Chapter 31
Savannah eyed herself in the antique mirror in the corner of the charming room she’d rented in Semur-en-Auxois. Power suit
or something she could wear with sneakers for the walk along the cobblestone streets? Power suit, definitely. She needed all the backbone and persuasion she could muster to convince Martine to return to Alabama to testify.
She slipped out of her jeans into a muted navy pencil skirt and blazer with a cream top under it. She added a gold paperclip
necklace Hez had gotten her and matching earrings. Tasteful and in control. Head high, she exited the hotel past a smiling
blonde Frenchwoman and stepped out into the sunshine of the quaint town. According to the map on her phone, Martine’s mother
lived two blocks east and three blocks south. Savannah should be there in less than ten minutes.
She set off to the east, taking care to watch where she planted her shoes. The sunshine felt good on her face, and she paused
to take in the pink bluffs and the ruins of an old castle with a keep and ramparts. If only Hez were here so they could explore.
The scent of chocolate wafted from a small shop, and she passed several vendors selling flowers.
She consulted her phone and reached a fence protecting a red-roofed manor set into the side of the cliff.
She pressed a hand to her stomach to still the butterflies and squared her shoulders to approach the gate.
It opened easily, and she started for the entry, but before she reached the door, she spotted Martine lounging at the side of the house beside a pool.
An older woman was with her. Martine’s bikini showed off a perfect figure, and Savannah gulped back her envy.
Neither of the women had spotted her, and she took a moment to gather her thoughts. The estate was beautiful with gorgeous
flowers and shrubs. Mosaic tile surrounded the sparkling pool, and Martine’s confident laughter rang out as Savannah stepped
forward to make her presence known.
As Savannah drew closer, the smile vanished from Martine’s face. She pushed her silky blonde hair out of her face, then lowered
her sunglasses and peered over the top of them to stare in Savannah’s direction. She gaped, then swung her legs to the side
of the lounge chair to sit more upright.
“What are you doing here?” She squinted and her gaze traveled past Savannah. “Is Hez with you?”
Savannah stopped two feet away from her. “No. I thought the two of us could speak more openly without him.” She smiled at
the older woman. “You must be Martine’s mother, because she clearly inherited your beauty. I’m Savannah Webster.”
“Mama, you remember meeting Hez in America when I was in law school. This is his ex-wife. She’s president of a university
back in Alabama.”
“Fiancée,” Savannah corrected.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, mademoiselle.” The former model rose in a fluid movement from her chaise lounge. “I shall leave you two to speak privately.” Her reserved smile held a trace of admiration before she walked toward the house.
Sit or stand? There was more power in towering over Martine, but it would be friendlier to sit for the discussion. Savannah
perched on a chair beside Martine.
Martine draped a towel around her shoulders. “Let’s not beat around the bush. What do you want?”
“You’re an attorney, Martine—a respected one. I’m here to ask you to do the right thing. Michael has my nephew, and I fear
for Simon’s future. You know what that Willard gang is like. Several of Michael’s nephews are behind bars or dead after being
involved in his schemes. I’ve already lost my sister, and I don’t want to see Simon pulled into a life of crime. If you come
back to Alabama and tell how you framed Hez with those fake pictures, we might be able to save a little boy. Michael will
be behind bars and won’t be able to hurt your father.”
Martine blanched and put her hand to her neck. “You know about my father?”
“Hez tried to speak with him, but Francois refused.”
Martine narrowed her eyes at Savannah. “Is this conversation being recorded?”
“Of course not.”
Martine was silent for a heartbeat. “I wish I could trust you.” She grimaced. “I can’t help you. Find an expert to testify
on your behalf about the pictures.”
“We have an expert who testified they are fake, but Michael has one who says they’re real. You know the truth. With your testimony
we can save Simon.”
Martine caught her full lower lip in her teeth, and her dark, almond-shaped eyes held sadness.
“I know what happens to those who cross Michael Willard. He took my files and computer to make sure I had no proof he’d hired me to get what he demanded.
And he’ll go scorched earth if I help you.
It won’t be enough to kill my father. He’ll move on to my mother and to me. None of my family would be safe.”
“He’d be in jail.”
“Not soon enough. And his reach is long, even if he were behind bars. You don’t know what you’re asking.” She shook her head.
“No, I can’t do it.”
Savannah clenched her fists and stood. “You’re destroying the finest man I’ve ever met, and now you’re helping to ruin a child’s
life. How would you feel if it were your nephew or your own blood? You could change Simon’s future, but you’re letting fear
rule you.”
Martine gulped and dashed a tear from her cheek. “I’m sorry, Savannah, truly. I had no choice. I love my father. I had no
choice.”
“The right choice isn’t easy and takes courage. I guess you have no backbone, Martine. I thought better of you. You’re making
the weaker choice again.” She stormed toward the gate to get away before she lost her composure completely.
“Savannah!”
She paused at Martine’s call and turned back toward her with a tiny ray of hope. “You’ll come?”
Martine was standing with her hands clasped in front of her. She took a step toward her, then stopped. “I—I wanted to tell
you I’ve never seen Hez as happy as he is with you. I wish you both the best, but I can’t come back. I just can’t.” She ran
toward the house.
Savannah fought the sting of tears. How would she tell Hez she’d failed?
Hez rubbed his forehead and leaned back in his chair, staring at the tiles on his office ceiling through tired eyes.
Savannah had been apologetic when she called to tell him about her meeting with Martine, but Hez didn’t blame her at all.
He was very familiar with Martine’s look-out-for-number-one approach to life.
She was witty and fun but hardly altruistic.
Her refusal to testify was disappointing but not surprising.
Hez had thought of Martine as a sort of outer-orbit friend—the kind of person you want at your parties but not in your life.
That had been a mistake. If you can’t trust someone, they shouldn’t be around you at all. That should have been obvious to
him, especially as a former prosecutor. If anyone was to blame here, it was him.
His phone buzzed—and his spirits rose when he saw who it was. He sat up and took the call. “Hey, Hope. What’s up?”
“Hi, Hez. Thanks for that tip on the location of the computer used to blackmail James Hornbrook. I’ve forwarded it to the
FBI and they’re verifying Bruno’s work. They don’t doubt that it’s accurate, but they have to check, of course.”
Hez stood and started to pace. “Of course. But what about Michael Willard? Were you able to get a warrant to search his house?
Did you find the computer?”
Her tone cooled. “You know I can’t comment on that, Hez. I can’t reveal specifics about an ongoing criminal investigation,
especially to someone who’s litigating against the subject of the investigation.”
Hez ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. I know that when there’s news you can share, you’ll share it. It’s just that . . . well, the adoption hearing is only two days away. If Michael is arrested, that’s going to make a big difference.”
The line was silent for a moment. “Don’t count on him getting arrested.”
Hez closed his eyes. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“I’m sorry.”
He ended the call and shoved his phone in his pocket.
His thoughts traveled back to the call when Bruno had first told them about his efforts to trace the extortionist’s computer.
Bruno had been on speakerphone in the Justice Chamber and the static had been terrible. Was that the same Justice Chamber
meeting that Michael attended? Yes. In fact, he had questioned Bruno about the computer.
Hez winced and flopped down into his chair. The computer and all the hardware Bruno mentioned must have vanished from Michael’s
house that very night.
Would Bruno’s analysis alone be enough to trigger an arrest warrant for Michael? Probably not. He had relatives over all the
time, and it would be impossible to prove that one of them didn’t own the computer. So investigators would need to find proof
that Michael bought the MacBook and other stuff Bruno mentioned. But if Michael was smart—and he certainly was—he wouldn’t
have bought it himself. He would have purchased it through a dummy company or, better yet, used stolen electronics. So that
would likely be another dead end.
Hez tried to force himself to examine the facts like a prosecutor. What would he do in Hope’s shoes? He’d be suspicious of Michael, of course. Very suspicious. He was too close to too many crimes—the artifact smuggling, the Hornbrook extortion, Ella’s murder.
A surge of anger flooded Hez at the memory of Deke’s confession. It was no use. He couldn’t put himself in Hope’s shoes because
he was too personally involved. Besides, she’d already told him he shouldn’t count on Michael being arrested. Maybe she suspected
him of just as many crimes as Hez did but didn’t have hard evidence against him. As the old law enforcement saying went, “We
never catch the smart ones.”
He put his face in his hands and tried to pray for protection for Simon and justice for Ella. But hopelessness overwhelmed
him and the words stuck on his tongue like ashes.