Defend Me (The Everton Legacy #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

NOAH

I sit on the plastic chair in the interrogation room with my head in my hands.

The past hour has felt like a waking nightmare.

I’ve been arrested for a crime I didn’t commit.

And not just any crime. The murder of my best friend’s mother.

One moment, everything was as it should be. I was at an event at Everton Estate, the top winery on the North Fork of Long Island, where my best friend, Caden Everton, was celebrating taking the reins of his father’s billion-dollar company and steering it in a new direction. His girlfriend, Isla, had found a crucial piece of evidence in the cold case of the shooting of Caden’s mother, Marion Everton: a bullet casing, hidden in the cracks in the floorboards of Marion’s pottery shed, the very spot where she had been murdered five years ago. A shed that my fellow deputies in the Magnolia Bay Sheriff’s Department had searched multiple times .

The lab technicians found a fingerprint on that casing. I was so excited to tell Caden. We had a lead. Finally, after all these years, we had actual hard evidence. The Evertons have been like family to me. I wanted this case solved as much as they did.

Then the sheriff ran the print.

And it matched to me.

I stand and start pacing around the small room, wondering when the sheriff is going to come in and tell me this has all been some huge mistake. They can’t keep me here—I haven’t done anything.

I’ve been in this room many times, but never as a suspect. I’m a cop. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be, since a drunk driver ran a red light and crashed into my parents’ car when I was four years old. My mom died on impact. My dad died in surgery, hours later. The driver only got five years for vehicular manslaughter. He was out in eight months. His dad knew someone in the prosecutor’s office.

I’ve devoted my life to helping people, and to securing justice for victims.

I clench my hands into fists. The room feels like it’s shrinking, its beige walls pressing in on me. I glance at the closed-circuit camera high up in one corner. My fellow officers are watching my every move on the monitor outside.

I don’t belong here! I want to scream at it. I would never have hurt Marion. She was like my second mother. Even after Caden left the Magnolia Bay public school system and started going to private school in the city, she still came to my soccer games. She even got me a trumpet the year I decided to join the high school band. It was a short-lived effort, but when I offered to pay her back, she insisted I keep it.

The door opens and Sheriff Briggs appears. About damn time.

“Sheriff,” I say with relief. Then I take in his face. His normally jovial expression is marred with distrust. His eyes flicker with anger .

Holy shit. Does he actually think I did this?

I’ve known the sheriff since I was a kid. I went to the Magnolia Bay Sheriff’s Department’s summer camps—another gift from Marion— and then I volunteered for the MBSD until I was old enough to apply to become a deputy myself. He knows me.

“Noah,” he says curtly, placing a file on the table. Probably the fingerprint report.

“I didn’t do this,” I blurt out.

The sheriff raises an eyebrow. It occurs to me that’s what every criminal who gets interrogated in this room says. But I’m different. I’m innocent.

“Look, let’s just start at the beginning,” he says. “You’ve known the Evertons for how long?”

God, he really meant the beginning.

“I’ve been best friends with Caden since kindergarten.”

“So you’ve been to the house.”

“Many, many times.” Dinners, sleepovers, movie nights in their massive home theater…

“You were familiar with the garden?”

“I knew about that secret entrance in the hedge by the vineyard if that’s what you mean.”

Sheriff Briggs nods. We both know the killer got into the backyard undetected through the garden. I know the case files better than anyone. I’ve been hoping for a break in this case for five goddamn years.

“And the night of the anniversary party…”

“Sheriff, come on,” I say. “It’s me.”

I’m happy to answer any questions but this is getting ridiculous. I’m a cop , for god’s sake. I’m not a murderer.

He raises one eyebrow, his expression cold and impassive. My pulse tics up a notch.

“I know who you are,” he says. It feels like ice is crystallizing in my veins. I go cold all over and my knee starts to shake .

He opens the file but suddenly we hear raised voices coming from the hall.

“One minute,” he says, picking up the folder and leaving the room. I rub my forehead as my leg bounces, jittery.

When the door opens again, the sheriff isn’t alone.

Caden is with him.

Relief charges through me.

My best friend has changed in the five years since he fled Magnolia Bay. He’s got tattoos, a new-found conviction, and a lot more muscle mass. He left the day after the murder and only returned this summer because I told him Marion’s case was about to get shelved. But he’s still the kid I used to play frisbee with in the summers. He’s still the guy I got drunk for the first time with at age fifteen, the friend I poured my heart out to when my first girlfriend dumped me, the man who always had my back despite the fact that we come from totally opposite sides of the track.

Right now, though, his expression is calculated as he takes me in. Not warm and friendly, not concerned, not outraged that I’ve been wrongfully arrested. Something thick and slimy slithers in the pit of my stomach.

“Give us a minute,” he says to the sheriff. “Alone.”

Sheriff Briggs glances back and forth between us—this is definitely not following procedure but no one in this town says no to an Everton.

“You’ve got five,” he says, then leaves.

There’s a long silence in which Caden and I stare at each other. I hold his gaze, unflinching.

“Did you do this?” Caden demands.

“No,” I say, starting to feel desperate now. Caden has always been on my side. We’ve had each other’s backs our whole lives. “Please,” I say, unable to keep the edge of panic out of my voice. “You’ve got to believe me. I would never hurt your mom. I swear. I swear on my own parents’ graves, Caden. ”

There’s a pause and then his face crumples with relief. “I know,” he says. “I just needed to hear you say it.”

“Oh thank god,” I say, sinking into the chair. My body is trembling. I didn’t realize how badly I needed someone to say they believed me.

Caden takes the seat opposite me.

“But why are your fingerprints on that casing?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say. “Caden, I swear. I do not know how any of this is possible.”

“The night of the anniversary party,” Caden says. “The night before Mom was murdered, Isla said she overheard Mom talking to someone, arguing with someone—someone we’re now pretty sure was her stalker, the man who killed her.”

I feel like I’ve been soldered into my chair. My jaw hangs open, dumbstruck.

“He was at the party?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

Caden nods.

I was there. I was fucking there and I failed to protect her.

When Caden found those strange letters in a locked drawer in his house— letters written to his mother, professing an undying love along with barely concealed threats—it was a shock to everyone that Marion may have had a stalker. And it would make sense that this mystery man would act if he felt he was being rejected.

But to know that this man was at that fateful party, hidden in plain sight, schmoozing with guests and blending in with the scene…did he know then that he would kill her the next morning? Or was her final rejection the thing that pushed him over the edge?

Why didn’t she tell anyone she was being stalked in the first place? Why keep those letters a secret?

Caden studies me. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything,” I say sincerely .

“Why were you so cagey about helping me? You kept throwing police procedure in my face, insisting you couldn’t give me access to your files or look up an address. But then other times you’d give me advice. Like you were trying to steer me in one direction or another.”

“I was trying to be a good friend and good cop,” I say wearily. “And I guess I failed at both. The sheriff was being so strict. I wanted to help you more! But I’m not allowed to let you just peruse the files of an open investigation. And if it seemed like you were working for the police department, then anything you found might have gotten thrown out in court, if you didn’t follow procedure. Which how could you, you don’t even know what procedure is. You couldn’t be seen as acting as an agent of the department. And to be honest, Cade, I don’t think the sheriff ever thought you were going to find anything. That’s why he left the case open for a couple more months. He figured what could it hurt—your dad was pissed at him for coming up with nothing after all these years. He thought he could get back into Russell Everton’s good graces, show that he really had done everything he could, and then the case would get shoved down in the basement anyway.”

Caden seems to consider this. “Isla and I think that the killer had firearms training,” he says.

“Yeah, we thought that too,” I say. That was something we withheld from the press. “It’s Long Island,” I point out. “Half the county has firearms training.”

There are lots of hunters and gun enthusiasts in the North Fork.

Caden grits his teeth in frustration. “This is bad, Noah.”

“Yeah but…I mean, they’ve got to realize I didn’t do this,” I say, that uncomfortable flutter of panic returning. “Right?”

“The casing,” Caden points out. “You said yourself that was hard evidence.”

I agree that the casing does not look good. I’m racking my brain to think of how the hell my print could have gotten on there. It doesn’t make sense. I didn’t even have a gun five years ago! I was assigned one for training but it was kept locked up at the shooting range. It wasn’t like the sheriff was letting me walk around with it.

“The longer I’m in here,” I say slowly, “the more whoever really did this gets away with it.”

There’s a long silence. Caden leans forward, a brooding expression on his face.

“What does Isla think?” I ask. Isla is from the townie part of Magnolia Bay, like me. She didn’t grow up in one of the huge mansions that line the bay like Caden did—the wealthy part of town, known as the Way.

Caden can’t help but give a warm smile at the mention of the woman he’s been in love with since we were teenagers. Did he know he was in love with her then? No. He’s a great guy but a big ole dummy when it comes to matters of the heart. I saw it though. I saw the connection they had, even back then. And Caden was never a snob about his wealth, like his sister, Siobhan. Von and I have been sparring with each other since we were kids, never seeing eye to eye, never agreeing on anything, from politics to music to the criminal justice system. She’s a lawyer—and not just any kind of lawyer, a corporate criminal defense attorney. She represents bankers and hedge fund managers and all manner of dickheads who defraud people like me out of their pensions and then get off with a slap on the wrist.

Wonder what she thinks about my arrest—the thought of anyone in the Everton family, even Von, believing I could have killed Marion is physically painful. For a second, it’s hard to breathe.

“Isla was certain you didn’t do it about ten seconds after they dragged you off,” he says. I feel relief wash over me, my lungs once again filling with air.

“And your family?” I ask.

“I came straight here,” he says. “I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to them yet. But I mean…we know you, Noah. Killing Mom? Stalking her? Writing her love letters? That’s…”

“Gross,” I finish. “No offense,” I add quickly. “But it’s downright creepy to think I’d write her that stuff.”

“It has to be someone who knew about the entrance to her garden,” he says. “The secret break in the hedge that accesses the backyard with no cameras.”

“A lot of people know about that,” I point out. “Think about all the parties your mom threw over the years. All the investors that came for dinner with your dad, to bend the knee. I can’t explain the casing, but everything else…” Knowing about the garden, having firearms training…I’m not the only person who fits those categories. I slam my hands down on the table, the frustration boiling over. “This isn’t right ! There’s someone out there laughing at this situation, getting off on knowing he got away with it.”

A new, terrible thought occurs to me.

“Does Pop know I’ve been arrested?” I ask.

Pop is my grandfather. He’s raised me since my parents died. I moved back in with him a few years ago, as he’s gotten older.

What is he going to think about his only grandson being charged with murder?

“Probably,” Caden admits.

My stomach sinks. He’s right. Magnolia Bay is a small town. The Magnolia Grapevine, as Pop calls it, is likely in full swing. This news is spreading around town like wildfire, I bet.

My brain starts churning, trying to find answers, something that’s provable.

“There were no fingerprints at the scene,” I say. “No fingerprints on the letters. The only fingerprint is on the casing. Why, if it were really me who did it, would I not wear gloves for every action? Even back then, before I was officially a deputy, I knew police procedure and the rules of evidence. Why hide my prints everywhere but there? It doesn’t make any logical sense. Unless it was done intentionally.”

Caden cocks his head. “Who would want to frame you?”

“I don’t know.” I’m at a loss.

“First things first,” Caden says, cracking his knuckles. “We’ve got to get you out of here. You’re going to need a lawyer.”

I hate lawyers. Lawyers let my parents’ killer get away.

“They can’t keep me here,” I say. “I’m innocent.”

Caden believing me has buoyed my spirits. But the way he’s looking at me now puts a damper on things.

“Noah,” he says slowly, like I’m a kid who needs to listen carefully. “I heard the deputies talking when I arrived. They’re putting you in a cell for the rest of the weekend, until the arraignment on Monday. The sheriff made this big splash with the arrest. You think they’re just going to let you leave?”

For a moment, the room seems to spin. The floor tilts under my feet.

Yes, I did think that. Because innocent people do not belong in jail. And I am innocent.

I open my mouth but no sound comes out. Caden stands, comes around the table, and puts his hand on my shoulder.

“Breathe,” he says, and I inhale sharply. The air feels too thin.

“Arraignment?” I gasp. Obviously, I know how the system works. The accused gets arraigned before a judge, who sets bail and a trial date and all that. But I’ve always been on the other side of the aisle.

It suddenly feels spectacularly unfair that the courts are closed on the weekends.

“I’ll take care of bail,” Caden reassures me. “We’ll get you a good lawyer too, not a public defender. No way.”

“I can’t let you?—”

“Yes, you can,” Caden snaps. “Someone is framing my best friend for my mother’s murder. They’ve made this even more personal. You’re part of the family, Noah. We’ve got to counteract this in the press. I’ll talk to Alistair. Finn might be able to use his political contacts too. And Von—” Caden stops midsentence, his jaw hanging open. “Now there’s an idea.”

“What’s an idea?” I ask warily.

Caden shoots me a hard grin. “I think I just found you a lawyer.”