Chapter 57 Ryker
RYKER
I slapped a USB drive onto Wolfe’s desk hard enough to make his coffee cup jump. “You had this footage and buried it, didn’t you?”
His expression didn’t change. Poker face perfected over years of courtroom manipulation. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“That’s bullshit.” My voice cut through the air like a blade. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t find this?”
He leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers in that condescending way that made my blood boil. But his silence was answer enough. That’s exactly what he’d thought.
This explained why my PI had hit nothing but dead ends, trying to get the footage through official channels.
It wasn’t until Jace’s PIs went old school, knocking on doors like a detective from another era, that they struck gold. The neighbor with the paranoid security setup had captured everything the police somehow “missed.”
Funny how once we had that footage, the kind that makes prosecutors sweat, law enforcement suddenly discovered their files weren’t so empty after all. Amazing what turns up when you give people the right motivation to look harder.
Turned out, they’d been sitting on plenty.
“Withholding discovery.” I shook my head in disgust. “I know you play dirty, but I thought even that was beneath you. And you know what else I thought was beneath you? Putting an innocent woman in prison for the rest of her life when she was the victim.”
“You keep saying that.” His voice carried less conviction than usual. “But thus far, the evidence points to a very different picture.”
“Evidence.” I laughed. “What was it you said? ‘Evidence has a way of surfacing when it’s meant to. Or not surfacing. Depends on the case.’ ” I held up the USB drive. “Guess it was meant to surface after all. Allow me to paint you a new picture.”
I didn’t wait for his permission. I moved toward his laptop, but he reached to intercept me. I yanked it out of his grip.
“You’ll have to physically fight me to stop this, Counselor,” I growled.
He settled back, jaw clenched, knowing he was trapped.
“Surveillance footage,” I announced, plugging in the drive. “Stitched together from multiple sources. Ring cameras, security footage from surrounding properties. Each one time- and date-stamped.” I met his eyes. “But you already knew that.”
I hit play.
The first clip showed Faith’s car winding through her brother’s exclusive neighborhood, another vehicle trailing behind at a distance.
“There. Kearns follows her for six miles.” I pointed at the screen. “We always wondered why her car ended up near her brother’s second home.” The mansion. Technically shared with all of us Sinners and Saints. “Now we know.”
The next clip showed Faith pulling over, getting out of her car. Even in grainy security footage, her anger was palpable.
God, I was proud of her for pulling over and calling him out on his bullshit stalking. But I was also angry at the world. If only she hadn’t done that, what happened next would never have happened. And what happened next nearly cost her, her life.
The video continued. Kearns got out. Despite Faith’s palm up, he charged her. Faith ran.
My stomach clenched as the inevitable played out.
“Here, she’s running. Her shoes came off during the chase. Funny how those were supposedly never found by police, by the way. And here”—the footage switched to another angle—“he catches up to her.”
What followed made me want to put my fist through the screen. Kearns grabbed her by the hair and yanked her backward, sending her crashing to the ground. When she screamed, he picked up a fallen branch and slammed it into her head with sickening force.
Wolfe’s face had gone ashen.
“Taking advantage of her dazed state,” I narrated, my voice deadly quiet, “he tried to …” I couldn’t finish the sentence. The footage spoke for itself. Kearns pulling at her dress, trying to force her legs apart.
This part of the attack took place near the tree line.
The kind of spot someone might choose if they thought they were beyond the reach of cameras.
But Kearns had picked the wrong property.
Eighteen months ago, thieves had navigated through these same woods to rob the house.
The paranoid homeowner’s response included military-grade security cameras, hidden and weatherproofed, covering every angle of the property.
Kearns probably had no idea they existed. Though watching him now, with him consumed by rage and focused only on hurting Faith, I doubted he’d have cared even if he’d known. He was too deep in a fog of violence as he attacked her.
Faith, for her part, managed to gouge his eyes and roll away before he could complete the assault, but her victory was short-lived. He grabbed her from behind, arm around her throat in a choke hold that would’ve crushed her windpipe.
That’s when Faith pulled the knife from her pocket.
A desperate attempt at protection. But Kearns was stronger, wrestling it away from her flailing hands while maintaining his stranglehold.
There it was. The moment his prints got on that handle.
The forensic evidence we’d found, now corroborated by video.
When he pressed the blade to her throat, his voice carried clearly through the high-end surveillance audio.
“I’ve been dreaming about this for years.”
“Please,” Faith begged, her voice barely a whisper. “Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone this time.” This time. Fucking Christ. Why would she bother telling anyone? It had never helped before. “I promise, just let me go and leave me alone.”
“That’s not an option anymore, Faith.” Kearns’s voice was calm, terrifyingly rational. “My father’s a judge. I know how this looks, and I’m not going to let it get that far. There’s only one way this ends for you.”
The implication hung in the air like a death sentence. He was going to kill her to protect himself.
Faith continued pleading for her life as he dragged her backward toward the tree line, the knife still at her throat. Just before they disappeared into the shadows, her terrified cries echoed through the speakers.
I hit stop. The silence in the office was deafening.
“No jury will ever convict her of first-degree homicide after seeing that,” I said quietly. “In fact, no jury will convict her of any crime other than defending herself.”
“He left that incriminating voicemail saying he was afraid of her.” Wolfe grasped for straws.
“Predators who’ve learned how to get away with crimes often go from playing defense to offense. Setting up a defense before they’re about to do something.”
Wolfe gestured towards the screen. “We don’t know what happened once they entered those woods.”
“He was dragging her into the woods to kill her.” I leaned across his desk, my voice like steel. “That’s all any jury needs to know.”
His face had gone pale as parchment. The golden-boy prosecutor finally facing truth he couldn’t spin, couldn’t bury, couldn’t manipulate.
I straightened my jacket and headed for the door. “Motion for dismissal will be granted, you arrogant son of a bitch.” At the threshold, I paused. “It’s over, Counselor.”
I stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind me hard enough to rattle the windows.
Faith was free.
Justice had won.