For months—before and during the trial—she had been under tremendous pressure to watch her step. Taking down the son of Carson Dempsey was simply unthinkable. There had to be a mistake. The evidence was tested and retested. Every aspect of the investigation had been gone over and over. But there had been no cracks. No mistakes. And Finley took him down. It was a huge win. National headlines spouted how money couldn’t buy everything. Finley was suddenly a celebrated hero.
Then the obscure threats had begun. Eyes watching her. Little warnings, like a flattened tire and coming home to an open door. She’d talked to Briggs about the incidents, and he’d blown her off. She was overreacting. He was busy. To tell the truth, she had gotten the impression he hadn’t liked sharing so much of the limelight with her. He was probably secretly pleased that she was dealing with the blowback.
Mere days after the trial was over, as if the Fates had decided to up the ante, the son ended up dead. Someone inside the prison—another prisoner? A guard? Who knew?—killed him. Two weeks later Derrick had been murdered, and miraculously, Finley had survived.
She was relatively certain that had been a mistake.
Once she’d been back home, it hadn’t been long before she spotted the eyes watching her again. Like tonight when she’d been on the porch with Montrose and that sedan had driven by. Slowly but surely, she had recalled those eyes from that night. Dempsey’s lackeys. No question. Then, when she was well enough, she had turned the tables on them.
Now she watched them. The same way they watched her. She knew their names, who they worked for, where they lived.
Not every day, particularly during a case like this one, but she watched. And they understood.
One down, two to go.
She put the folder away and went through the motions of preparing for bed, though she probably wouldn’t sleep for hours yet. The tiny bathroom, like the rest of the little bungalow, was a work in progress. The toilet worked, and so did the sink, as long as you only wanted cold water. The hot water side had stopped functioning months ago. She could call a plumber, but the idea of someone else touching any part of Derrick’s work in progress was more than she could bear. Still.
She turned on the shower, which still had both cold and hot water. Stripped off her clothes and stared at herself for a moment in the mirror. There wasn’t a mirror over the sink, but they’d bought a cheap plastic one that was supposed to be full length but was actually only about two-thirds her height. It stood in the same corner next to the shower, where Derrick had placed it, the price sticker still on the glass.
She was too skinny. Her dad had fussed at her again and again about working to put some weight back on. Dark circles were permanent residents under her eyes. She seriously needed to take care of those roots. Why bother? She could just let the black grow off and go back to her old look. Be her old self again.
Finley dismissed the thought. The person she used to be was gone. Too damaged to resurrect.
The best she hoped for these days was simply to be. Dr. Mengesha, her ever-patient therapist, wouldn’t be happy when he received that report and the video from the convenience store shooting. If she were lucky, Detective Graves was bluffing. He’d damn well overstepped his bounds if he hadn’t been bluffing.
Speaking of lapses and relapses, when she’d spoken to Jack, he hadn’t sounded like himself. Finley didn’t like how this case seemed to be leaching more deeply into his personal life. She had a bad feeling about where that leak was headed.
For the past year in particular Jack had been her rock. Her anchor. If something about these clients shook him, they were both in trouble.
Big trouble.
Finley stepped under the hot, steamy water and closed out all the worrisome thoughts that haunted her. It would take more than a long hot shower to keep them away, but she would take whatever relief she could rally.
Tomorrow she would visit the prison where Holmes was incarcerated. Jack had contacted one of his resources at the prison and set up an opportunity for Finley. She needed whatever information she could get her hands on about any visitors he’d had over the years, and if she was really lucky, she might get an opportunity to chat with his pal who’d purportedly brought him to Jesus. The trick would be not getting caught.
To cover for her true agenda, she had a legit visit with Jack’s favorite snitch.
Funny. It was almost like she worked on the opposite side of the law now, but that wasn’t the case. She was just on the opposite side of the aisle fighting for truth by whatever means necessary.