan went in, not sure what to expect.

He stood as she entered and gestured to a guest chair facing his desk. Had she not decided to defend Nick, she would have started her job with the DA’s office the day before. Had it only been a week and a half since she’d had dinner with Bryce? It felt like much longer.

Bryce leaned back in his chair and stared at her for a few seconds, then he shifted forward. “I’m dropping the charges against Nick Zabrowski. Not because I’m convinced he’s innocent but because Dean Voss’s cryptic confession creates too much doubt. The police will continue to investigate, and there’s no guarantee we won’t seek an indictment against your client at some future date.”

But for now, Nick wouldn’t have to go back to jail. Equal amounts of relief and anger rushed through Morgan, but she held her tongue. Lashing out at Bryce for putting Nick in jail—where he was stabbed—wouldn’t help. In fact, the less she spoke to Bryce the better. Every word that came out of her mouth would give the DA information.

“If a man isn’t proven guilty, then he is innocent in the eyes of the law,” she said.

Bryce didn’t comment on Nick’s innocence. “I’ll call off the guard and have Nick’s handcuffs removed.”

Morgan nodded. “I’m headed to the hospital to speak with Nick now.”

But they both knew that public sentiment wouldn’t necessarily be as easy to sway, not until someone was convicted of Tessa’s murder.

“You are a diligent investigator, Ms. Dane,” Bryce said as they both stood. “I might be willing to extend another offer to you.”

Morgan shook his hand. When she tried to pull her hand from his grip, he held on. The gesture felt slimy. Everything about Bryce Walters felt slippery, and the fact that he was playing nice made her doubly suspicious. “Thank you, but I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself.” Releasing her hand, he straightened. His flat smile couldn’t cover the irritation in his eyes. He was up to something. But what?

“How did the Emersons take the request for Jacob’s DNA?” she asked.

“About as well as you would expect. Phillip Emerson is filing a harassment lawsuit against the township.”

“It won’t stand up.”

“I’m not worried about it. The photos from last July of his son with Tessa Palmer are damning. If Tessa was still alive and willing to testify, we’d likely be filing sexual assault charges against Jacob.” Bryce came out from behind his desk.

“You’re not?” Disappointment filled Morgan. Tessa deserved better. Morgan rose from her chair.

“It’s hard enough to get a conviction in a sexual assault case with the victim’s testimony and DNA evidence. Without either of those things . . .” Bryce lifted a shoulder. “You know the odds.”

“This is why so few rapists ever spend a day in prison,” Morgan said.

She left without a single regret for losing the job with the DA’s office. When she’d worked for the prosecutor’s office in Albany, the DA had power, but he hadn’t run his office like a fiefdom the way Bryce did.

She couldn’t wait to tell Nick he was free, at least for now. She wished she had a real confession from Dean Voss. As much as she wanted to tell Nick she’d found Tessa’s real killer, Voss’s vague statement wasn’t enough to convince Morgan. Reasonable doubt would keep Nick out of prison, but it wouldn’t restore his reputation.

More importantly, if Voss wasn’t Tessa’s killer, then a murderer was still loose in Scarlet Falls.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Lance showered and dressed in clean clothes before heading to the office to give Sharp all the details on Voss’s self-destruction. Today’s incident was another unwelcome reminder of his own shooting last fall.

Sharp was at his desk typing on his laptop when Lance walked in.

Lance dropped into a chair, his foot tapping as he gave his boss a complete rundown of the incident at Voss’s house.

Sharp closed his laptop. “Was the shooting justified?”

Lance replayed those few pivotal seconds in his mind. “Voss had put down his rifle in the kitchen. He had Morgan’s weapon on him, but his hands were empty. He was running away. I was chasing him. He turned at the last second and the rookie shot him.”

Sharp’s jaw tightened. “The officer could have shot you.”

“But he didn’t. His aim was true, and I won’t be the one to judge him.” Lance tried to stop his leg from bouncing, but the adrenaline rush at the Voss house had left him twitchy. “I don’t know what the rookie saw from his angle before he fired. We both know how fast these situations go down. He had one second to make up his mind. When Voss turned, he was cradling his right hand under his left arm. It’s possible it looked as if he was drawing Morgan’s weapon from his waistband.”

“The rookie had no way of knowing he had a broken wrist,” Sharp added.

“But everyone is going to judge him as if he did.”

“They will.” Sharp sighed. “Morgan really broke his wrist?”

“She did.” Unable to sit still, Lance got up and paced the floor in front of Sharp’s desk. “I don’t know why everything she does always comes as a surprise. Her father and grandfather were both cops. Her sister is a detective. Her brother is NYPD SWAT.”

“The pearls and heels throw you off.”

“That’ll teach me to judge people by their appearances.” Lance paused, one hand on the back of his neck.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m still revved from the shooting.”

“I have some information for you.” Sharp picked up a pair of reading glasses and focused on the paper in front of him. “The man who stabbed Nick—Menendez—has a wife and a six-year-old son. The child has a heart defect. Their medical bills have already driven them into bankruptcy,” Sharp said. “Yet Mrs. Menendez made a hefty deposit into her bank account recently. Considering the prior balance was eleven dollars, I think the deposit is significant.”

“Someone paid Menendez to stab Nick.”

“Yes.” Sharp’s eyes gleamed.

“Do you know who?” Lance asked.

Sharp nodded. “The sheriff might not be keen on sharing, but I have my own contact at the jail. My man says the sheriff knows who ordered the hit.”

Suddenly that piece of the puzzle clicked into place for Lance. “Tessa Palmer’s father.”

“Bingo,” said Sharp. “He did it from inside prison. Apparently, her father has some clout in prison.”

“And access to money,” Lance added.

“The sheriff’s office is following the money trail. They’ll find out who financed the hit.”

“So revenge motivated the attempt on Nick’s life.”

“Yes. The poor kid was jailed and stabbed for something he didn’t do.”

Lance’s phone buzzed. “It’s Morgan.” He answered the call, and she summed up her meeting with the DA and Nick’s certain freedom. Relief flooded Lance. “Great. I’ll see you at the hospital.”

He ended the call and relayed the conversation to Sharp. “Morgan says the DA dropped the charges against Nick.”

“Hallelujah,” Sharp said.

“Don’t get too excited. Nick is still considered a suspect.”

Sharp swore. “Voss’s confession was too wishy-washy, but it will force Horner and the DA to take a fresh look at the case. Plus, forensics will have Voss’s DNA to compare to evidence found at the scene.”

Lance resumed his pacing. “I’m not convinced that Dean Voss killed Tessa Palmer.”