Caught Off Guard Read online

Paulie pulled a poop bag from his pocket and looked me in the eye. “Ever hear of evidence gone missing? Logged in wrong?”

  I nodded and followed him as he went toward the waiting beam of light.

  “In this case, your pal has the people against him. They’re fans of McVay. He’s the guy who was going to take them to the Super Bowl. If he re-signed, that is.”

  “Now we’ll never know.”

  But I got what Paulie meant. Lots of hopes and dreams were pinned on McVay. And in my line of business, I’d seen people do terrible things over hopes, dreams, greed, pride, and anger. These reactions were disheartening, really. My mind raced as I tried to pull out tidbits that would need to be fleshed out. I needed to talk to Lockett and wanted to talk to my dad.

  I took a step to leave before turning back toward Paulie. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.”

  I nodded. “Renee Foote case. I think he’s an up-and-up guy. At least, if he’s out fooling around, then it’s with someone in his office or not every week.”

  Paulie nodded.

  I seemed to have gained a mentor, which was good because if what he said was true about AJ and the fingerprints on the dumbbell, I was going to need all the help I could get.

  9

  Friday

  I pulled into the alley next to my apartment and let LC rest. He would need some oil before I went out again, but his engine needed to cool first.

  My apartment was the second floor over the offices of my dad’s newspaper, The Wind River Journal, and had two entrances—one from the side stairs up to a balcony and my front door, the other a staircase in the back of my dad’s offices, which opened near the back door of my apartment. I chose the latter because I needed a good, hearty father-daughter talk to ground me. A lot had happened that day, and I was feeling… a lot of conflicting emotions.

  I entered the paper from the front and waved to my dad’s right-hand woman, Stella MacInerney. With essential oils on hand to fix any ailment and a sharp tongue to keep people in place in case the ailment was their behavior, Stella knew everyone and saw everything. She was just as valuable a source as the paper itself, if not more so. She was on the phone when I came in and waved me over. I noticed as I passed that she’d dropped her voice, sounding smooth and sexy. Stella had buried three husbands, and I wondered if she was currently working on number four.

  The offices of The Wind River Journal opened into a lobby blocked by Stella’s desk. Behind her were two offices to the left and two storage rooms to the right. The center was the bullpen, but Dad didn’t staff in-house journalists. Anyone he hired was freelance. Behind the bullpen were the kitchen, the restroom, and to the far right, the stairs to my apartment.

  Dad’s office was the last room on the left. He was at his desk, squinting at some papers, his glasses atop his head.

  I took after Russell True. Taller than most women my age—except Precious, who had me by two inches as she was six feet—I had my father’s blue-green eyes, smattering of freckles, love of the outdoors, and insatiable curiosity for information. Only my curly reddish-blonde hair came from my mother.

  “Hey, Daddy-o. If you wore the glasses, it might make seeing the papers easier.” I plopped onto the couch across from his desk.

  The couch used to be in my parents’ TV room, but once Rachel and I moved out, my folks got new furniture.

  “Sammy,” he said with a smile and folded the papers, slipping them under his desk calendar. “It’s a great day for a dad when their best kid comes by.”

  I chuckled. “You’re just saying that because Rachel isn’t near to hear it.”

  She was, in fact, on a naval carrier somewhere in foreign waters.

  “Maybe,” Dad said. “Maybe not.” He narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  I sat back, surprised he noticed. Am I so transparent? “What makes you think something is wrong?”

  “You’re here. Usually, you’re on a run or upstairs on the balcony, relaxing.”

  True. “That doesn’t mean anything is wrong.” I tried to relax into the couch but couldn’t get comfortable.

  “And you’ve got a crease between your brows. You get that crease when you’ve got something on your mind. Something you can’t work out.” He did a backward wave, gesturing for me to spill. “Tell your old man what’s wrong. Is it the AJ Gunn case?”

  I sighed, nodded, then let my head drop back against the couch. “He’s innocent. I know he is.”

  “But…?” Dad’s coaxing was soft.

  “But what if he’s not and I’m on the wrong side of this?” I couldn’t even look at him as I said it. Feeling like a traitor to AJ, Lockett, and even Precious, I stared at the ceiling tiles.

  “Is it the fingerprints on the dumbbell that give you pause?”

  I lifted my head to look at my dad, incredulous. “How did you know?”

  He shrugged and sat back in his office chair, reclining enough to put his feet up on his desk. “I have connections.”

  I tossed my hands up in frustration. “Why does everyone have connections but me?”

  Dad chuckled. “You have connections. You just don’t have these connections. But you will. Keep at it, and they’ll come with time.” He met my gaze. “You think the prints on the dumbbell are the smoking gun?”

  I shook my head hesitantly. “I’ve seen people convicted for less. I can reason out why AJ’s prints might be on the dumbbell. I’m just worried that I’m letting my emotions tell me what’s in front of me, which is what I want to see and not what might actually be there. Does that make sense?”

  Dad nodded. “Yep, and because you’re hesitant, that means your checks and balances are working. Have a little faith in yourself and know that nothing is instant but”—he ticked off items on his fingers—“instant coffee, instant mashed potatoes, or rice—”

  “Okay, I get it.” I laughed.

  “But you don’t feel any better, do you?” He studied me.

  “No.” I shook my head. “This case is hard. At first, I was stuck and taking no action. Now, I’m taking action and feel like everyone else is ten steps ahead.”

  “You know what I always say. Maybe you should get some distance so you can see the full picture. Go work on another case. Take your mind off this, and—”

  “The problem will solve itself,” I said, finishing what he’d been saying since I could remember. “I don’t have any other cases, Dad. My one case dropped today. She didn’t like that I was on AJ’s defense team.”

  Dad’s face got serious, and he swung his feet off his desk then stood. The papers he’d slipped under his calendar earlier, he pulled out and carried over. He sat next to me on the couch and handed them to me.

  “Your mother will be ticked that I showed this to you, but I think you need to know what you’re up against. This is going to get worse before it gets better.”

  I unfolded the pages and recognized them to be a printout of an article from Dad’s online version of the paper. The timestamp told me the article had been posted that morning, Dad being the writer. In summary, the article was about AJ’s arrest and McVay’s death and career as the Pioneers' quarterback.

  “I heard he was up for a new contract or something.” I needed Dad to help me understand football contracts.

  He nodded. “McVay was at the end of his rookie contract. Currently, the top quarterbacks are getting contracts for eight to ten years and hundreds of millions of dollars.”

  “And McVay was in that caliber of QBs that could get a big payout?”

  McVay and the Pioneers did have a winning record, with several playoff visits.

  “Yep,” Dad said. “This year looked good for them to make the Super Bowl too. Both the offense and defense were playing tight. Believe it or not, that’s got lots of people upset. Not that McVay is dead but that the Pioneers won’t make it now.” He shook his head in disgust.

  I did believe it. I scratched my head. “Could another team have had McVay killed to stop their playoff and Super Bow
l run?” Though that was a stretch, I’d seen weirder reasons.

  “Sure, but that’s unlikely. It’s more likely someone had a beef with McVay, and now he’s dead.”

  “AJ didn’t have a beef with McVay.”

  “He wanted a starting position, though.”

  “Yeah, but he doesn’t get that in jail. He’s not stupid. He’s not going to kill a guy and think the coast is clear for him to become the savior of the Pioneers.”

  Dad squeezed my shoulder. “Sounds like you know how you feel about AJ’s guilt or innocence.”

  I nodded slowly, thinking about how I’d instantly defended AJ because it had felt right to do so. “What do you know about anabolic-androgenic steroids?”

  Dad’s brows shot up. “They’ve been illegal twenty years now. That’s what was hot when I did my exposé all those years ago. Designer steroids, they’re called. Only way to get them now is through the black market.”

  “Online?”

  “Sure, that’s one way. Or if you know a dealer. A shady doctor.”

  I most definitely did not know a dealer, but I made a note to ask Leo if he did. Maybe he’d arrested one at one time.

  Turning my attention back to the article, I scanned the comments. They numbered over three hundred. But Dad hadn’t printed them all. I flipped through the pages. Only the first twenty-five comments were there.

  I gave a low whistle. “Did you show this to the police?”

  The fourth comment down was a death threat to me and my family. The sixth comment was a promise to burn the office of the paper to the ground.

  I stopped reading and faced my dad. “I’m sorry. I never thought this would affect you all.”

  His eyes softened as he brushed a thumb over my brow, easing back the tension I was holding there. “Sammy, I’ve faced worse than this in all my years of reporting. Your mother and I have really thick skins. But you…”

  “I’ve faced mean people before, Dad.”

  He smiled a bit sadly. “Yes, but these people are mean, angry, and motivated. That’s a whole lot different from a teacher who thinks you’re faking.”

  “But not so different from a playground bully.”

  “These bullies have means. This is going to get a lot worse before it gets better, and some people may never forgive you for being on AJ’s side.”

  “Even if he’s innocent?”

  The fallout from this case was becoming evident. Maybe that’s why I’d been frozen. Maybe I’d known not only that it would be hard, that I was out of my element, but that I was going to have to take a side. And that would make me an easy target for people to take out their anger on and, by extension, make my family a target also. Regardless of the outcome, the case would affect my livelihood, my friendships, and my own perspective.

  I glanced at more comments, sucking in breaths of disbelief, then I panicked.

  “If Rachel sees this, she’s going to flip out.” My sister’s inability to control everything in her young daughter’s vicinity would drive Rachel insane. Fear had a way of doing that to people.

  “We have a phone call scheduled for tomorrow. You should come by and tell her. She’ll see the comments soon enough. Might as well get ahead of this where you can.”

  “Okay.”

  But first, I needed to decide what to do. I glanced up at the ceiling and blinked back tears. I despised feeling inept, out of control, and bullied. My fear, though, was what might happen if I pushed through and something happened to my family.

  I could never live with that.

  This. This is what I’ve been afraid of. This was the bad feeling I’d had in my gut for weeks—a warning.

  Trouble was here.

  10

  Friday

  I took the back steps up to my apartment. My parents used to rent it out with Airbnb, so the place was tastefully decorated and comfortable, with views of downtown and Windy River itself.

  My apartment’s layout was simple. When one entered from the back, one bedroom lay on either side, with a bathroom to the right past the bedroom, then the hallway opened up to a living room, galley kitchen, and the front door. A built-in bar with seating for two acted as my dining table. Inside, I tossed my backpack into my bedroom as I passed and moved toward the living room.

  The sun was setting, and the apartment was cast in shadows. When I came into the living room, as I reached for the light switch, I noticed a man sitting on my couch. His legs were stretched out, his head back against the top of the couch. Shadows cloaked his identity.

  I screamed and instinctively jumped back, ready to retrieve my backpack and the stun gun within.

  The man jumped up from the couch, assuming a karate position.

  Awareness caught up with me and overrode my fight or flight. I hit the light switch, bringing light onto the scene.

  “Jeez, Tyson. What are you doing here?”

  Lockett dropped the fight stance then stretched, arms going high in the air. “I was getting in a catnap when you came in and screamed.”

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in my house.”

  “I need a place to stay while I’m in town.” His glance shot to my spare room.

  “Well, since you know the code to get in, you might as well stay.” I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

  My parents had installed a keypad lock on my front door. I’d given Lockett my code several months before, when I was questioned for the murder of a local principal.

  “You want a beer?” I asked.

  “Yeah, that would be great. Thanks for letting me crash.”

  “Already have your bags in the guest room, don’t ya?” I took two IPAs from the fridge.

  Lockett chuckled. “It’s like we’ve been friends forever.”

  I joined him on the couch, handing him his beer.

  He said, “I probably could use something stronger, but we’ll be working late, so better keep it light.”

  I cut a side-eye to him. “Working late?”

  Lockett rubbed a hand down his face and sighed. “How well do you know AJ, Sam?”

  I echoed his sigh. “Not well enough to say definitively that he didn’t kill McVay. But I think he’s innocent. I can’t picture him bashing someone in the head with a dumbbell.”

  Lockett said, “Heard about the prints, huh? And here I was worried about breaking it to you.”

  I chuckled bitterly. “Heard it from someone not even on the case.”

  We sat in silence, drinking our beers, and I’m guessing he was contemplating like I was. Though I bet Lockett was contemplating his defense angle and I was contemplating… my role in this mess, perhaps—or whether I wanted to drag my family into it or not. Yeah, all of the above.

  Lockett finished his beer and slid the empty bottle onto my coffee table. “I sure don’t envy you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because my job is to do the best job I can. I’ve defended people whose innocence I’ve questioned.”

  “Why do it if you think they might be guilty?”

  Lockett retrieved two more beers even though I still had a quarter of mine left.

  “Because my job is to create doubt if there’s a place to create it. If a person confesses, then my job is to be their sound mind when looking at sentencing. In AJ’s case, there’s plenty of doubt. There’s no smoking gun. There are a million possible scenarios for how McVay ended up dead.”

  I nodded in understanding. “And AJ doesn’t have to be in any of them.”

  He clinked his bottle to mine. “Exactly. It’s your job to find out which of those scenarios seems the most likely.”

  “What if I’m wrong about his innocence? What if my insistence ends up causing my family trouble?” I asked.

  Lockett studied me before saying assuredly, “It’s our job to show AJ could be innocent, not to decide it. If you’ve already made up your mind about him, then you need to tell me right now so I can decide if you stay on or not.”

  Honestly, I was shocke
d at Lockett’s stern words and felt the need to defend myself. “My family is getting death threats. I’ve lost a client. This is already affecting my life.”

  Lockett held my gaze. “You never struck me as a woman who preferred the path of least resistance.”

  When Lockett and I first met, we were in his office, where he told me my husband was dead and also wasn’t legally my husband. That might have been the first blow of that day, but it certainly wasn’t the last. And I’d faced each of them with steely determination. In that situation, my life was the one on the line, but I considered whether I would do less if Precious were the one in jail.

  No, I would not.

  I said, “This is big. Bigger than I’m used to. I’m scared.”

  Lockett nodded. “Good. You should be. But this is it, Sam. Either you do this or resign yourself to finding missing cats and taking pictures of cheating husbands.”

  “I could never live with myself if I didn’t help and AJ went to jail.”

  I stood, placed my empty on the coffee table, and picked up my second beer. From behind the couch, I slid out a giant pad, twenty by thirty, and propped it up against the wall. From the top, I ripped off the first page. The back was sticky, making the page a giant Post-it note. I stuck it on the wall then repeated that with three more sheets. Then from a drawer under my coffee table, I took out a fat, broad-tipped black marker and wrote “Keith McVay” across the first page. On the second, I wrote “AJ Gunn.” On the third, I wrote “Brad Jenson,” and the fourth I left blank.

  Lockett stretched out on my couch, his upper body propped up. “We’re going to need reinforcements.”

  I sipped the beer. “Food or people?”

  “Food.”

  A knock on my front door immediately followed.

  Lockett jerked his thumb behind his shoulder toward the door. “People reinforcements are already here.”

  I gave him a puzzled look before opening the door. Precious stood outside, two large takeout bags in each hand.

  She said, “Hold on to your titties, kitties. It’s about to get real smart in here.” She bumped me with her shoulder. “Move. These are heavy.”