The Row(37)

“No,” he responds before I even get the whole word out. “Just wait a sec.”

Jordan walks softly to the living room doorway and peeks in. After a moment, he nods. “He’s already asleep. I can’t go far, but we can go out to the front yard if you want. Is there a reason you don’t want to talk here?”

I hesitate before just saying exactly what I’m thinking. “I’d rather be anywhere where there is less of a chance of someone coming home unexpectedly and interrupting our chat.”

Jordan’s face twists into a strangely pained and rueful expression I’ve never seen on him before. “Not much chance of that, but okay.”

I feel like maybe I shouldn’t, but concern forces me to ask anyway. “Why not?”

“Dad works a lot anyway, but with this new murder he might not be home again for a day … or two.” Jordan shrugs it off.

I shake my head, giving him a sad smile. “For being from completely different sides of this, we sure have a lot in common.”

“You noticed that too, huh?” He winks at me before holding the front door open for me to walk through.

I consider asking him if his dad has always worked this much—if it was like this before his mother died—but I hold my tongue. Of all the people in the world who should understand not wanting to answer questions about absent parents, I’m definitely one of them.

Hell, I should be their president.

“Long hours are a common occurrence at my house, too,” I say instead.

He laughs, but the normal roundness of the notes is soured by a bitter undertone. “Long hours is an understatement around here.”

I follow Jordan over to a beautifully carved porch swing that I hadn’t noticed on my way in. It hides in an alcove behind a large pecan tree. Jordan plops down and I take the seat beside him.

Once we’re alone out here, the silence hangs between us, awkward and smothering. I don’t know how to ease it, but I really wish I could.

“I wish you would relax a little.” Jordan watches me, half of his face hidden in shadow. “Why can’t you believe that I’m sorry? I wasn’t trying to hurt you. You can trust me.”

“Trust isn’t my strong suit.” The seat is only wide enough to give us about six inches between my leg and his. Being this close to him makes me nervous even though I’m not sure why. “So what exactly do you need to know about my visit?”

“Wow, right to business.” Jordan laughs. “Is someone a lawyer’s daughter or what?”

“I prefer the terms ex-lawyer, reformed lawyer, or born-again criminal,” I reply, playing along as I fight to keep my face straight.

“Noted, counselor.” Jordan shakes his head. “Fine. Maybe just assume I want to know anything important. How was the visit?”

My toes push off absentmindedly and the swing starts moving. Jordan stretches his long legs out in front of us and he listens as I tell him an abbreviated version of what happened at Polunsky.

When I finish, he clasps his hands together in front of him and taps one finger at a time against the back of the opposite hand. I can tell from his expression that his mind is as busy as his fingers. “So he’s denying it now?”

“Yes.” I bite the word off and end my statement there. My instinct is to defend Daddy, to say all the reasons why what he told me makes sense and why I believe him … except for the fact that I’m not completely sure if I do now.

Jordan’s hands stop moving. “Riley, seriously. Take a breath. I’m not attacking him. I’m not even saying I don’t believe him.”

My arms are crossed so tightly that I can feel the knot of tension at the back of my neck balling up. Forcing myself to relax, I drop my hands to my sides. “Okay, thank you.”

Before he can respond, I speak again. “I don’t understand. Why can’t you just pretend you never heard about him confessing?” I ask him. My voice is small, but my exasperation at my own mistake shows in my tone.

He stops swinging, turning his head toward me. His eyes are such a rich dark brown that in these shadows they seem nearly black, and now he stares hard, like he’s looking right through me. “Can you pretend you never heard it?”

“That isn’t the same.” I shake my head.

“Are you saying this confession wouldn’t be pretty important to my dad, too?”

“Fair point.” I wince from the sting of truth in his reply.

“But it really isn’t about that. No matter how mad you are at me, I want to help.” He leans closer and his eyes move from the shadows into the light. “Maybe if you tried to think about it that way, you might be able to relax and let me help you?”

I consider what he said for a few minutes. My instincts doubt him now, but eventually I realize that he’s right. If I want him to keep Daddy’s secret from Chief Vega, then I’m stuck with him. Does it really matter what his reasons are? If he can help, let him help.

I shrug. “I think I just need time to figure this out. I’m going to ask my mom and dad’s lawyer first. He’s a family friend. Maybe he has information that could help clarify things for me. Before I do that, though, I need to find the right questions.”

Jordan closely watches me as I piece together the only plan that has any hope of providing the answers I need right now. “I’m going to do some research. Find out everything I can about the case, refresh my memory. I’ll figure out what I should be asking and who I should be talking to. My dad lied, and I never thought he could be a liar. I have to figure out if he’s the man I thought—or someone else entirely.”