Truth-Stained Lies Read Free Page A

attorney’s office and set to work writing about the cases that captured her attention … exposing the killers who spun their stories and manipulated the jurors. She was no longer constrained by suppressed evidence or gag orders.
    Over the two years that she’d been doing this, she’d gotten several death threats. None of them had resulted in any attempts on her life. This one was probably just another scare tactic. When two million people followed your blog, a few of them were bound to be crazies.
    But she wouldn’t let some cryptic note ruin her day. She had a blog to write. She’d worry about it later.

C HAPTER 3
    M ichael Hogan felt sorry for the woman whose husband had cheated on her, so he let her keep talking, even though he had places to be.
    “This girl used to work as his secretary,” Laura Hancock said in a slow drawl, dabbing at her tears with the handkerchief he’d handed her. “She worked for my husband for three months, and I didn’t care one bit for her, so I made him fire her. Something about the way she dressed … all sexy and provocative-like … and the haughty way she acted with me. Like she had the upper hand in some game I didn’t even know we were playing.”
    “Yes ma’am.” Michael wanted to cut her off — this was dragging on way too long.
    “I didn’t know he kept seeing her. I mean … I knew there was something going on with him, or obviously I wouldn’t have hired you to follow him. But I didn’t have a clue it was her.”
    Michael wished he hadn’t given her the picture of the two kissing in a parking lot in broad daylight. Maybe he should have just told her what he’d found. Images had a way of implanting themselves on a person’s mind. But she’d paid him to take pictures.
    “What should I do?” she asked, looking up at him with wet eyes.
    Oh, no. He wasn’t going there. “Ma’am, I don’t do counseling. I just get the facts, the timeline, the photos. I would encourage you not to make any immediate decisions. Talk to someone who can help you with this. Maybe a pastor?”
    “I don’t go to church,” she said.
    “Well, sometimes when you’re going through a tough time, a minister can help. Sometimes churches have counseling ministries and support groups.”
    He could tell she wasn’t listening. “What do your other clients do when they find out their spouse has been stepping out on them? Do they file for divorce?”
    “Honestly, I don’t know. I don’t do follow-up.”
    She gave him a dull look, like he was the least helpful person she’d ever met. That was okay. He wasn’t going to cross the line from private investigator to marriage counselor, no matter what she needed.
    She finally stacked up the pictures, shoved them back into their envelope, and headed out, armed with the ammunition she needed to force an ultimatum or slaughter her husband in court. But he didn’t feel good about it.
    There was nothing rewarding in this work. Nothing at all.
    The picture on his wall drew his gaze for the hundredth time today. His grandfather, his father, his two brothers and him in Panama City PD dress blues.
    That was before he’d disgraced them all.
    Right now, he had to go follow some dude who was supposed to be wheelchair-bound but shot hoops every afternoon with his buds. A few pictures of him doing jump shots, and the worker’s comp attorney who’d hired Michael would be happy.
    Through the window, he watched the scorned woman go out to her car, parked beside the old, out-of-order gas pumps that reminded him every day that his office used to be a convenience store. It was the best he could get for the rent he could afford. The place was practically falling down. The roof leaked every time it rained, and he’d pulled the sheetrock off the ceiling in the back rooms, trying to fix the problem. But it would take a lot more than he’d been able to do on his own. Money was too tight, so he had to make do with buckets when storms hit.
    His thoughts went back