The boy’s blue eyes widened, then he swallowed. “Um, sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going.” He shifted uncomfortably. “Obviously.”

Cade gestured amiably with his cup. “No harm, no foul. Just try to keep it under sixty in the hallways.” Moving on, he made his way through the reception area and into the main office space.

The office was bustling, per usual, with the inner cubicles and desks occupied by secretaries and paralegals. The prosecutors’ offices ran along the perimeter, with the largest corner office belonging to Cade’s boss, Cameron Lynde, the U.S. attorney for the Northern District of Illinois. Cade made a pit stop at his secretary’s desk before heading into his office.

He held open the bag. “Cookie?”

“Yum.” Demi, his secretary, stood up and peeked inside. “Wow. How many did you get?”

“I was in the shop, there were all these good smells, and a cunning salesclerk mentioned something about a sale if I bought a dozen. I didn’t stand a chance.”

Demi looked at him shrewdly. She’d been his secretary during the entire eight years he’d worked for the U.S. Attorney’s Office, and they knew each other well. “You’re in a good mood this afternoon. I take it the hearing went well?”

“I had the defense attorneys sweating. Literally.”

“Nice. By the way, Paul called to touch base with you,” she said, referring to the office’s media representative. “He said his phone’s been ringing off the hook for the last thirty minutes.”

“Thanks, Demi.” Cookies and coffee in hand, Cade went into his office and settled in at his desk. He returned Paul’s call, and briefed him on the arraignment. As soon as he hung up, Demi appeared in his doorway.

“Let me guess. Another cookie?” Cade said.

“Actually, the reception desk called while you were on the other line,” she said. “You have a visitor. A Mr. Zach Thomas.”

“Do I know a Mr. Zach Thomas?”

“Not sure. He says he’s here because he has some evidence related to a case.” Demi lowered her voice. “The receptionist mentioned that he’s a teenager. And apparently, he’s been acting a little odd. When she asked for a photo ID to sign him in, he got nervous and said he doesn’t carry one. She wants to know if you’d like her to say that you’re unavailable for the rest of the day.”

Cade understood the receptionist’s cautiousness—security was tight in the federal building. But he assumed this Zach Thomas was the same kid he’d bumped into earlier, and he was curious to find out why a teenaged boy would be interested in meeting with him. “Tell reception it’s okay. I’ll come out.”

When Cade walked into the reception area, he saw the kid standing off to the side with his hands shoved into the pockets of his zip-up hoodie.

He went over, hand outstretched. “You must be Zach Thomas. I’m Cade Morgan.”

Fifteen or sixteen years old, the kid had a firm grip, although his palm was a little sweaty. “Sorry again about bumping into you earlier.”

“Trust me, I’ve taken a lot harder hits. My secretary said you wanted to speak to me about a case?”

Zach nodded. “Yeah, I have some, um, information. But I was hoping that we could, like, talk in private?”

Man, this kid was nervous. Quickly, Cade mentally scrolled though all his open cases—which, off the top of his head, wasn’t an easy thing to do considering he currently managed about fifty of them in various stages of the litigation process. He tried to come up with one in which a sixteen-year-old kid might have evidence.

Then his jaw tightened. About a month ago, he’d gotten a conviction against a forty-year-old west suburban man, a junior high school gym teacher who’d secretly used his phone to videotape male students undressing in the locker room. The teacher had shared the images online with a circle of his Internet buddies who referred to themselves as the “Boy Lovers.” Cade had flat-out refused to discuss a plea agreement—he didn’t negotiate with people who produced and distributed child pornography—and had taken the case to trial and gotten a guilty verdict on every count. The defendant’s sentencing hearing was scheduled to take place next week, and Cade was determined that the asshole would serve every day of the thirty-five-year maximum allowed under the Federal Sentencing Guidelines.

This kid, Zach—if that was even his real name—seemed older than junior high age, but perhaps he was a former student of the defendant’s who’d read about the trial in the news and wanted to share some information in advance of the sentencing hearing.

Cade’s gaze softened at the thought. “Sure, we can talk in my office. Follow me.” He led Zach through the corridor and gestured to his office door. “Have a seat.” With a quick glance at Demi, he signaled that she should hold any calls that came in. Then he shut the door behind them and sat down at his desk. “So,” he began casually, careful not to go into cross-examination mode, “what case would you like to talk about?”

Zach exhaled. “This is really awkward.”

“Take your time,” Cade assured him.

“I wasn’t sure I could go through with this. When they started asking me all those questions at the front desk, like my name and the purpose of my visit and for some kind of picture ID, I sort of panicked. I’d decided to bail, but on the way out I bumped into you and it seemed like, I don’t know, a sign or something.”

Cade cocked his head, catching something Zach had said. “So you recognized me?”

“Well, yeah. You’re Cade Morgan.”

Cade smiled at the slightly reverent way Zach said his name. “I take it you’re a football fan.” Either that, or he was strangely fascinated with criminal prosecutors.

“I get that from my dad—he’s big into football, too.” Realizing that the next move was his, Zach shifted in his chair. Then his eyes fell on the bag on Cade’s desk. “Cookies. So that’s what smells so good in here.”

Clearly, Zach was stalling, but Cade went with it. No sense pushing the kid; he needed to do this, whatever it was, on his own time. “Help yourself. I got suckered into buying twelve of them.”

Like any teenaged boy offered something to eat, Zach didn’t hesitate. He reached for the bag and looked inside. “Cool, there’s one with M&Ms.” He pulled out the cookie and inhaled it in one bite.

Cade smiled. “Those are my favorite, too.”

For some reason, this seemed to strike a chord with Zach. He swallowed the cookie, his expression turning more sober. “I lied about my name. Actually, Zach Thomas is my first and middle name. I was afraid you wouldn’t agree to see me if I gave the receptionist my last name.”

Cade looked at him in confusion. “Why would I not want to see you if I knew your last name?”

“Because it’s Garrity.”

Cade’s entire body went still. Whatever he’d been prepared to hear from Zach, it wasn’t this.

Zach looked him dead in the eyes. “And I’m pretty sure you’re my brother.”

Ten

CADE SAID NOTHING for a moment—probably the first time in his life he’d been rendered speechless. “You think I’m you’re brother,” he finally managed.

“Is your father Noah Garrity?” Zach asked bluntly. He gestured at Cade. “I mean, I kind of know already. You look just like him.”

Do I look like him, Mom?

Cade winced at the sudden flashback, a ten-year-old boy excited and desperately eager for information.

Quickly, he pushed the memory away. “Yes.” It took a lot for him to admit even that much.

Zach smiled as if this was the greatest news in the world. “I knew it. He’s my dad, too. That means we’re half brothers.”

“He’s not my dad.”

Zach’s smile faded. “But you just said—”

“Biologically, Noah Garrity may be my father, but I don’t have a dad.”

Zach nodded, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I don’t, like, know the whole story between you guys.”

“It’s a pretty short story. I met him once when I was ten, then I never saw or heard from him again.”

Zach stared awkwardly at the ground. “So that probably makes this extra-weird for you.”

Cade ran his hand over his mouth. Noah Garrity. Christ, he hadn’t thought about the man in years. And, frankly, he would’ve preferred not to have thought about him for many more.

Given the sudden appearance of the teenager sitting across from him, that plan had just been blown out of the water. “I think we can safely classify this as extra-weird, yes.” He took a moment to look Zach over, more carefully this time. The boy’s hair was a lighter brown than his, but when it came to the eyes he could’ve been looking in a mirror. “How did you find me?” A thought suddenly occurred to him. “Don’t tell me Noah sent you.”

“No,” Zach said quickly. “He and my mom don’t even know I’m here. My dad . . . doesn’t like to talk about you.”

Glad to hear it’s mutual. “Then how did you figure out who I am?”

“He told me once, a long time ago,” Zach said. “I was four years old, and we were watching your Rose Bowl game. It’s the first time I can remember watching a game with my dad. He was cheering and shouting at the TV, and in the last play, when you threw that awesome pass and won the game, he grabbed me and did this stupid little dance around the coffee table.”

Zach had been smiling at the memory, but then his expression turned serious. “Then everyone realized you were hurt, and the sportscasters were talking about how you’d taken a bad hit and it could be a broken shoulder. I remember that the entire stadium was on their feet, clapping for you as the coach and trainer helped you off the field. And I looked over at my dad, and there were tears in his eyes. It was the first time I’d seen my dad cry, so I asked him if he was sad because the man on TV had gotten hurt. And then he turned to me and said, ‘That man is your brother, Zach.’”