A Reagan Keeter Box Set: Three page-turning thrillers that will leave you wondering who you can trus Reagan Keeter (most difficult books to read TXT) 📖

Uptown was a neighborhood north of The Loop, and a good long way from Oak Park, which was where Liam had grown up and where Elise had told him she had.

“Uptown? When did you live there?”

“Why?” Anita asked.

Liam shrugged. “Just curious.”

“We always lived there,” the mother said. “Still do.”

Liam hadn’t expected this conversation to reveal another lie, but there it was. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, so for now he filed it away with the others. When they were done talking and on their way out of the diner, Liam asked the women if they’d be willing to stop by Patricia’s office one day.

Anita was holding her mother’s arm to steady her as they headed toward a beat-up VW Jetta with a missing headlight. “What for?” she asked.

“I think she’d be interested in talking to you about my defense. She might even want to put you on the stand. That is, if you wouldn’t mind. Since you two believe I wouldn’t come to the funeral passing out my business card if I was guilty, the jury might, as well.”

“I don’t know,” the mother said. Anita opened the passenger door for her and she directed her gaze at her daughter. “I’m not sure it’d be such a good idea. Your father wouldn’t like it.”

Anita rolled her eyes and closed the passenger door after her mother got in. With her mother out of earshot, Anita said defiantly, “I’ll do it.”

Liam had expected that a no from the mother was a no from both. “Are you sure?”

“I might not know what happened to my sister that night, but I know you didn’t kill her. I’ll help you.”

Liam Parker

Liam hung around David’s condo, killing time. His only breaks from the monotony were the walks outside with Chloe and his meeting with Patricia on Tuesday. Ryan Reyes was also in attendance. This time, Patricia had only introduced him as her PI, but the alliteration had made his name easy to remember.

The three of them sat around a large conference table. The doors to the conference room were closed, sealing them off from the rest of the Flores and Washington suite.

Ryan, who was leaning back in his chair, legs and arms crossed, looked to be in his early thirties. He was lean and in good shape. His hair was neatly parted to the right. He was dressed in a suit, sans jacket. His tie was loose, his shirt sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. A tattoo peeked out from underneath one of them.

Patricia sat perched at the edge of her chair, laptop in front of her and fingers poised over the keyboard. She recited the facts of the case and said their best defense—their only defense—would be the truth.

Ryan listened quietly, his eyes darting between Patricia and Liam as if he were watching a tennis match.

“The best thing you have going for you is your credibility. You run a reputable firm that employs over a hundred people. You’re likable. You’re trustworthy. Except for a bar fight in college, you have no history of violence.”

“That was a mistake. I wasn’t—”

“The case the police have built is entirely circumstantial,” Patricia continued, barreling forward. “If we can make even one member of the jury doubt the prosecution’s story, we can get a mistrial at a minimum.”

Liam didn’t like the way that sounded. He was expecting something more aggressive than honesty. An alternate theory, perhaps. Maybe even a guess as to who the real killer was. Wasn’t that why Ryan was here? To dig up some information they could use to finger someone else?

“Are you sure that’s the best way to go?” he said. “If we get a mistrial, can’t they try me again?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t mean that’s what will happen. And even if it does, it’s better than a guilty verdict.”

“Would it help if we put Elise’s sister on the stand?”

“How would that help?” Patricia said.

“She thinks I’m innocent. I thought if—”

“How do you know she thinks you’re innocent?”

“I met with her over the weekend, and—”

“You what?” Patricia’s ruddy complexation darkened. “I don’t want you out there talking to anybody. It’s a bad idea. Trust me.”

“You don’t think she’d be helpful?”

“Unless she was there when Elise died, then no, I don’t. Let’s set aside the reality that her opinion is just that—an opinion, but what happens if she gets up on the stand and changes her mind? We need to focus on your reputation and the facts. There’s no debating that Elise was alive shortly before you arrived, that you were found with her blood on you, or that you were the only one seen coming or going from her apartment.”

Liam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, thinking about his conversation with the neighbor. He should tell Patricia about that at some point, too, but this didn’t seem like the best time.

“The only people we need to put on the stand are those who can cast doubt on the prosecution’s theory—forensics experts, people who can speak to your reputation and, this is what we need to be focused on, your whereabouts. Because we have two big problems with our defense. First, you told the police you were at home, which you weren’t. So where were you?”

Liam leaned forward. He clasped his hands together, intertwining his fingers, and squeezed. He had to tell them. “Okay, look, there’s a woman who hosts a poker game over in Lakeview. I was there.”

If the news concerned Patricia, she didn’t show it. “All right. We’ll figure out how to deal with that later. Let’s discuss our second problem. The prosecution is going to claim you found out Elise was seeing someone else and killed her because of it.”

Liam wasn’t surprised. He remembered Bash laying out that same theory for him after he was arrested. Although there wasn’t anything to say, he felt like he needed to say something, and the words that came out