Falsely Accused. Shirlee McCoy

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      “What I’m saying is that she could easily have set all this up ahead of time.” He glanced toward the house, frowning as he spotted the fire marshal moving toward them. “We can take up the conversation later. I need to speak with the fire marshal.”

      “I’m assuming my client is free to go?” the lawyer said.

      “For now. Are you planning to leave the scene, Titus?” he asked. They knew each other from church but didn’t run in the same circles. On a first-name basis but not friends.

      “Yes.” He hadn’t put any thought to it. He’d been too busy trying to figure out why the sheriff would think Wren had murdered her foster brother. Now he was certain he wasn’t sticking around. Not if Wren was leaving.

      Whatever was going on, it wasn’t good, and she seemed to be right at the center of it.

      “Can you come to my office tomorrow to make a statement?” the sheriff asked.

      “Tomorrow is Sunday,” he pointed out.

      “Crime has no favorite day of the week, and my office stays open 24/7 all year long. If you’d prefer to wait until Monday, that’s fine, but we can move the case along more quickly if we have all the information we need.”

      “I’ll be there after church. Maybe noon?”

      “Whatever time suits you. You’re not a suspect. You’re free to come and go as you please.” He shot a dark look in Wren’s directions but didn’t lob accusations at her.

      He knew the limit of the law.

      He seemed willing to bide his time.

      He also seemed convinced she was responsible for the two crimes he was investigating.

      “You’re heading to the rehab facility?” Titus asked, stepping into place beside Wren as she walked to a black SUV.

      “Yes.”

      “Mind if I come along?”

      “Why?”

      “Because I should have visited Abigail a long time ago and didn’t.”

      “Now is probably not the time.” She opened the back door of the SUV and slid in. She would have closed it, but he grabbed the top of the window and held it open.

      “I’m going. If I have to drive myself, that’s fine, but with the headache I’ve currently got, it’s probably not the wisest choice.”

      She frowned, her forehead creased, her usually perfectly styled hair falling around her shoulder in wild waves. She had smudges of dirt on her cheek and shadows under her eyes, and she looked...

      Tired?

      Worried?

      Sad?

      Maybe all those things. Years ago he could easily have read the expression on her face and in her eyes.

      Now he wasn’t sure what she was feeling or thinking.

      “We could give you a ride to the hospital,” she suggested. “Or back home.”

      “I’d really like to visit Abigail and offer my condolences. I know how much Ryan meant to her.”

      Mentioning Ryan seemed to loosen something inside Wren. She sighed, her shoulders bowing as she pulled her injured wrist closer to her chest. “All right. We’ll give you a ride. When we return, I’ll have Radley take you home.”

      “So, that’s the kind of job a guy gets when he travels from Boston to help you? Chauffeur?” Radley asked as he got into the front passenger seat.

      “There are worse gigs,” the attorney said. “Go ahead and get in, Mr. Anderson.”

      “Titus,” he corrected as he rounded the SUV and did as she asked.

      “And you can call me Annalise.” She started the engine and pulled away from the house.

      Annalise.

      Right.

      He’d remember that.

      Hopefully.

      The throbbing ache in his head wasn’t doing much to motivate him. All he really wanted was to take a nap. Not a good choice with a head injury.

      “You’re not falling asleep, are you?” Wren’s voice speared into his conscious, and he realized he’d closed his eyes and was drifting off.

      “I was thinking about it,” he admitted.

      “Don’t,” she commanded, her gaze focused on the window and the world outside. She was doing her best to ignore him. He couldn’t blame her, but he didn’t like it.

      “You’re getting bossy in your old age, Wren.”

      That got her attention.

      She whirled to face him, her dark eyes flashing. “Old? You’re a year older.”

      “Ten months,” he corrected, as if she didn’t know or couldn’t remember.

      She did.

      Wren had an uncanny memory and a keen intellect that had made her stand out in middle and high school. Based on how far she’d come since her years at the university, he’d say she hadn’t changed.

      “I know.” She sighed. “You need to stay awake for a while. Closed head wounds can be just as dangerous as open ones.”

      “I know.”

      “So...” She glanced toward the front of the vehicle and lowered her voice. “Why are you here instead of at the hospital?”

      “I already told you, I want to see Abigail.”

      “That’s not the only reason.” It was a statement rather than a comment.

      “You’re right. It’s not,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t like what’s gone down. You seem to be at the center of it, and that worries me.”

      “I see. You want to play knight in shining armor and rush to my rescue?”

      “I want to be the friend I should have been nine years ago,” he replied.

      Her eyes widened just enough to show that he’d hit a nerve.

      “The past is the past, Titus. How about we not bring it up?”

      “I owe you an apology.”

      “And this is your way of giving it? Riding to the rehab facility with me?”

      “Offering you support.”

      “I have support.” She waved her hand at her coworkers.

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