Kings of Linwood Academy - The Complete Box Set: A Dark High School Romance Series by Callie Rose (sight word books .TXT) 📕

And maybe it works, because Alexander Hollowell’s face smooths out, understanding taking the place of worry in his expression.

“I’m sure this has been very difficult for you, Harlow. I’m sorry.”

Liar.

I push the thought down, refusing to let it surface long enough to show on my face. Instead, I put on a hopeful look, tilting my head to meet his gaze, trying to remember how I felt about this man before I knew he was a murderer.

When I thought he was my salvation.

“Thanks,” I murmur, twisting my hands together in my lap. “That means a lot to hear. A lot of people at my school just assumed she was guilty as soon as she was arrested. It’s been awful. But it helps to know there are some people who don’t think she’s a killer.”

Sympathy colors his voice. “Yes, I’m sure it does.”

Playing the role of the girl who came here on Christmas day to beg for assistance—the one who had no idea of the truth—I bite my lip and glance up at him hopefully. “Do you really think you can help?”

Judge Hollowell sighs, and something seems to relax in his posture, the concerned pinch of his brows smoothing out. Instead of returning to his chair, he sinks down onto the wide, angular couch next to me, turning his body a little to face me more fully.

“I won’t be able to interfere in the trial directly or to influence the judge in any way. Legal and ethical boundaries obviously prohibit anything like that. We have systems set up to ensure a person is given a fair trial when they’re accused of a crime, and I believe in those systems. However…” He shakes his head, an expression of annoyance curling his lips. “There are instances where people in that system are let down by incompetent lawyers, and I would hate to see that happen to your mother.”

My head bobs up and down quickly even as I tighten the rest of my muscles, holding myself rigid and refusing to scoot or even lean away from Judge Hollowell. My entire body burns with the impulse to flee, to get away from this man—but if I run, it’ll only end badly.

If I run, he’ll chase me.

“I understand,” I say, barely recognizing my soft, eager voice. I sound desperate and grateful. “Anything you can do to help, no matter how small it is, would mean so much to me. And to my mom.”

He smiles, brushing a hand over his perfectly styled salt-and-pepper hair. “I’ll do what I can. Why don’t you tell me what you know about Scott Parsons’ defense strategy, and we’ll go from there.”

This is the second time he’s asked about that. It makes me nervous, and I wonder if there’s some reason he wants to know. If he’s playing me for information that he’ll use to sabotage my mom, to strengthen the case against her. To make sure his frame job sticks.

But I can’t refuse to tell him. It would be a giant red flag.

So I lick my lips and open my mouth.

I speak slowly and haltingly, trying to act like I’m dredging up what I know about my mother’s public defender and his strategy. But my mind zooms ahead at several times the speed of my tongue, weighing and measuring every word before I say it.

“I haven’t been at my mom’s meetings with Scott. So everything I know about his strategy is from what she’s told me.”

Judge Hollowell nods encouragingly, leaning forward a little.

“He doesn’t seem to have much of a strategy, honestly,” I continue. “He seems to be having a hard enough time just remembering all the facts of her case. And the circumstantial evidence doesn’t help her at all. She wasn’t home when the cops say Iris was killed, and she has no alibi.”

Fuck.

I shouldn’t have said that.

I’m brushing too close to the truth right now.

Mom was out on a date with Judge Hollowell the night Iris was murdered. So she has an alibi for the first part of the evening, just like the man sitting next to me does. But her location is unaccounted for in the window of time when Iris was hit by a car and killed. According to Scott Parsons, traffic cameras weren’t able to track Mom’s movements fully enough to prove either her guilt or her innocence.

Just like Judge Hollowell.

I might as well be talking about his movements that night, and not my mom’s.

But the man beside me doesn’t react visibly to my words. He doesn’t flinch or give any outward sign of discomfort. He just nods thoughtfully.

“That’s not ideal, obviously. But if most of the evidence against her is circumstantial, that leaves room for doubt in a jury’s minds. And that’s good. What tangible evidence do the police have?”

My body flushes hot, then cold. It takes every bit of self-control in me not to clench my hands into fists.

Not to plant my fist in his fucking face.

He knows. He knows what evidence they have, knows their trump card—because he was the one who had dirty cops plant it.

“They found Iris’s DNA on Mom’s car,” I admit, my voice strained. “Some blood and hair, I think.”

My stomach churns as I have a sudden vision of the dark lump of Iris’s body lying on the street, shadowed and inhumanly still. The kind of stillness that only comes with death.

Someone took little tiny pieces of her and smeared them onto the grill of Mom’s beat-up Nissan. The callousness of it, the injustice of it, makes me want to throw up. Iris deserved better than that. My mom deserves better than that.

Judge Hollowell frowns, rubbing a hand over his freshly shaved jaw.

“That… is trickier. That kind of verifiable DNA evidence looks pretty damning to a jury.” He lets out a noise under his breath and meets my gaze, squinting a little. “Do you have any idea how it could’ve gotten on your mom’s car?”

My stomach turns to ice, cold radiating