The Prosecutor Read online

  “SIDS isn’t genetic. There was no reason to tell you until you wanted to know.” Jonah closed his eyes as their baby kicked at him again. He hadn’t ever had the privilege of watching a chosen partner grow the life they’d created together, and he couldn’t seem to let go. In less than three months’ time, Madison would give birth to their boy, and it was up to her to decide who’d be there for her. “In truth, I didn’t know what to say. I wanted you to see I respected your decision to raise this baby on your own without being pressured into doing something because of my past, but now you know, and I’ll understand if that doesn’t change your plans.”

  “You haven’t pressured me, Jonah.” She slid from his arms, staring up at him with vivid empathy in her light brown gaze. “You saved my life, and I will never be able to repay you for that, but my decision hasn’t changed. I’m going to support this baby on my own. As much as I want to give you what you want, to give this baby a home with two parents, I can’t ignore everything I’ve overcome to get to this point.”

  The back of his throat burned. He’d known, even as he’d recounted what’d happened to Noah, that there was a chance Madison wouldn’t change her mind. She was the most determined, intelligent, hardworking woman he’d ever met, and to think she’d budge so easily would’ve been against everything he’d come to admire about her. “I understand.”

  “But...” Her gaze dropped toward his chest. “After knowing how hard you fought to get Noah, and hearing how short of a time you were able to spend with him before he died, I’m willing to have my lawyer look into drafting a visitation arrangement.”

  What? “Why would you do that?”

  “As much as I’ve wanted to keep this baby for myself and have wanted to prove I could do this alone, it took both of us to make him.” She smoothed her palms over her stomach, highlighting the small bubble of her belly button being pushed outward by their son. “It was unfair of me to ignore your feelings about our circumstances. He’s your son as much as he is mine, and he deserves to know how much his father loves him, even if you aren’t living in the same house as we are.”

  Surprise coursed through him. This was what he’d wanted, what he’d worked so hard for. “Are you sure you can live with that? Seeing me every other weekend, or whatever the arrangement will be, having me in your life?”

  “The worst part of growing up in the house that I did with two emotionally immature parents was not knowing if they loved me. I don’t ever want our son to have to question if his parents cared about him.” She lifted her chin a notch higher to meet his gaze. “My decision had nothing to do with you, Jonah. With all those late nights and long drives to and from the courthouse, you became the only person I’ve trusted, that I could count on to be there when he said and do what he’d said he’d do. You make me feel safe. Having you there in my office was enough to make me feel anchored, and I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t want more of that in my life. That night I asked you to come back to my place was everything I’d imagined.” A burst of laughter rolled up her throat. “And more, obviously.”

  He stepped into her, placing his hands on either side of her growing belly, and every cell in his body hummed in satisfaction. Having her here, in this room, with their baby between them. It was...perfect. “Obviously.”

  “But as soon as I saw the two blue lines on the pregnancy test, I knew that would be the end.” Her voice neutralized, an emotional calm sliding into her eyes. “You’re not my father. I know that. There isn’t a single part of me that believes you’d ever hurt me, but I can’t put myself in the position my mother did every time she was forced to crawl back to him. I want you to know your son, Jonah, and I’m willing to give a visitation agreement a try, but I won’t let you use our son to force something more between you and me.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Nausea rolled through him. He didn’t understand. “Everything we had before the pregnancy, you want to, what...pretend it never happened? That we were never friends, that all those long hours meant nothing?”

  “I have to.” She stepped out of his reach, his fingers tingling for the warmth from her elevated body heat. Long sleek hair shifted over her shoulder as she took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. The truth is I’ve missed you. I’ve missed our late nights together and spending the early morning hours creating a homemade crossword puzzle for you to keep yourself busy with while I work, but I think we were both better off as colleagues than we were as lovers. And I think that’s how our relationship needs to stay going forward, especially if you’re going to be visiting our son. I don’t want there to be any confusion. For any of us.”

  He’d known not to expect her to change her mind about fully supporting the baby, but to erase an entire two years’ worth of inside jokes, horrible takeout and case comparison in an instant was...too much to take. The numbness he’d relied on to get him through the past few years spread, and Jonah willingly fell into the safe space he’d created. “In that case, Counselor, I should follow up with my team and figure out who the hell is trying to kill you.”

  Jonah turned toward the bedroom door and strode from the nursery.

  * * *

  COUNSELOR.

  A stone sank deep in her stomach as she read through the Rip City Bomber case files on her tablet, Jonah’s expression still engraved in her mind. He’d lost a son, a baby she’d had no idea existed, but the cold hardness etched into the finer lines of his face when she’d cut off the possibility of them being more than parents churned queasiness in her stomach.

  She couldn’t focus on that right now. A bomb had detonated in the courtroom where she’d been prosecuting the biggest case of her career, and she’d gotten no closer to narrowing the suspect pool than she was a few hours ago. She’d run through Rosalind Eyler’s connections, acquaintances, every suspect she could possibly think of—twice—and had come up empty. If the Rip City Bomber had set the device herself, how would Rosalind have done it? How would she have pulled those strings from behind bars? The words on the screen blurred in Madison’s vision. She set the tablet on the king-size bed she’d spread her paperwork out on after her conversation with Jonah, hints of that cinnamon spice wafting in the air.

  Having the marshal assigned to protect her—the father of her baby—this close had warped her sense of self-preservation the past twenty-four hours. Every touch, every inch closer, had hiked her physical awareness of him into overdrive until all she’d felt was him. Not the deputy US marshal who’d been assigned to clear that courtroom. Not the special agent trained to analyze and re-create IEDs in Afghanistan for the FBI. But Jonah. The man who’d treated her with such care the night they’d conceived their son, the one who’d laughed at her horrible jokes, who’d gone out of his way to make her the perfect cup of tea downstairs after a long night of reviewing the case. The man who’d trusted her above all else with the knowledge he’d lost his son after a mere two weeks of parenthood.

  She wouldn’t apologize for making her needs for complete autonomy when it came to supporting their child clear, but if she was going to get any closer to uncovering who’d targeted her with that bomb, she needed his help. Sliding from the bed, Madison crossed the massive bedroom and descended down the grand staircase into the living room, her heart in her throat.

  Movement registered from the kitchen table where he’d set up multiple files and notepads. Muscle corded across Jonah’s shoulders through his T-shirt as he put pen to paper, and her insides threatened to melt as phantom sensation surfaced in her fingertips. “The bomb squad has been able to recover and re-create most of the device from the blast. They’re still pulling evidence from the rubble and, in some cases, the victims who were closest to the epicenter. If they pull enough together, police might be able pull fingerprints from the individual components.”

  “You want to be there.” She read it in the slight acceleration of his words, the difference in tone from what he’d used with her ups
tairs, the focus he expended not to face her, and she didn’t blame him.

  “Protecting you from whoever set that device and blew up your car is my assignment,” he said. “I just do what I’m told.”

  “And you’re regretting pulling me into protective custody after our last conversation.” She hadn’t meant to say the words, shouldn’t have cared about the answer, but there it was. The truth. How could he not knowing he had the expertise to work and possibly solve the bomb investigation but was resigned to staying here with the mother of his child he’d never have a future with? If she were in his position, she wouldn’t want to be here either.

  “The construction crew and investors backing the contractors were all cleared of motive. There are only two people who benefit having the Rip City Bomber’s case thrown out of court, and one of them is the only person allowed access to Rosalind Eyler as long as she’s behind bars.” Jonah shoved the chair away with the backs of his knees as he stood. “Her lawyer, Harvey Braddock.”

  Shock replaced the regret that’d brought her downstairs. “You think her defense counsel built and triggered that device during the preliminary hearing?”

  “He’s a suspect worth looking into, but no one has been able to locate him.” Jonah turned ice-blue eyes on her, and the skin of her scalp prickled with the intensity of his focus. “Marshals have surveilled his office, checked the hospitals and morgues, and have been watching his town house downtown. There’s been no sign of him since the explosion.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Rosalind specifically hired Harvey because he’s the top criminal defense attorney in the state. He puts in long hours and doesn’t stop until he wins or the court makes him stop. He wouldn’t up and leave without at least getting another associate to replace him.” Madison rolled her lips between her teeth and bit down, a habit she regressed to when she lost herself inside a case. “Besides, killing me with a bomb doesn’t automatically get the case thrown out of court, and the caller who took credit for the bombing did so in the Rip City Bomber’s name. They wanted us to believe she’s behind it. Not convince the jury she was innocent. Harvey wouldn’t have wanted any more evidence stacked against his client than he was already up against.”

  “The only way we’re going to make sure is if we find him. You’ve gone toe-to-toe with Harvey over the years in court,” Jonah said. “Any idea where he’d go if he was trying to lie low?”

  “We’re not friends. Most of the time we only speak when we’re in the middle of arguing a case against each other.” Snippets of conversation bled into her mind as she tried to recount the discussions between her and opposing counsel from over the course of her career. She lifted her gaze to Jonah, immediately aware of his proximity, and folded her arms across her chest to counter the sudden need to step into him. “There was one time in the past few weeks Harvey talked about getting out of the city once the Rip City Bomber trial concluded. Couldn’t wait to show off the beach house he’d inherited from his grandmother to his girlfriend. I’m not sure about the location, but there’s a chance the bombing scared him enough to figure who he’s really defending and didn’t see any other option but to run.”

  “Any idea who the girlfriend is?” he asked.

  “No. He never mentioned her name. At least, not that I can recall.” There had to be another way they could locate Harvey. If for no other reason than to make sure he hadn’t been injured in the blast. “Can’t you get GPS off of his phone?”

  “My team already checked. The phone’s off.” Jonah shook his head, crossing powerful arms over his chest, and an image of all those muscles surrounding the infant in her belly traitorously wormed into her head. “Either the battery died, or Harvey removed it knowing that was the first step we’d take to locate him.”

  She didn’t answer. As much as she’d preferred to work alone, instant satisfaction coursed through her as the past couple of minutes settled between them. She’d missed having someone to talk her cases through with, someone who’d be bound under the same expectations as she was under the law. Someone on her side.

  Silence stretched between them, the muscles across her shoulders releasing one by one as she unfolded her arms. Was this how it would be between them from now on? Him on one side and her on the other once their baby was born? Her chest knotted tighter. She’d agreed to have her lawyer draft a visitation agreement, but doubt clutched her insides the longer they stood there. She’d set the boundaries between them for a reason. Why then was it so hard to hold up her end? “How’s your shoulder?”

  “Is that what you really want to talk about? You’ve never been one for small talk or social rituals, Maddi. Don’t start now.” Ringing pierced through the sound of her pulse pounding behind her ears. Had to be his phone. He’d taken hers back at the scene when he’d whisked her into protective custody. Jonah strode to intercept the incoming call, unfolding his arms as he brushed past her. He answered, putting the phone on speaker. “You’ve got us both, Chief.”

  “There’s been another bombing,” Remington Barton said.

  Ice shot through Madison’s limbs, her gaze locked on Jonah as he turned toward her. For a split second, she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, and she imagined her expression reflected in his. Another attack. She battled for a single word to fall from her mouth. “Wh-where?”

  “Harvey Braddock’s home.” The deputy chief spelled out the details quickly, her voice even and efficient, and Madison couldn’t help but absorb a bit of that calm herself. “Portland police and the FBI’s bomb tech are already on the scene. Looks like Mr. Braddock—or someone who’d been using his garage to assemble the device—made a mistake.” One second. Two. “One that killed them.”

  “Harvey?” Madison couldn’t believe it. Not after she and Jonah had just walked through all the reasons Rosalind Eyler’s attorney should’ve been innocent. He had no motive other than to introduce reasonable doubt into the case, and taking credit for the courthouse bombing in the Rip City Bomber’s name ensured that wouldn’t happen. There was something she wasn’t seeing yet, a key piece to the puzzle that’d been left out. She closed the space between her and the phone, her arm brushing against Jonah’s, and his hand visibly locked around the edges of the phone. “Are you sure it’s him?”

  “The resulting fire is making it impossible for us to confirm. We don’t have all the details or a motive yet, but there’s no mistaking someone was building a bomb in the detached garage behind Mr. Braddock’s home when the device went off. It’s possible he caught someone in the act of trying to set him up, or he’d known the case against Rosalind Eyler wasn’t going to end in his client’s favor and he’d taken to upping his chances of a win. That’ll be up to the FBI to find out.” Chief Deputy Barton sighed. “Either way, Harvey Braddock just became the FBI’s number one suspect for the bombing at the courthouse, but the bomb squad is short on manpower. The fire department is trying to control the blaze, but it looks like the composition of this device burns hotter and faster than the last one. Only they’re not sure with what. The FBI is asking for you, Jonah. You’re the one in the state who has the most experience with IEDs.”

  His eyes shifted to hers, her heart in her throat as the logical part of her brain ran through the angles of what that meant. “I’m not leaving Madison without protection.”

  “I don’t have anyone else who can take over her detail,” Remi said. “Not with two bombings in less than forty-eight hours and a manhunt beginning for Harvey Braddock.”

  Jonah raised the end of the phone closer to his mouth. “Then she’s coming with me.”

  Chapter Six

  He caught sight of the flames a block from the scene. There was no way he’d be able to get close to that garage until the fire department could control the blaze, which only left Madison out in the open longer. Not a risk he wanted to take, but Remi had been right. He was the only bomb tech within a few hundred miles who’d had experience with this
kind of bomb, and he couldn’t ignore the call.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Madison stared out the windshield as thick black smoke hit the SUV. Police waved him through the perimeter they’d created at the end of the street, civilians lining the other side of the caution tape. “What kind of chemicals burn so hot it’s impossible to put them out with water?”

  There weren’t many compounds that were that incendiary, but, judging on the slightly acidic burn in the back of his throat and the spread of the flames as they neared the target scene, he’d narrowed it down to one. Jonah pulled to the curb, threw the SUV in Park and pinpointed the garage where firefighters battled the flames spreading up the main house and consuming the neighbor’s yard. Bright orange embers smoldered in patches over the driveway. Damn it. “Thermite. Nearly impossible to extinguish, even under water. It can burn through pavement and melt engine blocks, but it doesn’t really have the capacity to create a blast radius as large as that one. Whoever built the device must’ve added another explosive charge to increase the diameter. It’ll be hours before they can get those flames under control.”

  Hours they didn’t have.

  “How would someone have gotten their hands on enough thermite to create...all this without suspicion? And how would Harvey not have known it was going on in his backyard?” Eyes wide, Madison surveyed the scene with astonishment in her voice. “I thought there were restrictions on the public being able to get even the smallest amounts.”

  “Harvey would’ve known, which means he might be the bomber we’re looking for after all.” Jonah shouldered out of the vehicle, locking his jaw against the pain shooting through his wound, and rounded toward the cargo space. He hefted the hatch overhead and grabbed for the toolkit left over from his days in the FBI. Screwdrivers, drill bits, flashlights and body protection. He wasn’t a bomb tech anymore, but muscle memory had already taken control.