# Final Verdict

Jessica R. Patch

FATAL JUSTICEWhen Aurora Daniels becomes the target of someone seeking their own twisted justice, Sheriff Beckett Marsh is the only one who can rescue her. As a public defender, Aurora has angered plenty of people in town—and in her past. And while Beckett constantly clashes with the feisty lawyer professionally, it’s his duty to protect and serve. Guarding her 24/7 is now his sole assignment. He may not have been able to save his fiancée from a dangerous felon, but he’ll do whatever it takes to keep Aurora alive. Even if working with her to catch and convict this ruthless killer puts his heart in the crosshairs.

FATAL JUSTICE

When Aurora Daniels becomes the target of someone seeking their own twisted justice, Sheriff Beckett Marsh is the only one who can rescue her. As a public defender, Aurora has angered plenty of people in town—and in her past. And while Beckett constantly clashes with the feisty lawyer professionally, it’s his duty to protect and serve. Guarding her 24/7 is now his sole assignment. He may not have been able to save his fiancée from a dangerous felon, but he’ll do whatever it takes to keep Aurora alive. Even if working with her to catch and convict this ruthless killer puts his heart in the crosshairs.

Fear was never far from her mind.

Even today, when Beckett had taken her out of hiding for horseback riding.

She scoped out the pastureland. “Are you sure we should be out in the open like this?”

“You’ll be fine.”

She took his word. “This is exactly what I needed. Thank you.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome.”

Had she been wrong about the sheriff?

“Beckett, I have to tell you. You’re good at this protection thing.” No one was braver, stronger, smarter. “People need you.”

He leaned across his horse and searched her eyes. “What people, Aurora? Who needs me?”

As she fell into his gaze, the words echoed in her head. I need you.

Before she could utter them, she heard the unmistakable sound.

Gunfire!

Her horse reared up then shot forward, nearly knocking her from the saddle. Panic went through her as another gunshot echoed through the woods and splintered the tree she darted past.

“Beckett!” She tugged on the reins but her horse ran out of control. Straight to the ravine.

Dear Reader,

Admittedly, I struggled with Aurora Daniels and her profession (at first). Something similar happened in my life when a drunk teenager hit my brother-in-law and killed him. That pain rippled through my family. Some have healed. Some remain bitter. I had to resolve in my heart that God is in control even in tragedy. In pain. In suffering. In loss. And that He’s forgiving. Not to some. But to all who ask. When unfair things happen in our lives, we have to trust that God will sort out the injustice. If not here, in eternity. I pray that you’ll ask Him to heal you, and believe that He’ll do it. Always. He loves you completely.

I’d love for you to stay in the loop about book releases and inside info only those who subscribe to my newsletter, Patched In, receive. You can join at: www.jessicarpatch.com.

Warmly,

Jessica

JESSICA R. PATCH lives in the mid-South, where she pens inspirational contemporary romance and romantic suspense novels. When she’s not hunched over her laptop or going on adventurous trips with willing friends in the name of research, you can find her watching way too much Netflix with her family and collecting recipes to amazing dishes she’ll probably never cook. To learn more about Jessica, please visit her at jessicarpatch.com.

Final Verdict

Jessica R. Patch


www.millsandboon.co.uk

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My dear children, I am writing this to you so that you will not sin. But if anyone does sin, we have an advocate who pleads our case before the Father. He is Jesus Christ, the one who is truly righteous.

—1 John 2:1

To Chelsey Hale-Browning:

You are brave. You are strong. And I love you.

Many thanks go out to the following people:

My agent, Rachel Kent:

Thank you for being my champion.

My editor, Shana Asaro:

Thank you for deepening my stories and pushing me to make them better.

My critique partners, Jill Kemerer and Susan Tuttle:

You girls consistently rescue this crazy writer!

To Assistant District Attorney Luke Williamson of Desoto County, MS:

You are my friend and a great plotter! You should write a book.

To Deputy Chief Clint Taylor of Mt. Vernon, IL:

Thank you for all of your expertise and patiently answering my questions.

Any mistakes in procedure are all mine.

To David Kolb:

Thank you for helping me with all things mechanic, and for being a wonderful brother-in-law.

Anything I stretched is all on me!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible_Verse

Dedication

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Aurora Daniels inhaled the scent of justice wafting through the courtroom. Winning the motion would come at a grave price, no doubt. Every case she tried did. But her seventeen-year-old client, Austin Bledsoe, could be rehabilitated. It wasn’t in the interest of justice to try the boy as an adult. To toss away the key on a kid who needed a champion, an advocate. A boy who reminded her remarkably of her older brother, Richie.

The courtroom had emptied several minutes ago, and she carefully placed her documents inside her briefcase, taking her time and hoping a mob wouldn’t be waiting for her once she stepped foot into full-on February. Not nearly as frigid as Chicago temperatures, but Hope, Tennessee, could produce incredibly bitter wind and, occasionally, snow.

“Watch your back, Counselor.”

Aurora plopped her phone into her coat pocket and whipped her head in the direction of the low but smooth male voice. Sheriff Beckett Marsh loomed at the doors to the courtroom, onyx eyebrows furrowing over intense eyes that matched his dark mood.

“You threatening me, Sheriff?” Beckett was honest and noble, but he was as fired up over the outcome of today’s motion as the Russell family. Her heart pinched as she thought of them grieving in the right front row. But someone had to do this job. She had to.

“Warning.” He uncrossed his right ankle from his left, pushed off the door frame and stalked her way, heavy work boots clunking on the freshly polished hardwood. He folded his muscular arms across his chest and Aurora worked to keep her wits. Beckett Marsh was ridiculously fit and attractive, but he wasn’t a fan of hers professionally or—apparently—personally. Most law enforcers didn’t care for defense attorneys. Especially those who were good at their profession. “You realize you’ve taken a murderer and allowed him to be slapped on the wrist.”

Aurora raised her chin. “Austin Bledsoe has had no trouble with the law. He makes decent grades. His grandmother passed away two weeks ago. She was his only stability.” Stability was everything she’d always wanted and never had, which was why she’d promised herself that, when she became an adult, she’d do whatever necessary to gain it. Enter accepting the position at Benard, Lowenstein & Meyer. What a nightmare that had turned out to be.

Beckett snorted. “So that makes drinking a bottle of Old Crow and gettin’ drunker than Cooter Brown before plowing into a decent woman—on her way to church, no less—okay?”

“What he did was far from acceptable.” Aurora’s stomach knotted. “He made a fatal mistake in his grief, and he will face consequences—crushing guilt for the rest of his life, for one—but he won’t be thrown away forever. He can be rehabilitated. I know it.” Too bad she couldn’t be rehabbed from her past shortcomings. No matter how many times her mentor promised her that God could free her from the guilt she carried, she couldn’t muster enough faith to believe it.

“Well, Bethany Russell can’t be.”

Aurora dropped her head, torn between championing her client for a second chance and understanding the agonizing pain of the Russell family. She mourned her brother daily. They’d been close. If he could have hung on until she’d graduated law school and got ahold of those case files to exonerate him... But he had slipped away too soon. “I know that, too. Truth is no one won here today. No one.”

“Guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.” Beckett ran his tongue along his full bottom lip. “In the meantime, you’ve got a big portion of the town in an uproar, and when you walk outside the courthouse it won’t be the wind bitin’ at your throat. It’ll be grieving friends and family who expected a better outcome.”

Aurora swallowed down a rush of anxiety. “Well...I appreciate the colorful depiction of my near future.” She tried to slide by Beckett, but he grasped her forearm.

“Counselor, I cared about Bethany Russell and her family. And this town—this county. I’ll do whatever I need to in order to protect the people who live here. My warning isn’t to slice you. You’re a citizen of Hope. I want you safe, so be careful.” The edge in his eyes tempered a fraction and he released his civil grip.

“Thank you.”

He jammed his hands into his coat pockets. “You want me to walk you to your car?”

She viewed the doors leading to the steps that would take her to her vehicle and to the throng of people who hated her for doing her job—for believing that everyone was entitled to a fair trial. They didn’t understand that sometimes she disliked her clients more than anyone. Tossing her glance in Beckett’s direction, she shook her head. “I’m used to unkind words and threats, Sheriff. I’ve handled much worse.” She still felt the stab anyway.

Beckett’s eyebrows lifted. “You talking about losing Severin Renzetti’s case in Chicago and angering a crime family two years ago?”

Aurora wasn’t surprised the sheriff had done a background check on her. He was meticulous. Thorough. A former navy SEAL. The man who had a hand in taking down a major Mexican cartel back in June when his now good buddy, Holt McKnight, had come to town undercover for the DEA.

She wouldn’t even be in his town of Hope if she hadn’t been asked to resign over a stupid, overconfident slipup in the courtroom. She wouldn’t be lying low here in hopes that Franco Renzetti, head of the largest crime family in Chicago, hadn’t changed his mind and decided to seek further retribution for his son, Severin Renzetti’s conviction. She thought of muttering a few prayers for safety, but passed. She didn’t deserve them.

Aurora ignored Beckett’s observation and opened the ornate wooden doors. The wintry gusts charged down her scarf and gray peacoat, forcing a shiver into her bones.

Squaring her shoulders, she met the crowd head-on and proceeded down the concrete steps, keeping her face masked from emotion. In Chicago, dozens of cameras had been thrust in front of her nose, reporters’ voices toppling over each other as they begged for the scoop. Asking how it felt losing a case she had been confident of winning. Asking if the rumors of her and Severin Renzetti being romantically involved were true. They weren’t. But the media skewed every detail.

Severin had been charming, though. He’d been charged and convicted of conspiracy to commit extortion and she had believed in his innocence, that he’d tried to come out from under his family’s reputation to be a decent and honest man. Aurora had sympathized. She’d clawed her way out from under some heavy stereotypes herself. But, in the end, she’d been manipulated and preyed upon for trying to trust that there was good in everyone—or almost everyone—even the son of a mob boss.

“How could you do that, Miss Daniels? That boy killed Bethany Russell!” an older woman hollered.

A menacing voice carried over the woman’s. “Better be careful on those roads, miss. Wouldn’t want you to end up like Mrs. Russell.”

Aurora darted her sight in the direction of the gritty voice. Didn’t recognize it. Couldn’t find the source. But the tone wasn’t laced with grief like the others. No, this sounded ominous. She tugged her wool scarf tighter around her neck and picked up her pace, ignoring the snide comments on the outside. Inside, she had a more difficult time fielding the stings.

Glancing back one last time, she searched for the man who’d threatened her. She used the fob on her key ring, reached out to open the door to her BMW and cringed, then groaned at the long, keyed mark running the length of the driver’s side. Had the man who’d threatened her keyed her car, too, or had that been the handiwork of someone else unhappy with her?

She spotted Beckett Marsh ambling toward her. Following and protecting her even if she had turned him down. “I can watch my back.” She pointed to the deep gash ruining her shiny black paint. “My car not so much.”

Beckett gave a low whistle as he rounded the car and stood beside her, blocking a frigid gust of winter with his body.

She tossed her handbag and briefcase inside as her cell phone rang.

Katelynn, her barista at Sufficient Grounds, was calling. She pulled the cell from her coat and answered. “Hi, Kate. What’s going on?” Had her café been vandalized, too?

“The espresso machine is janky again. I’ve tried everything.”

“You unplugged it, opened the back and jiggled the wires?”

“Jiggled, kicked...”

“Yes, because kicking a four-thousand-dollar machine is smart.” Aurora would have done the same thing had she not known exactly which wires to tamper with. “Just—”

“Jiggle the wires again, I know. I did. You’ve got the touch.” Katelynn’s voice rose an octave. “Please. We’ve got a major crowd and they’re all talking about the motion today. That you won. They aren’t happy, but it appears they aren’t mad enough to boycott the place.”

“It’s the little things.” She’d leased the building and opened the coffeehouse when she’d moved to Hope to try to fit in. Working as the public defender didn’t bring the best of friends. But coffee... Well, everyone liked coffee and camaraderie, and it had helped her acclimate. Until this.

Aurora eyed Beckett, who was in no hurry to leave or even pretend he wasn’t listening to her conversation. “Be there in five.” She hung up, slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition on her car, then peered up at Beckett. “I’ve got to—”

“Jiggle wires.” His lips twitched. “I heard. Hey, if you need anything...”

“Can you fix an espresso machine?” She turned on the heat full blast; arctic air shocked her face. She turned it off and huffed. It took entirely too long for vehicles to heat up. She should have moved farther south.

He ignored her rhetorical question, but the right side of his mouth inched north. In Aurora’s book, that was a smile. Biggest one Beckett Marsh had ever laid on her. He adjusted the fleece collar of his sheriff’s coat. “Still stands. It’s my duty, you know. To protect people.”

Yes, he reminded her every time she won a case. She was protecting people, too. People like her brother, Richie. Most of her clients were folks who needed a second chance to get it right. Most. She had to take the bad with good. Came with the territory.

Aurora hurried to the café and entered through the back. After fixing the espresso machine, she grabbed a caffè mocha and drove home for the night. She had work to do. Seven months ago Blair Sullivan, now McKnight, had asked her if she ever defended men like the ones who had come after Blair. The Mexican cartel. Aurora told her she didn’t defend dead men. After those evil people had been taken down by the DEA, there weren’t any left who needed a defense. It was an easy way to skirt around what Blair had really been asking, but the question had dogged her every day since.

When Richie committed suicide in prison, she didn’t try to clear her older brother’s name. He deserved as much, though. So, last month, she’d gone back to Richfield, Mississippi, where she’d been raised, opened up the old files and poked around. Nothing so far, but Richie was innocent and Aurora wasn’t going to stop until she proved it. She owed him that much.

She parked in the drive and sprinted up to the porch of the antebellum home she’d rented from Mitch Rydell. The only things that belonged solely to her were the furniture inside and her car. She wasn’t sure how long she’d get to stay in Hope, not with the possibility of Franco Renzetti coming after her. But it had been quiet this long and she’d put down a few roots.

She paused at the front door. Wind howled through stick-bare trees. Nights came sooner these days, and by four o’clock the sun had abandoned her. Beckett’s warning and the gravelly-voiced threat sent her scanning her large yard and the tree line fifteen feet to the right. She shook off the jitters and went inside. Ah, delicious warmth and the smell of her cinnamon potpourri helped chase away the blues and the creeps. After drinking her coffee, then making a bite of dinner and poring over files and evidence, she stood and stretched.

The sound of a diesel engine roared in the near distance. Odd. Her road only had three other houses and hardly ever received traffic. She clutched her stomach, as if pressing her hand against it would send the fright and paranoia away, and tiptoed into the living room as the noise grew louder, closer.

She fisted her hands as blinding headlights shone on her house.

One more step forward, a high-pitched clang reverberated through her home and something crashed through her living room window.

Aurora shrieked, threw her hands up in defense and squeezed her eyes closed as the object careened into her shoulder and bounced off, landing on the floor and rolling across the hardwood.

The wind whipped relentlessly through the broken window, adding to the chill in her bones. Aurora stood stunned as she massaged the throbbing area.

Shards of glass covered her couch and a few specks skittered across the floor.

The blinding lights disappeared, leaving her yard draped in darkness.

She inched toward the object rolling on her hardwood floor. An empty bottle.

Old Crow whiskey.

Same brand Austin Bledsoe had been drinking when he sped through a stop sign and hit Bethany Russell.

Her hands trembled as she tucked them inside her sweatshirt sleeves, using them as gloves to pick up the bottle, a question rattling her brain and sending a thump of fear into her chest. She’d been threatened earlier. Was this the end or only the beginning?

* * *

“Counselor!” Beckett Marsh poked his nose through Aurora Daniels’s broken windowpane when she wouldn’t answer the front door. It had taken him ten minutes to get here after she’d called. While her words had come out clear, the speed at which she’d spoken told the tale.

She’d been shaken up.

Now she stood in the middle of her living room with one hand cupping her left shoulder. He did a double take. This wasn’t the confident professional in her typical attire of power suits and heels. Bare feet anchored to the hardwood, baggy gray sweatpants and an equally baggy Ole Miss Rebels sweatshirt masking her slender figure. And still something about the look, even with her signature tight knot at the base of her neck, rattled something loose in his chest. He refocused, uncomfortable with the powerful response to seeing her like this. Not like he hadn’t been attracted the first time he’d laid eyes on her a little over a year ago when he came back home. Anyone would be an idiot not to find her attractive. But her line of work put the kibosh on anything beyond admiring a beautiful woman. Ain’t no way he could follow that trail. “You hurt?”

She hurried to the front door, unlocking it and letting him inside. “Just my shoulder. Probably going to bruise, is all.” She gave it a haphazard rub. Nice attempt at the brave front.

That bottle could have hit her head, knocked her out, cut her up or worse. He fisted his hand to keep from touching her. “I got here as fast as I could.”

“I appreciate it. Guess you were correct about the threats.” She tossed out a weak laugh.

This was nothing to make light of, and he hated that he’d been right. He ignored the hint of chocolate and the faint scent of something flowery drifting from her skin or clothing. A bottle on the kitchen table snagged his attention. “Old Crow.”

“Like I said when I called, they threw a whiskey bottle. Drove a big truck, big engine. Could be a Hemi V8. Maybe even a Detroit Diesel 550 horsepower. Heard it when it turned on my street.”

Beckett inclined his head and studied her, unsure of what impressed him more. The fact Aurora Daniels had a handle on big engines or that she’d called him first—or at all. They butted heads often and he wouldn’t deny he was pretty tough on her. But for every five people he tossed behind bars, she’d cut three loose with her slick litigation skills. How was he supposed to keep his county safe when the shrewd counselor put criminals right back out on the street?

He’d seen what monsters free to prey the streets could do. Seen evil get away with murder when one had claimed his fiancée’s life the night before their wedding. Meghan’s lifeless body had been seared into Beckett’s mind forever. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forgive himself for not coming to her rescue in time.

“Sheriff?” Aurora drew him from the nightmare that plagued him. “I asked how many people on your end know that Austin Bledsoe was drinking Old Crow whiskey.”

Good question. Same one that had popped into his mind. That brain of hers was incredible. Sharp. Too bad it wasn’t being used for a better cause. “Officers on the scene the night Bethany Russell was killed. Whoever was working evidence. I can’t think of anyone else. The judge.”

Aurora quirked her lips to the side. “The Russell family and anyone they told.”

Beckett’s gut clenched. He couldn’t rule out Trevor Russell or his teenage boy. But he hated to have to question them. They’d been through enough already with Bethany’s death and funeral only four short months ago. They’d been clinging to the hope of justice today, but it had miscarried. However, he knew firsthand what time soaked in grief could do, and it wasn’t pretty. He’d been on that end of the stick. “I’ll talk to Trevor.”

Aurora sighed and tapped her nail against the tip of her nose. He’d noticed that before. In the courtroom. Her thinking habit. “I guess I need to get some plastic over that. I can call Mitch in the morning. Have the glass replaced.” She bounded for the door leading to the garage. Beckett followed.

“Plastic isn’t safe. Anyone could cut through it.”

Aurora paused. “I think that guy’s threat at the courthouse today was meant to scare me. Mission accomplished. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he’d have already gotten into the house. If this was him.”

Fire pulsed in his chest. “What threat?” Aurora had said she was used to unkind words, and he could easily imagine. She’d worked in a high-profile law firm that repped some shady clients. But a bottle had made direct impact on her body. This wasn’t idle threats and unkind verbiage.

“A guy in the crowd today. I didn’t recognize the voice and couldn’t match a face to the words, but he told me to be careful or I could end up in a car accident like Bethany Russell. Just words.” She shrugged, but Beckett wasn’t born yesterday. Aurora was trying to talk herself out of being afraid. Fear wasn’t always a bad thing. Fear had kept him alive and alert on all his tours and missions as a SEAL.

“Well, I’d feel better if we didn’t use plastic. Besides, it’s gonna get down in the twenties tonight. Plastic won’t keep the nip out.”

She pointed to the far side of the sparse garage. “I have some plywood. That work?”

“Yup. And you need to put some shoes on. Protect your feet while we get the glass cleaned up.”

She pursed her lips but said nothing.

Beckett grabbed several boards in the corner and Aurora retrieved a hammer and nails and followed him inside. “Got a broom?”

“The one I use for sweeping or the one I ride on?” Aurora tilted her head and pierced him with a maybe sort of accusing glare.

So that’s what she assumed he thought of her. Hardly. He wasn’t sure what to think. This was the longest he’d spent in a room with her other than a courtroom, and they didn’t converse much inside. Besides, he never allowed himself to see her as anything but the enemy. Now, she was a target who trusted him to protect her. And that’s exactly what he planned to do.

“Sweeping will be fine.” He smirked. “I don’t want to put you out a vehicle.”

“Hmm...” Aurora snagged a broom and dustpan from the pantry, slipped on a pair of house shoes that had been lying under the kitchen table, and they went to work cleaning up the glass and boarding up the window.

When it was finished he noticed her fire was dying. “You got any wood? I can get a fresh fire going before I head out.” No way was he letting her do it. Instinct told him this wasn’t over. But he didn’t want to scare her further, and it didn’t technically warrant putting a detail on her.

Meghan had begged and pleaded with the sheriff in her small Georgia town to patrol her house. But they couldn’t prove she was in danger. Her stalker had been cunning, averting the law yet tormenting her. When it first started, Beckett had been on an extended tour in Afghanistan with Meghan’s brother, Wilder. He’d had no idea, not until he came home. He’d been powerless.

He had the power to do something about this.

“I’ll do a few drive-bys through the night. Make sure everything’s safe.” He might not be able to use taxpayers’ dollars for a deputy to sit outside, but Beckett could on his own time.

Aurora met him with a delicate smile. “I appreciate that. But I don’t think it’s necessary, and I have some self-defense training, as well as gun-range time. I’m a pretty good shot.”

Brave. Resilient. But Beckett had seen fear on thousands of faces. “I believe you, Counselor. Now, about that firewood?”

“Oh.” She scratched at the base of her neck. A dainty neck. Smooth. “It’s under the tarp on the side of the house, but I can do it. Really. I mean, I started that one.”

“I don’t feel comfortable letting you haul wood in out of the dark. Just in case. Precaution, is all.” He flipped the collar on his coat up and stalked to the woodpile. Doing a slow scan with his flashlight, he checked out the woods that surrounded the house. No footprints. The branches rustled. Critters slunk around, crunching dead leaves. Something was off. Puffs of night air plumed in front of him as he patrolled the yard. He couldn’t spot anyone, but red flags waved.

Someone was out there.

Watching.

Or maybe he was paranoid after what had happened to Meghan.

Beckett hauled in the firewood and a few extra logs. Inside, freshly brewed coffee uncoiled one of the many knots tightening his neck and shoulders.

Aurora handed him a steaming cup. “It’s brutal out there. Warm you up. Least I can do.”

He dusted his hands on his pants and accepted the cup, her fingers brushing his. He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“It’s black, like you like it.”

He sipped, the French roast warming all the way down his throat. “You know how I like my coffee?”

“I’m in the coffee business.” She shrugged, but her cheeks flushed a pretty shade of rose and she broke eye contact. First time for everything. She held his glares quite well in the courtroom or at the jail.

“Why are you in the coffee business? You seem to be living in high cotton.” Driving that BMW, wearing fancy clothes, and the air about her simply smelled like money. He took another sip and squatted by the fire.

Aurora folded her arms across her chest and gazed into the flames. “To be honest, the coffee in Hope stinks. I drink enough that it dictated opening up a business.”

He snorted. “Uh-huh, now really, be honest.”

“How do you know I’m not?”

Her upturned and perky nose might give off an appearance of snootiness, but the averting gaze and body language said she had a more private reason and didn’t care to divulge. “I just know. But you don’t have to get personal with me, Counselor.” He stood and studied the few photos on her mantel. “That’s you. Can’t miss the hair.” Blondish red. Probably still long like the toothless little girl in the photo; he’d never seen it down before. She’d grown from adorable to beautiful. “That a brother or something next to you?”

“Yes. Richie. He died.”

The words punched his chest. “I’m sorry.”

She clutched the photo and seemed to slip down memory lane. “He’s why I do what I do. He committed suicide in prison when I was in my second year of law school.”

Beckett grimaced. “Went to school to get him out somehow?”

“He was innocent. What choice did I have? Someone had to give him decent counsel. Who better to advocate for him than someone who believed in him?”

“Ninety-nine percent of criminals say they’re innocent.”

Aurora’s eyes hardened and she set the photo back on the mantel. “Some are telling the truth. Like Richie.”

Beckett had worn out his welcome, but that suited him. He wasn’t diggin’ seeing Aurora as a victim. A really soft, beautiful woman who grieved her brother even if he was a criminal. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“When I clear his name, you’ll be the first to know, Sheriff.”

He opened the door and stepped onto the porch. “Lock it behind me and I’ll be by a few times. If you need anything—”

“I can handle it myself.” Brazenness and a need to prove her case held his gaze, but beyond that lay something else. Torment. Sorrow.

Okay, her view on the justice system got a rise out of him, but could he be a bigger idiot? He’d basically insulted her dead brother, whom she loved. What a jerk. He owed her an apology for his insensitivity.

“Look—”

Her cell rang. She held up an index finger and snagged it from the table by the couch. She studied the screen and frowned.

Someone she didn’t want to talk to? Beckett ought to go. He could apologize later. It was freezing out here. He should have moved to Florida. “I’m gonna—” The rest of his sentence nose-dived when Aurora’s cheeks blanched. She hadn’t said anything after her hello.

“Who is this?” Her voice trembled.

“What’s going on?” Beckett whispered.

“Hello? Hello...” Aurora hit the end button and stared at Beckett, eyes wide.

Beckett reentered the house and shut the door behind him. “Who was that?”

“Same gritty voice from this morning. In the crowd.” Her tone was too quiet, hollow.

Beckett’s neck muscles wound even tighter and he ground his jaw. “What did he say?”

Aurora clutched her throat. “Death is coming for me.”

TWO

Beckett snagged Aurora’s phone and checked her recent calls. Unknown number. “I’ll get a trace on this.”

“We both know that’s a long shot. Probably a burner phone.” She rubbed her temples and pursed her lips.

She was right. But if someone had done this on impulse, they might have only blocked her view of the number. It was a thin thread, but he was hanging on to it. “No one is going to get to you, understand?”

Aurora’s eyebrows tweaked and she gave a weak nod. She trusted him enough to call but not enough to actually protect her?

He pivoted her carefully, forcing her to face him. “No one.” He drilled into her gaze until she gave a solid nod. Better. Beckett needed her to have faith in him. He needed to have some faith, but after his failure with Meghan, his faith in himself—and in God—was shaky at best. This time, he couldn’t let someone take a life right out from under his nose. His trained nose. Guilt battered his ribs. “I’ll call one of my guys to come and get the phone—”

“No.” Aurora tapped her nose again. Something in that pretty head was cooking. “Someone on the inside knows what brand of whiskey Austin Bledsoe drank. I don’t trust anyone in your office to do right by me. Sorry not sorry. You do it. I trust you, Beckett.”

Beckett. He’d never heard her say his name. Not that he’d ever used hers. He liked the way it rolled off her tongue. “You sure?”

“I may not enjoy our conversations and you may not like me, but you’re honest to a fault.”

They didn’t have conversations. They had arguments. And he’d never said he didn’t like her. His fear at the moment was getting to know her and liking her too much. “All right. I’ll do it myself.” He didn’t bother to acknowledge her other statement. “And I have to make a few stops.”

“Question Trevor Russell?”

The woman was keen. “Yes.” Not that he was over the moon about it. But the situation warranted it. Beckett couldn’t take her with him. Couldn’t leave her here unattended, and she didn’t trust anyone but him, which made things difficult but also sent a swell of satisfaction through him. “Can you have a friend come over? Or go somewhere for the night?”

Her mouth dropped open and defiance slashed through her eyes. “Let him win? Let him run me out of my own home over a scary phone call? Hardly.”

He had a feeling she’d say something like that. She might as well be a walking billboard for the word resolute. He’d witnessed that time and again in the courtroom. Like a bulldog on a bone. “I can’t protect you if I’m not here. He’s already tossed a bottle through the window—and now the call. Maybe it is a threat to terrorize you.” No way he believed that, based on personal experience. “But maybe it’s not.”

She ran her hands over her face and groaned. “Kelly’s in Memphis for the night. New grandbaby.”

Judge Kelly Marks had hired Aurora as the court-appointed attorney. From what Beckett knew, she’d been one of Aurora’s law professors at Ole Miss and her mentor of sorts. She lived over by the Magnolia Inn, on the hill with an iron gate. Aurora would be more secure there, but that wasn’t an option tonight. “What about staying with Holt and Blair McKnight?”

Aurora gave him a cutting eye. “They’ve been married less than six months. I’m not intruding on the honeymooners.”

Beckett growled. “It’s one night. I’m calling them.”

Aurora pinched the bridge of her nose. “I feel like a child. Like...like I’m losing.”

“Not everything is about winning and losing, Counselor. This is about staying safe. Holt McKnight will make sure of it, and I trust him with my life. I trust him with yours.”

Beckett gauged her. She was just shy of stomping her foot and crying or throat punching him. He eased back in case of the latter. Surely, she’d see reason and let him drive her over to the McKnights’ for one evening. Tomorrow, she could stay with Judge Marks.

“Only for tonight.”

His muscles relaxed in thankfulness they weren’t going to butt heads again because, when it came to Aurora’s safety, he’d fight until he won. He called Holt, gave him the lowdown and hung up. “Blair’s making up the guest room now.”

“Then one night, it is. I’m not going to run scared.”

Beckett studied her. Seemed like that was what she’d done by coming to Hope. Why else would an uppity attorney like her move from Chicago to here? It was like she’d run as far away as she could from Franco Renzetti. “Nobody but you said you were. Pack a bag.”

She muttered about his barking demands and trudged to her room.

Like a child. But cute as all get-out.

A few moments later, Aurora had a bag hanging on her arm. “I need to take that box of files. I can’t risk someone knowing I’m gone and busting in here and ransacking the place—including the files.”

Beckett collected the ones lying on the table and added them to the rest in the cardboard box. Case files on her brother. “Hey,” he said, and turned, “I’m sorry for earlier. I know how much you loved your brother, and I basically told you he was guilty. I don’t even know the facts. So, I apologize for acting like a jerk.”

“Thank you.”

Well, that was something he’d never expected out of the shrewd attorney. Grace. It surprised and befuddled him. Beckett carried the box to the door. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna go out first. Do a sweep, make sure no one is lurking. I’ll come back inside and get you.” He grabbed her other bag and surveyed the area from the porch. After placing the items in the backseat, he swept the perimeter. Everything seemed quiet. Bleak. Temps were dropping steadily. A sense that someone was watching skittered across his flesh. Please don’t be you, Trevor. He finished clearing the area and came inside. Aurora was perched on her recliner.

“Everything as it should be?”

He nodded. He’d leave the sixth sense to himself. “Let’s go.” He hovered over her as she locked the front door and sheltered her as they made their way to his Chevy Tahoe, the words Fallon County Sheriff reflecting in silver.

Ten minutes later, he had her on Holt and Blair McKnight’s porch. Blair guided Aurora inside, and Holt stepped outside and closed the front door, his hair whipping in all directions as they stood in the frigid night. “What are you thinking?”

Beckett cupped his aching neck. “Could be anyone, man. She shook up a crowd today. People starting to heal. This motion brought everything back up.”

Holt rested a hip on the wooden porch railing. “I’m sure Trevor was hoping for the court to rule in his favor. He’s bound to be furious. Old wounds ripped open. But would he stoop to throwing a whiskey bottle through the window and threatening Aurora with that kind of phone call? He’s a good dude. Lieutenant at the firehouse. Lot to lose if he did this.”

“What if it had been Blair who Austin rammed into? What would you do?” Beckett tipped his head as Holt’s face hardened. “Exactly. You’d want to see that kid pay for the rest of his life, and then some. And you’d want to see whoever let him walk pay along with him.”

“He’s not going to walk.”

“He’s not serving a life sentence, either. Probably get three months. Then community service and parole. Hardly seems fair.” Beckett pulled a butterscotch candy from his coat pocket and popped it into his mouth, twisting the golden paper between his thumb and index finger. “I don’t know. I’m heading over there now. Aurora doesn’t want to be here. She says she’s cutting into honeymoon time.”

Holt chuckled. “Blair has morning sickness at night. The honeymoon is over, bro. They say she should feel better come next month. So, be glad Aurora was threatened now and not in April.” He gave Beckett’s shoulder a solid pat. “She’ll be safe here. And she’s welcome to stay till next week. But then I’m in Memphis for a few days teaching a narcotics class. I’d rather—”

“Her not be in the house with only Blair and your kiddo cookin’ inside her. I wouldn’t do that. She’s staying with Judge Marks come tomorrow.”

“I mean what’s Blair gonna do anyway? Puke on the attacker?”

Beckett laughed. “I’ll be by in the morning. Or if anything new arises.” He shook Holt’s hand and left for Trevor Russell’s house. Holt was right. With the ruling today, all that agony and hurt would be fresh. Trevor and his family had been banking all these months that Austin Bledsoe would be punished to the fullest extent of the law. As an adult. God, why did You let him get away with this? Why didn’t You move the judge to rule that he be tried as an adult? You can do anything You want. Turn the heart of a pharaoh. Soften a king. Why did You fail them?

His phone rang as he pulled into the Russells’ driveway. He glanced at the screen. Wilder Flynn. His oldest buddy from the SEALs. And Meghan’s brother. No time to talk. Besides, Beckett didn’t have an answer for Wilder. Moving to Atlanta to work with his elite team and seeing him every day would only remind him of Meghan. Of failing her. Beckett wasn’t sure he could handle that. Too much guilt. Plus, he’d finally come home to a safer career, and his mother was on top of the Rockies. Going back into a high-risk occupation would knock her off the edge. Mama had no one but him to see to her.

He let it go to voice mail and climbed the steps to Trevor’s porch. A light burned in the living room. He knocked. Waited. Knocked again.

Trevor’s son, Quent, opened up. Definitely not sleepy eyed. “Hey, bud. Your dad in?”

“Why?” Quent’s jaw hardened and he bristled. Why the need to go defensive?

“I need to talk to him.”

“Quent, who’s here?” Trevor came to the door, hair tousled, white T-shirt wrinkled. “Beck? What’s going on?”

Beckett scuffed his toe along the wooden planks. “How you doing?”

“You’re here at eleven o’clock at night to ask me how I’m doing?” He frowned. “How do you think I’m doing?”

Beckett massaged his achy neck muscle again. “I know it’s not the verdict you wanted to hear—”

“Not even close,” he hissed. “Why are you here?”

Beckett told him about the whiskey bottle and the phone call. “I was wondering if you might know anything about that? Tell anyone the brand, perhaps?”

Trevor gave a humorless laugh. “Really? Give me a break. My wife is dead. That punk is getting away with it and you want to question me about a bottle? I’m only sorry it didn’t whop her upside the head and knock some decency into her. Quent, go to bed.”

After tonight, Beckett wasn’t so sure that Aurora wasn’t decent. She was complicated. “Wait. I need to ask Quent if he might know anything.” He inspected the boy. “Do you?”

“No,” he barked. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I hope she gets what’s coming to her.” He stomped off, and Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose.

The kid had a lot of anger. Could it have been him? Maybe, but not the threats. Aurora had said the voice was gravelly. Trevor’s voice was gravelly. But lots of male voices had a rasp. “I’m sorry. I had to ask. It’s my job.”

“Yeah.” Trevor closed the door in Beckett’s face. Well, that went well.

* * *

Aurora hadn’t slept much last night. Not that Blair’s guest bed was uncomfortable, but she’d had too much on her mind. Today, she had an appointment in Richfield, Mississippi, with the detective who’d been assigned her brother’s case and an interview with Gus’s widow, Darla McGregor. She’d always believed that Richie hadn’t murdered her husband, and Aurora had been grateful someone had been on her side. Maybe, after all this time, one of them might remember something they hadn’t before.

Now she sat across from Beckett at The Black-Eyed Pea, picking at her eggs and toast. He’d shown up to the McKnights’ home bright and early and told her he was on protection detail. He’d then dropped her at the office for an hour before picking her back up for breakfast. Apparently, this was where he ate his most important meal of the day. He didn’t appear to be into cooking. Aurora fixed poached eggs every single morning.

Beckett gave her the facts on Trevor Russell’s questioning last night while he peppered his grits. She hadn’t expected Mr. Russell or his son to roll over and confess. And she wasn’t sure either of them had been behind the incident, anyway. It could have been anyone. But she had mulled over a few things. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Beckett perked up. “About what?”

“Staying with Kelly. I can’t let a couple of threats keep me from my home, Beckett. It’s silly. It’s drastic.”

“It’s better safe than sorry.” He pointed to her plate. “Eat your eggs.”

Bossy much? She frowned. “Do you know why I choose eggs for breakfast, Sheriff?”

Confusion crinkled the edges of his eyes. “Protein?”

“No,” she said, her voice clipped, as he scooped a forkful of grits. “I eat eggs every day to remind me that I’m not a chicken.”

Beckett paused midbite, eyebrows rising toward his thick, dark hairline. Then he laughed. Loud. Rich. “And you eat them poached because there’s some kind of symbolism to being in hot water?”

She ignored him because maybe on some weird, subconscious level there was.

But the laughter wasn’t funny. No doubt Beckett Marsh feared no one and no thing. “When it got sticky—much stickier than this—in Chicago, you know what I did? I tucked my tail between my legs and ran here, taking Kelly’s offer. She risked her neck to give me this opportunity. I’d made a mess of my career. And I only tell you this because you undoubtedly know it anyway.”

“Fair assessment.” He chuckled again.

“Nothing about this is funny.” She was trying to explain why she couldn’t up and leave her house over some small-town threat. This wasn’t La Cosa Nostra, for crying out loud. It was an angry citizen. It would pass.

“You’re right. Well...the eggs thing is a little funny. Do you really eat eggs every day? And for that reason?”

She simply glowered, making her point.

“Sorry.” The amusement in his eyes said he wasn’t.

“I’m not going to let whoever this is scare me. That’s exactly what he wants.” She held up her hand. “Before you say it, it’s not about winning, but it kind of is. Not for the sake of winning, but to let this guy know he can’t do this. He can’t frighten me out of my home.”

Beckett grimaced and put down his fork, wiped his mouth. “I see your point. But threats shouldn’t be ignored or taken casually. What if it wasn’t a scare tactic? What if it’s a warning of things to come?”

“We take precautions other than me leaving my house. Besides, if he can find me at home, he can find me at someone else’s.”

“True. But I don’t want you far from me.”

“Well, I’m going to Richfield today. To interview—” Her phone rang. Not again. Oliver Benard. Her old law partner from Chicago had been calling the last several days, and Aurora had been ignoring every single one, including the vague voice mails informing her they needed to talk. About what? The fact it was Aurora’s fault his son had died at Renzetti’s hands in that car explosion? Instead of taking Aurora’s life, they’d taken Hayden’s. Aurora had been so ashamed and guilty, she hadn’t even attended Hayden’s funeral.

Here she was talking bravery and she couldn’t even take Oliver’s phone call.

“What is it? Is that an unknown caller? Again?”

“No.” Aurora pocketed her phone and sipped her juice. “Just someone I can’t talk to.”

Beckett buttered his toast. “Why?”

“I don’t want to. Now, back to my day. I appreciate you picking me up from Blair’s this morning. But I can’t become your new sidekick. I have a life. I have work. And I have Richie’s case to dig into, which is why I’m going to Richfield this morning.”

“I don’t like it. That’s two hours away.” He pushed his plate aside. “Put it off until tomorrow. I’ll go with you.”

Aurora sized him up. Most of the time she could read people fairly well. This was a man bent on doing what he said he would—keeping her safe at all costs—which meant he wasn’t going to budge on this. “I’ll make a few calls and see if we can reschedule. If not, I’m doing it today, Beckett. I’ve put off defending my brother long enough.”

He pointed to her plate. “Choke down your courage and I’ll get the check, then drop you at the courthouse.”

Aurora groaned. “Are you going to escort me across the street to my office afterward, as well?”

A sly grin cruised across his face. “Not if you eat your eggs.”

She huffed, but a giggle surfaced in her throat. She switched the subject back to his hovering over her like she was some sheep in need of a shepherd. “This might be extreme.”

“You have no idea what extreme is, Counselor.” Beckett motioned for Jace Black, co-owner of the establishment, to bring the check.

She did know extreme, but the way Beckett said it, Aurora had a sneaky feeling he’d seen things that had nothing to do with SEAL missions or war. Something he kept private. A need to know rose up in her. A wish he’d confide in her. Which was silly. The last two days were the most she’d ever personally spent with Beckett. But she was beginning to see a side of him other than surly and unsociable. A sense of humor for one. Considerate. Thoughtful. She admired those attributes. Too much.

He held the door open for her and led her to the Tahoe. At the courthouse, Aurora waved to Beckett as she entered, then she made her way to Kelly’s chambers. She knocked and was met with an invitation to come inside. Kelly sat behind her mahogany desk, robed. Her short, silver chin-length bob framed compassionate eyes. “I’m about to head into court, but I’m glad to see you. I heard about the threats.”

“From who?”

Kelly tented her fingers on the desk. “The town in general. Rumors were buzzing around the courthouse this morning.”

“Oh. So, how is the baby?”

“A doll. I have pictures.” Kelly beamed.

Babies. Once upon a time she’d wanted to get married and have children of her own. But Richie had gone to prison and she’d jumped onto a different path. No time for real relationships or children. She’d been focused on work and all her pro bono cases, which had been the biggest appeal of the position at Benard, Lowenstein & Meyer. “So, you heard about the calls or the whiskey bottle?”

Kelly’s mouth dropped open. “I heard your car got keyed and someone knocked out a window at your place. What else is going on?”

Aurora shared the details.

Kelly sat quietly, then clasped Aurora’s hand. “You should stay with me.”

Aurora had no doubt Kelly would offer. “I’m fine. You know how this goes. It’ll blow over.” She hoped. “But I do need to vent about something. Oliver Benard has been calling me.”

Kelly leaned back in her plush office chair. “So answer.”

“I can’t. I’m scared.”

“Scared to answer a phone call, but brave enough to stay in a house alone with threats coming through your front window.” Kelly pointed at her. “The invitation to stay with me stands. I think you’re being foolish by not accepting. However, I understand why you want to stand your ground and thus proclaim you’re not afraid of threats. But if they escalate...”

“I’ll let you know and take you up on it. About Oliver?”

“Take his call. You never know. He might want to show you some grace.”

Grace.

She didn’t deserve it. His son was dead because of her. “I’d rather crawl into a hole. What if he’s not calling to offer me gracious words?”

“Why, after two years, would he call you if not to extend a little kindness?”

“Anniversary of his son’s death is February fifteenth. Maybe he wants to make sure I remember.” Like she could forget.

“Aurora.” Kelly’s motherly tone warmed her. Her own mother hadn’t been too motherly, and she’d spent most of her time locked in her bedroom. At least, when she wasn’t taking her antidepressants, which was most of the time. “Trust God to work on your behalf.”

She’d trusted God once. Before Richie had been stamped guilty. Before Aurora had been. Before her world had crumbled all around her. It didn’t seem like God was there for her at all. “I’m heading to my office. I’ll think about what you said.”

She was leaving Kelly’s chambers as her phone rang.

Unknown Caller.

Did she ignore it?

Chills poked her spine, but she answered.

No one spoke, only breath filtering lightly through the line.

“I was doing my job. So back off. If you think I won’t figure out who you are, then you’re mistaken.”

A dark and menacing laugh cut straight to her marrow. “We’ll see.”

The line went dead.

Had she seriously taunted this guy? Well, she wouldn’t be confiding that to Beckett.

She crossed the street to her office on the corner, working to erase the creepy-crawlers scuttling up and down her arms and the back of her neck. She entered.

“Mags?”

Her receptionist wasn’t at her desk, but the light was on and piano music played on the Pandora station. Maybe she had run to grab tea at the Read It and Steep shop.

She ambled down the hall to her office and unlocked the door. Aurora caught a whiff of something. A foreign yet familiar scent. Something possibly masculine.

Bizarre. A wintry whisper pricked her neck.

She eyed her office. The lid on the cardboard box housing files for Richie’s case was loose. It’d been on tight before Beckett had driven her to breakfast. Heels clicking on the tile caught her attention, and she poked her head out the office door.

Mags came in, blond hair spiking all over her head. “Hey, boss. I’m trying this new blooming tea. Felicity talked me in...to... What’s wrong?”

Aurora controlled the panic in her voice. “Did anyone come in while I was at The Black-Eyed Pea?”

“No. Why?”

“No reason.” She ducked back inside her office and finished removing the lid on the file box.

They were out of order.

Someone had pilfered through them.

But why?

And who? And how had he gotten into her office when she’d locked the door before heading to breakfast?

Peeking out the window behind her desk, Aurora skimmed the street. Nothing. Was this something she ought to bring to Beckett’s attention? If she did, he’d go right back on his spiel to stay somewhere else. Maybe she hadn’t had the lid on tight, or the files organized.

No. She had.

And the scent lingering. That was new.

He needed to know—once she drummed up a defense in favor of not packing up and running scared.

She combed through the files. Nothing had been taken. She called the detective and Gus McGregor’s widow and rescheduled, then met with a few clients.

At lunch, she wasn’t as shaken up, and by the time Beckett picked her up for dinner, she had decided not to mention it. Yet. He seemed tense on the drive to her house. He pulled into her driveway.

“I really don’t like this,” he said.

Aurora plucked Richie’s file box from the floorboard. “See you tomorrow morning. My appointment with Detective Holmstead is at ten.”

“I know you heard me.”

“What was that?” She slanted her head as if she couldn’t hear.

He scowled. “I’m coming in to clear the house.”

“Well, of course you are.”

Beckett climbed out of the Tahoe and walked Aurora up to the front door. She unlocked it and he entered first. A few moments later, he deemed it safe and she kicked off her shoes. “See you in the morning.”

He hemmed and hawed around, then left. She locked the door and lit the fireplace. By the time she had finished making a few notes to ask Detective Holmstead, it was nearly nine o’clock. A low whistle pushed through the small crevices in the plywood covering the broken window. The glass man was coming out the day after tomorrow.

She crawled in bed and watched the news until she couldn’t stay awake. The phone rang, startling her from sleep. Glancing at the clock, she growled. Eleven o’clock.

Unknown Caller.

She ignored it, her nerves fraying.

It rang again.

Silence filled the house except for the hum of her heating unit kicking on. Please leave me alone.

The shrill of the phone came once more. She answered. “Stop calling. It won’t change anything. And you’re not scaring me.” Lies. Lies. Lies.

Nothing but a low exhalation. She hung up.

He called back.

After a few more times, she turned her cell phone off and padded to the kitchen for some chamomile tea. She filled her teapot and set it on the stove to boil. Leaning against the kitchen counter, she focused on calming her pulse.

The kettle whistled.

The light above the stove flickered and died.

She peeked under the microwave. Bulb must have burned out. She switched on the kitchen light.

Nothing.

A sense of dread pooled in her gut. She crept into the living room and turned the switch on the lamp.

Darkness.

Might have tripped the circuit. She tiptoed down the hall, refraining from the instinct goading her to sprint. She entered her room and retrieved her gun and a book light. She wasn’t the idiot heroine who walked outside without a weapon. She flicked the safety off and approached the garage to flip the breaker. Invisible fingers slid across her skin, raising goose bumps.

It’s a tripped circuit. That’s it.

Muted moonlight left a sliver across the frigid concrete floor. Aurora quivered. Maybe from winter monopolizing the garage. Maybe a fair amount of fear. Probably both. She hurried to the metal breaker box and shined the book light on the black switches.

Yep. Tripped circuit. She slid it left and back to the right, then relaxed. “Stupid breaker. You picked a fine time to fail me.”

A whiff of that same scent from her office snaked into her nostrils.

Hairs stood on end, awareness hammering her like a gavel against the sound block.

No time to move or swivel toward the presence in the garage. A strong arm shrouded in a black jacket came around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides; a gloved hand sealed her mouth and nose.

Can’t breathe!

Panic kicked in, sending a sour taste to her throat and leaving her light-headed. She still clung to her gun, but he had her across the forearms, pinned and unable to aim even at his foot.

Aurora stomped the attacker’s toes as hard as she could, then bent forward, throwing him off balance. When he loosened his grip she swung around. A mask covered his face.

Bringing the gun up, she aimed, but he ducked as she fired, then he tore through the door leading into her house.

The front door slammed.

Aurora bent at the knees and gulped for air.

The odd scent remained, and she couldn’t quite place it other than that it had been in her office earlier.

Why would her attacker be interested in Richie’s files? A frightening thought knocked her off balance.

What if the tossed whiskey bottle had nothing to do with the earlier calls and attacks? What if this had everything to do with her nosing into Gus McGregor’s murder?