Page 23 of Fatal Attraction

“Let’s say Itry. If I’m able to get at least one of them to speak with me and can convince them to provide proof of the threats, would that be enough to exonerate Karl?”

Ben hesitated. “Itshould… But—”

“But what?” I asked.

“It’s the masks, Charlotte.” Ben sat forward, opened the file, flipped through a few pages, then pulled one out, passing it over to me. “Look for yourself. Karl’s DNA is all over them.”

I took the page and read over everything, my heart sinking lower and lower. Hearing it was one thing but seeing the proof with your own eyes always made it so much harder to digest.

“Karl having a solid alibi for Amber’s attackdoeshelp him despite his hair being on her body. I’ve been talking with Harley, and she’s trying to convince her boss to drop the charges in Amber’s case. We already know Karl didn’t rape Delilah Fields. However, with the masks at play, Karlcanandwillbe charged as an accomplice. The only true way out of this is to find the real perp and get him to admit he framed Karl.”

But even then, my inner voice whispered.There’s no guarantee the guy would admit it. He could just as easily claim Karl was his accomplice.

I expressed those thoughts aloud to Ben.

“Yes,” he sadly agreed, his lips pressed to a thin line. “That is my biggest fear. And if that happens, Charlotte…” He sighed, his eyes matching the frown on his face. “I’m sorry. I doubt I’ll be able to save Karl from going to prison. Like I said, we need a miracle.”

I gave the page back to Ben and sat back in my seat, fighting back tears.

This was a fucking nightmare.

With very few options left, I got the information I needed from Ben, thanked him, and then I was off. I had the address to Angel Seigler’s house pulled up on my phone before I ever made it to the parking lot.

What the…

I froze in my tracks, reading over the sticky note Ben gave me, having realized I’d overlooked the door number written in parenthesis under the address. My eyes grew fretfully wide once the revelation slapped me dead across my face.

Angel Seigler lives in the same apartment complex as Karl.

Twelve

Charlotte

Tears burned my eyes as my hands grazed over theDO NOT ENTERsign posted on Karl’s door, the frame marked in a perfect X with crime scene tape. I knew it was locked, but just for the hell of it, I grasped the knob, just to groan and smack my forehead against the door when I’d proven myself right.

What the hell are you doing, Charlotte?

Even I wasn’t fully sure. I supposed some part of me was trying to buy some extra time, so I could muster up the courage to walk up the two flights of stairs and knock on Angel Seigler’s door. After talking with Ben, going to Angel’s parents wasn’t an option. They’d likely treat me as they did Ben and slam the door in my face no sooner than I could introduce myself, and then call up their daughter to warn her there was another attorney trying to reach out about the lawsuit. There was no guarantee Angel was home, and despite the additional time I’d taken to rehearse what I’d say, I hadn’t debated what the next steps would be if she decided to slam the door in my face, much less what to say if her reaction turned out to be the opposite. He may not deserve my help, but Karl was right—he’d die in prison if I couldn’t pull this off. It was the fear of my failure that was responsible for all these goddamn tears still snaking down my face.

You have to do this, Charlotte.

It’s now or never.

I nodded to my inner voice and willed myself to move, wiping my face with my head raised high. By the time I was where I needed to be, pausingoutside of what I believed to be the correct door, I glanced down at the sticky note for reassurance.

But then the door opened, and I immediately stepped back, taking note of the doorbell camera far too late.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

A stunning brunette with aqua blue eyes, dressed in a black sequined blouse and dark jeans, her makeup beautifully done, stepped out. My hands became sweaty fast, so I quickly shoved the sticky note in my dress pocket and forced what I’d hoped was a decent smile on my face.

“Hi,” I said gently to her. “Are you Angel Seigler?”

“I am,” she answered cautiously, her brows raised. “Who’s asking?”

“My name is—“

“Wait a minute.” Her pupils widened as they gave me another head-to-toe sweep. “I recognize you. You’re Charlotte Greene, Karl’s ex-wife.”

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