Reckoning (Wolfes of Manhattan 5)

“How do you know?”

He drew in a breath. “I know this isn’t easy.”

“Do you? Do you really know, Les? Have you ever been sitting in one of these rooms in cuffs, across from an attorney, when you know you did nothing wrong?”

“Lacey…”

“Have you ever had to take a piss in front of a bunch of—”

Again, I stopped abruptly, shaking my head. Men pissed in front of each other all the time. That argument wouldn’t help me. Hell, none of my arguments would help me. Six o’clock with Judge Foster. That was better than anyone else would get, and I should appreciate it.

I should be thinking about more than the humiliation of peeing in front of others.

I should be thinking…

Damn.

I could be in real trouble here. What if… What if Rock couldn’t get me out of this?

What if I went down for a murder I didn’t commit?

Then I’d be pissing in front of others for the rest of my life.

2

Rock

My heart stampeded inside me, as if a herd of buffalo were trampling across my guts.

Why Lacey?

Why not me? Or Roy? Or Reid?

Not that I wanted any of us rotting inside a jail cell, but anyone besides Lacey or Riley. At least my baby sister wasn’t in there. After all she’d endured at my psycho father’s hands, I couldn’t bear the thought of her being locked up.

But Lacey…

My wonderful, brilliant wife.

She sure as hell didn’t deserve this. For the first time, I actually wished I didn’t have an ironclad alibi. I wasn’t in the state of New York when the murder took place. It had been documented. If not, I’d go in there and confess to get Lacey freed. That was how much I loved her.

I’d brought up the idea in spite of my alibi, and Lester Parker told me I was nuts. I’d beg to differ. Just in love with my wife and unwilling to watch her go through this bullshit.

And it was definitely bullshit.

It cost me a hundred grand to get a judge to put Lacey on the docket today. Worth every penny. If my father was determined to punish all of us from his grave, I’d use every last cent of the bastard’s money to save us.

The money still meant nothing to me, but for the first time, I was glad I had it. It would help me help Lacey. God only knew what kind of bail would be set. I didn’t rightfully care. I’d spend the whole Wolfe fortune to free Lacey, and I’d dare my siblings to object. After all, I’d do the same for any one of them.

I doubted they’d object. Man, I was fired up. Fired up and ready to pounce on something. Anything.

Lester finally emerged from wherever he’d been talking to Lacey.

“Is she okay?” I asked breathlessly.

He nodded. “She’s not happy, of course. But she knows the system. She knows she’s damned lucky we got her on today’s docket.”

My phone buzzed with a text. From Zach Hayes.

Where are you?

At the precinct. Les got Lacey on the docket for tonight.

Sounds good. I’m already at the courthouse so I’ll meet you both there. You won’t believe what just happened.

What?

Your brother married Zee to invoke spousal privilege.

My jaw nearly dropped to the black-and-white tiled floor. My brother? The Wolfe of Manhattan? Married? To Zee? My father’s victim?

Where are they now? I texted.

Don’t know. I assume he took her back to his place. I guess it’s their place now. Morgan interrogated Zee this morning after Lacey’s arrest. It wasn’t pretty. He wanted her to give info on Reid, so I suggested the marriage.

I can’t believe he agreed, I texted back.

I was surprised he did too, but it’s better this way.

Good enough. See you over there for the arraignment.

You got it.

Damn. My brother the womanizer was someone’s husband. Unreal. But I understood why he’d done it. Not just for himself but for Zee and the rest of us. The less the cops could bother her, the better. The poor thing had already been through enough because of our fucking family.

I’d leave her to Reid. I had my own wife to take care of, and right now, she was sitting in a holding cell, accused of a crime she hadn’t committed.

3

Zee

Reid took my hand. “I’m taking you to dinner. A wedding dinner.”

“Shouldn’t we tell your family?” I asked.

“Zach is letting them know.”

A wedding dinner. Not a reception. Of course not a reception. This wasn’t a real wedding. “I’m not really hungry. Let’s just stay here.”

He smiled, and for a moment, I almost saw something more in his eyes. Something real and emotional.

But then he said simply, “All right. Whatever you like. Deirdre can make anything.”

“I just said I wasn’t hungry.” My tone was shorter than I meant it to be.

Then again, maybe not. Maybe I did mean to be short with Reid, my husband in name only.