Page 30 of The Saint

Amelia opened the door, dizzy with a wave of grief. But the churning in her stomach worsened when she saw behind the two men. Half a dozen police vehicles lined her condominium parking lot.

“Wh-What’s going on?”

Fitzgerald’s and Bennett’s jaws were locked in the same no-nonsense position. Their hard stares locked on her as though she were a criminal. “This is a warrant to search the premises, your vehicle, and all electronic devices.”

That didn’t make sense. “What? Mine?”

“You can come outside.” Fitzgerald gave her bare feet and pajamas a once-over. “Or we can assign an officer to stand with you inside.”

“Inside… my condo?” They wanted to look in her house? “Why?”

Fitzgerald beckoned to a female officer who was about Amelia’s age and barked, “Stay with her.”

“Ma’am,” the other woman greeted Amelia professionally as she stepped inside.

Amelia stumbled back. Bennett held up the search warrant. She couldn’t focus, much less read the document. She backed up until she hit the wall. Law enforcement streamed into her house.

“This is about… my sister?” Of course it was.Do I need a lawyer?But she was the victim—oneof the victims. “Why would I know anything about Hailey and Jonathan?”

?The agents entering her condo wore matching uniforms of khaki pants and white polo shirts. They never looked Amelia in the eye as they tromped into her small space with their bags and containers as though they were going to find evidence.

Amelia found Bennet and Fitzgerald in her kitchen. She focused her wobbly attention on the nicer of the two. “I don’t understand.”

“Read the warrant,” Bennett answered for Fitzgerald.

“Or get an attorney to read it,” Fitzgerald suggested.

An attorney.God.She knew hundreds of attorneys. Some days, everyone in the DC metro area seemed to be one, but she didn’t know what kinds of lawyers they were. Her business had a CPA who was also an attorney. Her neighbor two doors down might have been one also. A solid percentage of her clients were attorneys. Instinctively, she thought of calling Hailey. Hailey always knew what to do. It had been that way since they were kids. But a punch slammed Amelia in the gut. She couldn’t call Hailey.

The group of agents moved through her space with practiced efficiency, as if they knew where her makeshift home office was situated and where her bedroom was. Someone snagged her laptop. Another bagged her cell phone.

“Um, can I make a phone call first?”

The officer assigned as the babysitter shook her head. “I can take you to get dressed and call you an Uber.”

“They’re taking my car?”

“It will take a while to search it. They won’t impound it unless they need a more thorough review, but they’ll take your phone—”

This was too much. They were treating her like a criminal, like Jonathan’s murderer. Her despair boiled into fury.

Amelia stormed into her kitchen, tears falling down her cheeks. She didn’t understand. “Why is this happening?”

Was she in trouble? They thought she was hiding Hailey? Or had killed Jonathan? That didn’t make sense. Before that day, the closest Amelia had been to getting in trouble was looking the other way when a client crammed more people than had RSVPedinto an event hall. Amelia’s level of trouble was upsetting the fire marshal. This was not the fire marshal. This was far beyond code violations. This was needing a criminal attorney.

Bennett approached her with an expression that turned her stomach.

“What?” she asked.

They couldn’t have found anything. There was nothing to find. She had nothing to do with this.

“What’s wrong?”

“Amelia Stone, you’re under arrest for the murder of Jonathan and Hailey Dumont—”

“Hailey?” Her knees buckled.

The female officer caught her before Amelia’s limp noodle legs let her hit the floor.

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