The Prosecutor

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 to your brother’s public defender. He said you hammered him about the ex-boyfriend. So tell me because there’s nothing in that box of files about it and that doesn’t sit right with me.”

Emma hesitated, twisting her lips for a second and—yeah—he’d have to get those lips, along with the liquid chocolate, out of his head, too.

“I was upset that the police weren’t talking about the boyfriend. Brian knew Chelsea Moore casually. They were the same age and were regulars at Magic. Brian told me she’d texted him a few times after she’d broken up with her boyfriend. I don’t think Brian was interested in her in a—well—sexual way so he didn’t pursue her. When he was questioned, he asked the police about her ex-boyfriend. They did nothing with it.”

“How do you know?”

“I asked the public defender. The guy before Alex Belson. He didn’t have anything on it.”

“Then how do you know the ex was abusive?”

“Well, Zac,” Emma said, layering on the sarcasm. “I did something that was pure investigative genius. I did something the Chicago P.D. never thought of doing.”

Here we go. “Ditch the drama, Emma. I get it.”

She held up a finger. “I talked to the victim’s friends. Miraculous, isn’t it?”

Zac rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t blame her for the attitude. If it had been one of his siblings on trial, he’d feel that same burning, festering anger. This whole thing stunk of cops trying to protect the ex-boyfriend, who also happened to be the son of a cop.

The blue wall.

He grabbed Emma’s elbow and ushered her to the corner. “Are you parked in the garage?”

“Yes. I need a sandwich first. I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Fine. I’ll wait for you and then walk you to your car. Then I have a couple of detectives to talk to.”

* * *

DETECTIVE JOHN CUTLER marched into Zac’s office wearing a wrinkled blue sport coat and a scowl. The man didn’t like being summoned to an ASA’s office in the middle of the day. Zac didn’t care.