Page 100 of Wild Fury (Fallen Royals 6)

I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t resist. My hair is darker, longer. It hangs in loose curls around my face, falling over my shoulders. My clothing screams courtroom reporter—you know, proper. I scored a fake pearl necklace from a costume shop, rubbed some oil on it to make it shine, and added it around the outside of my collared blouse.

“On one count of first-degree murder, we find Mr. Alan Whitmore… guilty.”

The courtroom breaks out into murmurs, but me? A weight simultaneously lifts off my chest and presses on my shoulders. How can I be relieved and guilty at the same time? Because he’s taking the fall for my crime.

An innocent man going to prison for my mistake.

Right. That’s why.

“You’re free,” someone says behind me.

The jury is still reading their verdicts—there were a slew of charges filed against the man, I guess. I didn’t follow the trial any more than I had to, but my curiosity pushed me here.

I twist around and meet Jameson DeSantis’s gaze.

“What are you going to do now, Lucy Page?”

I sigh. “I don’t know.”

He nods like he understands, then extends an envelope toward me. “We’d been keeping your name active with minimal activity.”

I take it and tuck it into my purse. “I was under the impression that you guys had wiped your hands clean of me.”

His eyes glitter. “Amelie is still my daughter-in-law, so the protection given to your parents extends to you—whether they wanted it to or not.”

I stiffen. “Let me guess, if it were up to them, I’d stay away forever?”

He leans back and doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to—I know that’s exactly what they’d think, and probably even say out loud.

I have shitty parents. They weren’t the best to Amelie, but at least they liked her. They didn’t kick her to the curb the first chance they got. There’s only one person besides my sister that I ached to see.

And only his picture kept me sane for the past two years as I went to school and built my private investigation company. I mean, I’m a solo worker, but it’s still technically a company. Sort of.

“The governor.” Jameson motions for me to follow him.

I tense. It’s been too long since I had to actually talk to someone who knew me. The real me, not the girl I am now. This person I’ve become over the last two years—Amy Prague—is an upstanding citizen, and Lucy Page is so far from that mark.

Hell, Lucy Page just sentenced someone to life in prison for her crimes.

“What’s wrong with you?” His question snaps me from my thoughts.

I can’t meet his gaze. He leads me down the hall and outside. I bundle deeper into my jacket. Winter hit the city full force in the past week, dumping snow on us. The only reason I felt comfortable showing my face was because the trial was held at the district court in Stone Ridge. Much less chance of seeing anyone I know here. Rose Hill, or even Beacon Hill, would’ve been a gamble.

Same county, much different attitude.

“Alan Whitmore was incarcerated a year and a half ago on six counts of premeditated murder,” he informs me. “He pleaded guilty. He was in the middle of a burglary when the house’s occupants returned home, and he tied them all up and set the house on fire.”

I stare at him. That sort of thing would’ve made the news.

He lifts one shoulder. “I’m not particularly fond of sending innocent people to prison, Ms. Page. I can assume you feel the same.”

I shudder.

“He was already serving three consecutive life sentences. One more charge slapped on him wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“He wasn’t in custody when…?”

Jameson shakes his head. “Not yet arrested, actually. That happened a few weeks later. The prosecutor spun it that Whitmore was looking for another house to hit, but his timing was off. He was caught by one of the men we had hired as security, and he killed the man so he could escape.”

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