Intent to Kill Read Online Free PDF Page B

wouldn’t come. “We have to deliver some flowers.”
    The journey down I-95 took less than an hour. Ryan dropped off Ainsley at her grandparents’ house in Pawtucket. Anniversaries were tough, and Ainsley was still too young for him to risk a breakdown at the grave site in front of her.
    The afternoon seemed to get more beautiful as the day wore on, clear and crisp, very much like the last one Chelsea had seen. Ryan drove as far as the winding road through the memorial grounds would take him. He parked alongside the footpath that led to Section L-5 and walked the rest of the way, careful not to step on any of the graves.
    Chelsea was buried beneath the sprawling limbs of an old oak tree, within earshot of the soothing sounds of the river. Ryan had a bouquet of off-white roses in hand, the color Chelsea had chosen for their wedding. The flat granite marker had a metal vase affixed to it, but it was already filled with an arrangement of fresh flowers. A smaller bouquet lay across headstone, a mixed arrangement that looked as if it had been picked from someone’s own garden rather than store bought. Ryan knelt on the grass, oblivious to the moisture that was soaking through his pant legs. He moved the flowers aside, his chest tightening at the sight of CHELSEA JAMES chiseled in stone. He pulled himself together and laid the roses on the headstone. Only then did he notice the card attached to the small bundle of flowers. It certainly wasn’t the norm to send a written message to the departed, but Ryan understood that everyone had a different way of grieving.
    From your mother, I’ll bet.
    Had it been inside an envelope, Ryan would have respected the sender’s privacy and left the card alone. But now that he’d moved the bouquet, the card was in plain view, the typed message exposed for the world to see. Ryan’s heart skipped a beat, as he recognized immediately that it couldn’t have been from Chelsea’s mother, father, or anyone else who’d loved her.
    It was no accident , the message read.
    Ryan continued to kneel at the graveside, momentarily frozen. Literally thousands of strangers had sent him cards and e-mails since Chelsea’s death, and fewer than a handful had upset him. This one seemed especially cruel, and Ryan immediately linked it to the words of Tony from Wattahtown: Accidents happen.
    He grabbed the bouquet, climbed to his feet, and threw it as far as he could. It landed in the stream beyond the oak tree, floated toward the river, and disappeared.
    Finally, Ryan could breathe again.

5
    THE ADRENALINE WAS STILL PUMPING AS EMMA CARLISLE LEFT THE Licht Judical Complex in Providence. Her closing argument had been flawless, and the case was now in the hands of twelve jurors. She could smell another conviction coming.
    Emma was a trial attorney in the Criminal Division of the Rhode Island Office of the Attorney General, which was the prosecuting authority for all felonies throughout the nation’s smallest state. She had joined the office right out of law school, and in five years—the last two in the Domestic Violence and Sexual Assault Unit—she had yet to lose a case. Her record was a source of pride, though admittedly it was somewhat artificial: prosecutors didn’t take losing cases to trial. Sometimes they knew who did it but couldn’t prove it. Other times the investigation failed to turn up a single suspect. It was difficult to say which scenario was more frustrating. Either way, there was still a victim, still a suffering family. Occasionally, on days like today, Emma was able to deliver a sense of justice, but the thrill of victory was short-lived. In the end, her courtroom successes seemed only to remind her that many cases were never solved. Some, she knew, would haunt her for years.
    And one case, in particular.
    “Another brilliant performance, Counselor. Any predictions?”
    A microphone was suddenly in her face. The handsome courthouse reporter from the local news had ambushed her once