this whole time as a scapegoat.
“Her bodyguard was with the two of you when the judge told you to hide for two weeks and then contact me if you hadn’t heard from her?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Who is her bodyguard?”
The woman snorted. “Obviously not someone very good...”
“I—I only know his first name,” Sharon said. “Chuck...” Would that be enough information for them to be able to track him down and prove that when Sharon left two weeks ago the judge had still been alive?
She turned toward the door as police officers burst through it—guns drawn. Why were they acting as if the killer was still at the scene? Was he?
Parker and the woman lifted their hands. “We’re with Payne Protection,” he said, identifying the two of them. “I’m the one who placed the 911 call.”
A bald-headed officer nodded at him. “Hey, Park. Are you still protecting the judge?”
Parker shook his head. “If I had been, you wouldn’t have been called here.” He pointed behind the desk. “We found the judge dead.”
“We?” the officer asked.
“Me and Sharon Wells.” Finally he pointed to her; maybe he was pointing the finger at her. Was he going to try to place the blame on her?
“I’m Sharon Wells,” she identified herself. “And I work— worked, ” she corrected herself, “for Judge Foster.”
They began to look at her as Parker had, as if she was a suspect. But she couldn’t have hurt her; she couldn’t hurt anyone.
But Parker didn’t know that about her; he didn’t know her. He hadn’t even remembered ever meeting her.
And the police didn’t know her at all. Since, according to the security system, she was the last one to have seen Brenda alive, then she would be the most likely suspect in her murder.
Would the police be arresting her before they left the judge’s house? And if they arrested her, she didn’t have anyone to bail her out. She might never see Ethan again. When she’d brought him to his father, she had known that never seeing him again might be a possibility, but she hadn’t realized that she might not see him because she was behind bars for his mother’s murder.
Chapter Seven
Parker could not help Sharon now. The police were questioning her the same way that he had—wondering why she was the last person to have seen her employer alive. Only she hadn’t been the last person.
And he would prove that for her. But first he had to settle something else. So he hurried across the driveway to chase down the person who had tried sneaking away from the crime scene.
“Why didn’t you come see me at the hospital?” Parker asked his sister. Nikki turned away from him again. But he grabbed her shoulder and turned her back.
She squirmed beneath his grasp and ducked away. But before she turned away from him again, he caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes.
“Niks, what’s wrong?”
She shrugged. “Nothing...”
“Niks?”
He grabbed her again and didn’t let her get away this time as he folded her into a hug. His little sister never cried; she was too tough for that—or at least too determined to prove to her brothers that she was every bit as tough as they were.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “so sorry...”
That she hadn’t visited him in the hospital?
“It’s okay,” he assured her. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” And this was another reason that he had never had a long-term relationship; he wasn’t sensitive enough to a woman’s feelings.
“I feel bad because it was my fault,” she murmured, her voice cracking with emotion.
Thoroughly confused, Parker had to ask, “What was your fault?”
“It was my fault that you nearly got blown up!” she exclaimed.
“You didn’t put the bomb in my SUV,” he said, unable to follow her logic or understand her guilt. He loved his sister, but he had never understood her as easily as he had his brothers.
“I sent you back out there to change my lunch order,” she said, her voice cracking
“Her bodyguard was with the two of you when the judge told you to hide for two weeks and then contact me if you hadn’t heard from her?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Who is her bodyguard?”
The woman snorted. “Obviously not someone very good...”
“I—I only know his first name,” Sharon said. “Chuck...” Would that be enough information for them to be able to track him down and prove that when Sharon left two weeks ago the judge had still been alive?
She turned toward the door as police officers burst through it—guns drawn. Why were they acting as if the killer was still at the scene? Was he?
Parker and the woman lifted their hands. “We’re with Payne Protection,” he said, identifying the two of them. “I’m the one who placed the 911 call.”
A bald-headed officer nodded at him. “Hey, Park. Are you still protecting the judge?”
Parker shook his head. “If I had been, you wouldn’t have been called here.” He pointed behind the desk. “We found the judge dead.”
“We?” the officer asked.
“Me and Sharon Wells.” Finally he pointed to her; maybe he was pointing the finger at her. Was he going to try to place the blame on her?
“I’m Sharon Wells,” she identified herself. “And I work— worked, ” she corrected herself, “for Judge Foster.”
They began to look at her as Parker had, as if she was a suspect. But she couldn’t have hurt her; she couldn’t hurt anyone.
But Parker didn’t know that about her; he didn’t know her. He hadn’t even remembered ever meeting her.
And the police didn’t know her at all. Since, according to the security system, she was the last one to have seen Brenda alive, then she would be the most likely suspect in her murder.
Would the police be arresting her before they left the judge’s house? And if they arrested her, she didn’t have anyone to bail her out. She might never see Ethan again. When she’d brought him to his father, she had known that never seeing him again might be a possibility, but she hadn’t realized that she might not see him because she was behind bars for his mother’s murder.
Chapter Seven
Parker could not help Sharon now. The police were questioning her the same way that he had—wondering why she was the last person to have seen her employer alive. Only she hadn’t been the last person.
And he would prove that for her. But first he had to settle something else. So he hurried across the driveway to chase down the person who had tried sneaking away from the crime scene.
“Why didn’t you come see me at the hospital?” Parker asked his sister. Nikki turned away from him again. But he grabbed her shoulder and turned her back.
She squirmed beneath his grasp and ducked away. But before she turned away from him again, he caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes.
“Niks, what’s wrong?”
She shrugged. “Nothing...”
“Niks?”
He grabbed her again and didn’t let her get away this time as he folded her into a hug. His little sister never cried; she was too tough for that—or at least too determined to prove to her brothers that she was every bit as tough as they were.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “so sorry...”
That she hadn’t visited him in the hospital?
“It’s okay,” he assured her. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” And this was another reason that he had never had a long-term relationship; he wasn’t sensitive enough to a woman’s feelings.
“I feel bad because it was my fault,” she murmured, her voice cracking with emotion.
Thoroughly confused, Parker had to ask, “What was your fault?”
“It was my fault that you nearly got blown up!” she exclaimed.
“You didn’t put the bomb in my SUV,” he said, unable to follow her logic or understand her guilt. He loved his sister, but he had never understood her as easily as he had his brothers.
“I sent you back out there to change my lunch order,” she said, her voice cracking
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