Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

“T hat’s when the sheriff arrested Logan right there by the bonfire.”

The words taste like sawdust in my mouth. My voice has grown hoarse by the time I finish recounting the events of that night. My heart weighs a thousand pounds.

Harrison finishes taking notes with a scratch of his pen. “Thank you, Miss Cole.”

He clicks off a recording device.

“Please. I have to know about your plans. About getting him out.”

He leans back in his chair, loosening his tie with a sigh. “I’m afraid I have some difficult news. The evidence… It doesn’t look good for Logan.”

My stomach clenches. “What evidence? If someone says they saw something, they’re lying. This whole town is corrupt. It’s revenge for him beating up Kyle.”

Harrison meets my gaze, his eyes kind but grim. “They have a metal crowbar from the scene. It has Logan’s fingerprints on it. And… it has traces of your stepfather’s blood.”

My mouth drops open. “What?”

“The forensics are damning.”

“When did they find this? Because the supposed crime happened a long time ago. Outdoors. How could fingerprints and DNA have lasted that long?”

“According to the prosecutor, it was found by the EMS who took him to the hospital. They have documentation showing it was checked into evidence, though they didn’t run the DNA until last week, after he was arrested. And fingerprinted.”

Holy shit. “In other words, the entire thing is a frame job. I don’t suppose the evidence room is run by anything with actual timestamps or anything.”

“It’s all slips of paper, like we’re in the dark ages.” Harrison rubs his temples, looking grim under the harsh lights of the modern RV. “Unfortunately, I’m familiar with the way some of these small towns operate. It’s part of why they keep me on retainer. Though they’re not usually facing murder charges.”

Memories flash through my mind—his strong, safe arms around me; the tender brush of his calloused hands; the fierce protectiveness in his eyes whenever someone threatened me or the circus.

I slump back in my chair, an icy numbness spreading through my veins. This can’t be happening. Logan’s fingerprints, Patrick’s blood—it’s bad.

“You’re going to get him out, aren’t you?” I manage to choke out, my voice sounding small and lost even to my own ears.

“I’m going to try.” Harrison’s mouth presses into a hard line. “But this new ‘evidence’ changes things. We won’t be able to get a quick dismissal the way I’d hoped. It won’t be quick at all, considering the county prosecutor is still out of town.”

“I’m working on that.”

His eyebrows rise. “Good. No, don’t tell me how. We have an extremely difficult case ahead of us, and I’ll take all the help I can get. We’re heading in to a jury trial.”

“That’s total bullshit. Literally no one in the county can be impartial about this.”

“Jury selection will just be one of the hurdles we face. The physical evidence ties Logan directly to the attack. Coupled with his romantic history with you, as well as your father’s documented physical abuse, the prosecution will argue motive and opportunity.”

I swallow hard against the bile rising in my throat. This is a nightmare. “It’s fucked up that no one cared about my father’s ‘documented physical abuse’ until they wanted to hurt us.”

Us. We’re an us now. Logan is my anchor in a chaotic world, the only family I’ve ever truly known. The thought of losing him, of him going away forever… It’s unbearable.

But how can we fight physical freaking evidence?

My mind spins with desperate possibilities, each more futile than the last. It’s one thing to fight a prejudiced system, but corruption that goes this far?

They can invent any kind of evidence they want.

He meets my gaze solemnly, the weight of the world in his eyes. “Unfortunately, there’s more bad news. A source I have in the sheriff’s office informed me they’ll be going for murder one. Premeditated.”

Holy shit. “That means… the death penalty?”

“It wouldn’t be a foregone conclusion. But it would be possible.”

“That can’t happen. I mean, that can’t happen. What do we do?”

“We gather information. They’ve had far longer to prep their case.”

“And a willingness to make up whatever they want.”

“Perhaps, but we can’t do that. So we need to find actual evidence. I’m questioning everyone. As you can imagine, I’m hitting more than one brick wall.”

As the gravity of the situation crashes over me, hot tears sting my eyes. I blink them back, squaring my shoulders. I won’t give up. Even if it means going to war with this whole damn town.

“Subpoenas will be a tool we’ll use in trial,” he says. “But by then witnesses might be tampered with. Actual physical evidence might be destroyed, assuming there ever was any.”

Wolfgang snorts, having leaned back in his chair from across the RV. “As if Logan would ever be so careless as to leave physical evidence. It’s insulting.”

“Yes,” Emerson says, his tone ironic. “That’s what we should tell the judge. Logan would never be so careless as to leave a crowbar behind when he beats someone to death.”

“He wouldn’t even use a crowbar,” Wolfgang says, sounding offended. “He uses his fists like a goddamn man. Is it his fault that the other man is too damned drunk to defend himself?”

“According to the law, yes,” Harrison says.

Tears prick my eyes. “My father could have accidentally killed a hundred people. He’s gotten into a million drunken bar fights.”

“Well, he wasn’t very good at them,” Emerson says, sounding droll. “A shame when a man is penalized for being competent.”

Wolfgang curses. “That damned sheriff needs to be called out.”

Harrison holds up a placating hand. “Accusing him without proof will not help. It could even make things worse.”

“Well then, we’ll just have to find some proof, won’t we?” Emerson drawls from his perch on the couch, examining his fingernails with an air of nonchalance. “Perhaps our resident knife thrower can procure one of the sheriff’s crowbars for comparison.”

Wolfgang glowers at him, but I can see the wheels turning behind his icy blue eyes.

Harrison clears his throat. “I would advise against any illegal actions. The best thing we can do right now is build a strong defense. Character witnesses, alibi statements, poking holes in the prosecution’s case. We need to focus on winning. And not actually implying that Logan did anything, with or without a crowbar, ideally.”

Cat bursts into the room, her small elfin face flushed, curly hair wild. She’s the daughter of Alessandra, the not-so-nice fortune teller who helped Kyle kidnap me. “Guys, we’ve got a situation. Felix and Rocco are about to tear each other apart.”

Wolfgang is on his feet in an instant, coiled and ready for a fight. Even when he’s out the door, Emerson lounges on the couch.

“What, you’re not going?” Cat demands. “He’ll need help.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “And risk this handsome face catching a stray fist? No, thank you. I’m sure Wolfgang has it under control. With his fists. No crowbars for that one.”

“This isn’t a joke!” I snap, my patience splintering. “Logan is locked up, the circus is falling apart, and you’re just—just sitting there, being useless!”

He regards me for a long moment, his gaze pondering.

Cat and I both glare at him until he sighs, making a great show of standing, straightening his white dress shirt and black slacks. “I suppose I can bestow some of my managerial wisdom on our fractious friends.”

He saunters toward the door, pausing to glance back at me over his shoulder. His voice is mocking. “Chin up, buttercups. We’ll weather this storm, like we always do. The show must go on and all that.”

He disappears, I drop my head into my hands, my chest aching.

A sigh racks Cat’s small frame.

She and I have never been close, but I’m worried about her expression.

I glance over at Cat, who’s nervously biting her lip. Her eyes dart around the RV, like she’s searching for the right words. Tension crackles in the air, thicker than ever. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitates, her fingers twisting a strand of hair. “Without Logan, the circus is coming apart at the seams.”

“What do you mean?” I sit up straighter, my pulse quickening.

“Some of the performers want to keep touring without him. They think we should just… move on.” Her voice trembles slightly. “Like continue with the tour schedule that we had before he brought us back here and got arrested.”

“What the hell?”

“Others are talking about breaking into the county jail to free him.”

“They can’t be serious.”

She looks at me with wide eyes, pleading for me to understand. “Everyone’s scared, Sienna. They don’t know what to do without Logan.”

Panic bubbles up inside me. “If they try to break him out, it’ll be a disaster. We’ll be turning this town against us even more. An all-out war between the circus and Forrester is the last thing we need.”

Cat pales. “I know. But they’re desperate. They don’t trust the legal system here, and honestly… can you blame them?”

“No, but…” We’re already in deep enough trouble as it is. We don’t need vigilante justice making things worse. “Who’s leading this insanity?”

“Felix is the most vocal,” Cat says. “That’s what he was fighting with Rocco about.”

“People are going to get hurt like that.”

Cat steps closer, her voice lowering to a whisper. “It’s not just chaos from inside the circus. One of our best performers got an offer from a recruiter from a competing circus.”

My heart skips a beat. “Who?”

“Nadia,” Cat says, her eyes wide with worry. “You know how good she is. Without Logan, people are scared we won’t make it. That the circus won’t survive.”

Nadia Perchenko is the best aerial performer here, her performances breathtaking and magnetic. She’s a world-class gymnast who was courted by circuses when she went private. If she leaves, it will be a huge blow to both Cirque des Miroirs and to Logan.

“But Logan treats everyone so well,” I murmur, more to myself than to Cat. “Will they get that somewhere else?”

“No, but they’re worried he won’t get released,” Cat explains, her frustration evident. “Our performers are the best. The other circuses know this. Now that he’s locked up, they think they can swoop in and steal our talent.”

Desperation claws at my insides. “Is there any way we can… pay them something? To make them stay? Like some kind of bonus to help tide them over?”

Cat blinks at me, surprise flickering across her face. “Oh no, we’re all getting full pay. That’s one of the huge perks of working here.”

My brow furrows in confusion. “Full pay? Even when you’re not performing?”

“Yeah.” Cat nods emphatically. “When other circuses get rained out or stalled in traffic or anything that causes them to miss a show, they usually get no money. But not here. They call it a hazard delay, and we get our full paychecks. So this, Logan being in jail, counts.”

Hazard delay.

Yes, this certainly qualifies.

“Why would they even consider leaving if they’re still getting paid?” My voice cracks, the frustration evident.

Cat’s eyes soften with a mixture of pity and understanding. “Because the circus isn’t just a job for them. It’s their life. They need to perform. It’s in their blood. Asking them to sit around, even if they’re getting paid, is like asking a fish not to swim.”

I knew the performers were passionate about their craft, but I hadn’t realized just how deep that connection runs. It makes sense, unfortunately. They thrive on the adrenaline, the applause, the sense of purpose that comes with every act.

My mind races, a whirlwind of panic and helplessness. The thought of performers leaving while Logan is in jail twists my stomach into knots. That’s all he needs on top of a murder charge—his circus falling apart because people can’t stand waiting around.

I straighten my spine. “Where are they?”

She blinks, caught off guard by my sudden resolve. “Some of them are in the main tent, discussing things.”

I burst out of the RV and take off toward the main tent, my mind racing with the weight of the situation. The muggy autumn air warms my skin. The impending trial might not even be our biggest problem. Memories flood my mind—the laughter and camaraderie under the big top, the thrill of each performance, the sense of family that Logan had built for us all. The thought of losing it all makes my chest ache.

When I reach the tent, I pause for a moment to catch my breath before pushing inside. The air inside is thick with tension, performers huddled in large groups, their voices high and worried.