Up in Flames (25 page)

She gave Zoe a speculative look. Her sister could do all that.

Zoe rolled her eyes before she could ask her. “I don’t believe it. Is this bug stuff really that important?”

She put all the sincerity she had into her reply. “It could help us find the real killer, Zoe, and I’m not sure anything less than that will keep them from pinning Rena’s murder on Zane. So yes, it’s that important.”

Zoe sighed. “Fine. I’ll drop you at your Jeep; where is it?”

“That repair place on Division. Cal said it had a flat and a cracked radiator. It’s supposed to be done today.”

It was. She silently blessed all auto mechanics and handed over her credit card, wincing at the thought of another bill when she had no income. Before Zoe drove off, she gave her instructions. “You have to make sure Zane sees you in the courtroom.”

“I know, I will.”

“And you have to find his lawyer before the arraignment. Tell him to let Zane know we’ll arrange bail if we can. Somehow.”

“Got it.” Zoe opened her car door.

“And find out what evidence they found that made them arrest him.” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it, but she had to know how convincing it might be. And how the prosecutor might twist it.

“Right.” Zoe slipped inside and closed the door.

Sophie leaned her arms on the open window. “And find out when he can have visitors.”

“Okay.” Zoe started the car and eased forward.

“Wait!” Panic shot through her with an electric jolt. Zoe represented a tenuous connection to Zane, Sophie’s
only
connection, and letting her go felt like severing the last tie between them.

“Sophie.” Zoe said it firmly, with a look that warned of growing impatience. “Do you want to come with me?”

She did, desperately. “I can’t.” But she couldn’t leave him sitting in jail without some sort of reassurance that she was still there for him. That she cared about him and was working to free him. That she loved him.

The word floated in her mind as if it had always been there, attached to every thought she had of Zane. It quivered on the tip of her tongue, wanting to come out. One word that carried an entire message.
I’m here, I care, I’m doing everything I can to help
. Love implied all that, and more.

It might scare him to hear it, but it was true. She hadn’t said it ten years ago, but she wouldn’t make that mistake again. Whatever happened, she wanted him to know that he’d touched her that deeply, that the connection was alive and strong, and not easily broken.

“Tell him . . .”

“Yes, what?” Zoe waited, tapping a finger on the steering wheel.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let those words go through her sister, to Zane’s lawyer, to him. They were special, not something to pass around like a note. She had to say them herself, to his face. “Tell him I still believe in him,” she finished. It sounded weak compared to
I love you
, but it would have to do for now.

“Fine, see you later.” Zoe pulled away quickly this time, then braked, looking back with a stern expression. “And you be careful.”

“I will. Promise.” She smiled reassuringly until Zoe had gone. Then she got in her Jeep, took a deep breath, and blew it out. Spider Boy hadn’t been dangerous, just weird. But if Brice Ogden was into dog fighting and hanging out at the Moosehead, he was probably older, with a twist of cruelty. This wouldn’t be fun.

“Zane Thorson, stand please.”

Zane rose to his feet, moving as smoothly as possible so his handcuffs and ankle chains wouldn’t rattle. Every little jangle played on his nerves, reminding him of how thoroughly he’d lost control of every part of his life. All he had left was the opportunity to plead his case, and that he’d turned over to his attorney. His only speaking part in the drama was now.

The judge turned to face the two rows of benches where a jury would sit, currently occupied by men in orange scrubs, cuffed and awaiting arraignment. He zeroed in on Zane. “Mr. Thorson, you are charged with first-degree felony murder in the death of Rena Torres. Do you understand the charge?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, Your Honor.”

“You may sit down.”

That was it. Two words:
not guilty
. The rest of his life was now in the hands of the stranger he’d hired to defend him. Bradley Boggs, criminal defense attorney, specializing in drunk driving and domestic-assault cases. No one in Barringer’s Pass or neighboring Juniper had specialized in murder trials.

He tried to pay attention to what Boggs was saying, but he couldn’t concentrate. His mind felt detached from his body, unable to accept that he sat handcuffed in the very courtroom where his father had been convicted on two counts of second-degree murder. Across the hall from the courtroom where Emmett had beaten a charge of rape and aggravated assault. Now here he was, the last Thorson to fall to the judicial system. A sense of unreality clouded his mind, conflicting with an ironic sense of inevitability. As much as he didn’t want to accept it, he’d been fated to end up here, as sure as his name was Thorson.

Boggs and the judge droned on, swapping legal phrases, and Zane steeled himself for a scan of the courtroom. Behind a low rail, banks of chairs were half filled with family and friends of the accused, plus a couple of people looking bored—reporters. Anger and embarrassment hit him in a stomach-churning mixture. He silently raged against the slanted news releases he knew were coming, and at the same time felt ashamed that the few people who mattered to him would see him in this position, sitting where he’d sworn he’d never be. He dreaded having to face their pity, but couldn’t look away. The need to see a friendly face overcame the shame, and he searched the room, daring to hope.

Will Chambers. He spotted his friend right away in an aisle seat, sitting bolt upright, trying to catch his eye. Will nodded and forced a smile of encouragement. Zane tried to give him one in return, but knew it lacked conviction. Whatever positive message Will was trying to get across must have died somewhere in the oppressive air between them, because it wasn’t having any effect on his mood. He let his gaze roam farther, searching each row all the way to the back of the room, then starting on the other side of the aisle.

There. He spotted Zoe’s strawberry blond hair in the second row. Sophie would be with her. His heart sped up, not wanting her to see him here, yet unable to silence the part of him that needed her. His eyes darted over the chairs on each side of Zoe, back and forth, ignoring her intent look. Then behind her. Then all the other chairs. Sophie wasn’t there.

He nearly sucked in a breath at the stabbing pain in his chest, and tried to numb himself to her absence instead. He should be relieved. Thankful, even. His arrest had made her come to her senses and realize how wrong they were for each other. Either that, or she’d finally listened to advice and done what she was supposed to do—stay away from him. Reporters could make him out to be a cold-blooded murderer, but they wouldn’t be able to drag her through the mud with him.

That would be a good explanation if he believed it. But when had Sophie ever done what he’d told her to do? She followed her own determined course, no matter how misguided, standing up to anyone to see justice done. She should be here.

Unless she believed justice was being served. It was the only explanation that made sense. As much as he’d like to think she was staying away to protect her own reputation, he had to assume that the things he’d said to her sisters had gotten back to her. She’d probably decided she would no longer be the pest he’d accused her of being.

He looked away, not wanting to see the anxious look on Zoe’s face or the reassurance on Will’s. Sophie hadn’t come. That was all he needed to know. It had taken a lot to shake her belief in him, but he’d finally done it.

As soon as he got past feeling sorry for himself, he’d be glad she’d made the right choice. Sophie’s life held too much promise to publicly link herself to a convicted murderer. Which is what he would soon be.

The unfairness of it overwhelmed him. A black depression was sucking him under when a woman’s raised voice pulled him back to the real world. He blinked at the prosecutor, who stood at her desk, gesturing at him in an agitated manner.

“But, Your Honor!” she said. “The defendant is charged with first-degree murder!”

“Miss Howard, I’m aware of the charges. I’m also aware of the evidence against him.”

What did that mean? Zane had barely had five minutes to speak with his attorney before they’d hustled him into the courtroom, and they’d talked more about what would happen today than about the details of his defense.

Whatever it meant, it didn’t deter Miss Howard from her outrage. “The prosecution asks that bail be set at one million dollars, Your Honor.”

Zane lifted his eyebrows at the amount. Not that it mattered—he wouldn’t be making bail. He barely had enough money in the bank to pay a month’s bills, much less a million dollars in bail. A bondsman would cost him ten percent of the bail plus a fee, all nonrefundable. He’d have to sell the backhoe, dump truck, and everything else he owned, which meant he might as well close up shop.

The judge seemed as unimpressed by the prosecutor’s argument as he was. “Miss Howard, the defendant has no criminal history. In fact, he has never had so much as a parking ticket. You have offered no evidence that he is a flight risk, and seeing that Mr. Thorson has a business that ties him to this community, I find no reason to believe he will try to leave. However, considering the seriousness of the charges against him, bail is set at five hundred thousand dollars. We’ll see you in ten weeks, Mr. Boggs.” The gavel cracked against the desk, emphasizing his decision.

Miss Howard pressed her lips together in annoyed silence. Zane remained unmoved. His whole business wasn’t worth five hundred thousand, and even if it was, he couldn’t afford to give up fifty thousand to a bondsman to cover his bail. It looked like he’d be wearing orange for the next ten weeks, until his trial. And for another thirty or forty years after that.

Sophie would have felt better about Brice Ogden’s house if it was within sight of the highway. Or even another house. But his driveway snaked through a good quarter-mile of pine and aspen forest before ending in a scrubby clearing with an old wood-framed house in the center. A long barn-like structure farther back had at least a dozen cement-floored fenced yards stretching along one side. She didn’t have to wonder what they were for—as soon as she slammed the Jeep’s door, a cacophony of barking sounded from the barn, and a group of pit bulls rushed into their fenced runs, each one a bundle of bunched muscles and scarred brown fur. Sophie kept an eye on them as she walked quickly toward the house.

Halfway to the house the door opened and a middle-aged woman stepped out. She brushed yellow hair behind her ear as she eyed Sophie. “If you’re selling something, honey, we ain’t buying.”

Sophie spoke over the wild barking off to her left. “I’m looking for Brice Ogden.”

“Oh yeah?” The woman tipped her chin up, looking her over from head to toe. “What for?”

If there was an answer that wouldn’t get her immediately dismissed, she didn’t know what it was. “I’m hoping he can help me.”