Читать книгу Final Verdict - Jessica R. Patch - Страница 12

TWO

Beckett snagged Aurora’s phone and checked her recent calls. Unknown number. “I’ll get a trace on this.”

“We both know that’s a long shot. Probably a burner phone.” She rubbed her temples and pursed her lips.

She was right. But if someone had done this on impulse, they might have only blocked her view of the number. It was a thin thread, but he was hanging on to it. “No one is going to get to you, understand?”

Aurora’s eyebrows tweaked and she gave a weak nod. She trusted him enough to call but not enough to actually protect her?

He pivoted her carefully, forcing her to face him. “No one.” He drilled into her gaze until she gave a solid nod. Better. Beckett needed her to have faith in him. He needed to have some faith, but after his failure with Meghan, his faith in himself—and in God—was shaky at best. This time, he couldn’t let someone take a life right out from under his nose. His trained nose. Guilt battered his ribs. “I’ll call one of my guys to come and get the phone—”

“No.” Aurora tapped her nose again. Something in that pretty head was cooking. “Someone on the inside knows what brand of whiskey Austin Bledsoe drank. I don’t trust anyone in your office to do right by me. Sorry not sorry. You do it. I trust you, Beckett.”

Beckett. He’d never heard her say his name. Not that he’d ever used hers. He liked the way it rolled off her tongue. “You sure?”

“I may not enjoy our conversations and you may not like me, but you’re honest to a fault.”

They didn’t have conversations. They had arguments. And he’d never said he didn’t like her. His fear at the moment was getting to know her and liking her too much. “All right. I’ll do it myself.” He didn’t bother to acknowledge her other statement. “And I have to make a few stops.”

“Question Trevor Russell?”

The woman was keen. “Yes.” Not that he was over the moon about it. But the situation warranted it. Beckett couldn’t take her with him. Couldn’t leave her here unattended, and she didn’t trust anyone but him, which made things difficult but also sent a swell of satisfaction through him. “Can you have a friend come over? Or go somewhere for the night?”

Her mouth dropped open and defiance slashed through her eyes. “Let him win? Let him run me out of my own home over a scary phone call? Hardly.”

He had a feeling she’d say something like that. She might as well be a walking billboard for the word resolute. He’d witnessed that time and again in the courtroom. Like a bulldog on a bone. “I can’t protect you if I’m not here. He’s already tossed a bottle through the window—and now the call. Maybe it is a threat to terrorize you.” No way he believed that, based on personal experience. “But maybe it’s not.”

She ran her hands over her face and groaned. “Kelly’s in Memphis for the night. New grandbaby.”

Judge Kelly Marks had hired Aurora as the court-appointed attorney. From what Beckett knew, she’d been one of Aurora’s law professors at Ole Miss and her mentor of sorts. She lived over by the Magnolia Inn, on the hill with an iron gate. Aurora would be more secure there, but that wasn’t an option tonight. “What about staying with Holt and Blair McKnight?”

Aurora gave him a cutting eye. “They’ve been married less than six months. I’m not intruding on the honeymooners.”

Beckett growled. “It’s one night. I’m calling them.”

Aurora pinched the bridge of her nose. “I feel like a child. Like...like I’m losing.”

“Not everything is about winning and losing, Counselor. This is about staying safe. Holt McKnight will make sure of it, and I trust him with my life. I trust him with yours.”

Beckett gauged her. She was just shy of stomping her foot and crying or throat punching him. He eased back in case of the latter. Surely, she’d see reason and let him drive her over to the McKnights’ for one evening. Tomorrow, she could stay with Judge Marks.

“Only for tonight.”

His muscles relaxed in thankfulness they weren’t going to butt heads again because, when it came to Aurora’s safety, he’d fight until he won. He called Holt, gave him the lowdown and hung up. “Blair’s making up the guest room now.”

“Then one night, it is. I’m not going to run scared.”

Beckett studied her. Seemed like that was what she’d done by coming to Hope. Why else would an uppity attorney like her move from Chicago to here? It was like she’d run as far away as she could from Franco Renzetti. “Nobody but you said you were. Pack a bag.”

She muttered about his barking demands and trudged to her room.

Like a child. But cute as all get-out.

A few moments later, Aurora had a bag hanging on her arm. “I need to take that box of files. I can’t risk someone knowing I’m gone and busting in here and ransacking the place—including the files.”

Beckett collected the ones lying on the table and added them to the rest in the cardboard box. Case files on her brother. “Hey,” he said, and turned, “I’m sorry for earlier. I know how much you loved your brother, and I basically told you he was guilty. I don’t even know the facts. So, I apologize for acting like a jerk.”

“Thank you.”

Well, that was something he’d never expected out of the shrewd attorney. Grace. It surprised and befuddled him. Beckett carried the box to the door. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m gonna go out first. Do a sweep, make sure no one is lurking. I’ll come back inside and get you.” He grabbed her other bag and surveyed the area from the porch. After placing the items in the backseat, he swept the perimeter. Everything seemed quiet. Bleak. Temps were dropping steadily. A sense that someone was watching skittered across his flesh. Please don’t be you, Trevor. He finished clearing the area and came inside. Aurora was perched on her recliner.

“Everything as it should be?”

He nodded. He’d leave the sixth sense to himself. “Let’s go.” He hovered over her as she locked the front door and sheltered her as they made their way to his Chevy Tahoe, the words Fallon County Sheriff reflecting in silver.

Ten minutes later, he had her on Holt and Blair McKnight’s porch. Blair guided Aurora inside, and Holt stepped outside and closed the front door, his hair whipping in all directions as they stood in the frigid night. “What are you thinking?”

Beckett cupped his aching neck. “Could be anyone, man. She shook up a crowd today. People starting to heal. This motion brought everything back up.”

Holt rested a hip on the wooden porch railing. “I’m sure Trevor was hoping for the court to rule in his favor. He’s bound to be furious. Old wounds ripped open. But would he stoop to throwing a whiskey bottle through the window and threatening Aurora with that kind of phone call? He’s a good dude. Lieutenant at the firehouse. Lot to lose if he did this.”

“What if it had been Blair who Austin rammed into? What would you do?” Beckett tipped his head as Holt’s face hardened. “Exactly. You’d want to see that kid pay for the rest of his life, and then some. And you’d want to see whoever let him walk pay along with him.”

“He’s not going to walk.”

“He’s not serving a life sentence, either. Probably get three months. Then community service and parole. Hardly seems fair.” Beckett pulled a butterscotch candy from his coat pocket and popped it into his mouth, twisting the golden paper between his thumb and index finger. “I don’t know. I’m heading over there now. Aurora doesn’t want to be here. She says she’s cutting into honeymoon time.”

Holt chuckled. “Blair has morning sickness at night. The honeymoon is over, bro. They say she should feel better come next month. So, be glad Aurora was threatened now and not in April.” He gave Beckett’s shoulder a solid pat. “She’ll be safe here. And she’s welcome to stay till next week. But then I’m in Memphis for a few days teaching a narcotics class. I’d rather—”

“Her not be in the house with only Blair and your kiddo cookin’ inside her. I wouldn’t do that. She’s staying with Judge Marks come tomorrow.”

“I mean what’s Blair gonna do anyway? Puke on the attacker?”

Beckett laughed. “I’ll be by in the morning. Or if anything new arises.” He shook Holt’s hand and left for Trevor Russell’s house. Holt was right. With the ruling today, all that agony and hurt would be fresh. Trevor and his family had been banking all these months that Austin Bledsoe would be punished to the fullest extent of the law. As an adult. God, why did You let him get away with this? Why didn’t You move the judge to rule that he be tried as an adult? You can do anything You want. Turn the heart of a pharaoh. Soften a king. Why did You fail them?

His phone rang as he pulled into the Russells’ driveway. He glanced at the screen. Wilder Flynn. His oldest buddy from the SEALs. And Meghan’s brother. No time to talk. Besides, Beckett didn’t have an answer for Wilder. Moving to Atlanta to work with his elite team and seeing him every day would only remind him of Meghan. Of failing her. Beckett wasn’t sure he could handle that. Too much guilt. Plus, he’d finally come home to a safer career, and his mother was on top of the Rockies. Going back into a high-risk occupation would knock her off the edge. Mama had no one but him to see to her.

He let it go to voice mail and climbed the steps to Trevor’s porch. A light burned in the living room. He knocked. Waited. Knocked again.

Trevor’s son, Quent, opened up. Definitely not sleepy eyed. “Hey, bud. Your dad in?”

“Why?” Quent’s jaw hardened and he bristled. Why the need to go defensive?

“I need to talk to him.”

“Quent, who’s here?” Trevor came to the door, hair tousled, white T-shirt wrinkled. “Beck? What’s going on?”

Beckett scuffed his toe along the wooden planks. “How you doing?”

“You’re here at eleven o’clock at night to ask me how I’m doing?” He frowned. “How do you think I’m doing?”

Beckett massaged his achy neck muscle again. “I know it’s not the verdict you wanted to hear—”

“Not even close,” he hissed. “Why are you here?”

Beckett told him about the whiskey bottle and the phone call. “I was wondering if you might know anything about that? Tell anyone the brand, perhaps?”

Trevor gave a humorless laugh. “Really? Give me a break. My wife is dead. That punk is getting away with it and you want to question me about a bottle? I’m only sorry it didn’t whop her upside the head and knock some decency into her. Quent, go to bed.”

After tonight, Beckett wasn’t so sure that Aurora wasn’t decent. She was complicated. “Wait. I need to ask Quent if he might know anything.” He inspected the boy. “Do you?”

“No,” he barked. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I hope she gets what’s coming to her.” He stomped off, and Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose.

The kid had a lot of anger. Could it have been him? Maybe, but not the threats. Aurora had said the voice was gravelly. Trevor’s voice was gravelly. But lots of male voices had a rasp. “I’m sorry. I had to ask. It’s my job.”

“Yeah.” Trevor closed the door in Beckett’s face. Well, that went well.

* * *

Aurora hadn’t slept much last night. Not that Blair’s guest bed was uncomfortable, but she’d had too much on her mind. Today, she had an appointment in Richfield, Mississippi, with the detective who’d been assigned her brother’s case and an interview with Gus’s widow, Darla McGregor. She’d always believed that Richie hadn’t murdered her husband, and Aurora had been grateful someone had been on her side. Maybe, after all this time, one of them might remember something they hadn’t before.

Now she sat across from Beckett at The Black-Eyed Pea, picking at her eggs and toast. He’d shown up to the McKnights’ home bright and early and told her he was on protection detail. He’d then dropped her at the office for an hour before picking her back up for breakfast. Apparently, this was where he ate his most important meal of the day. He didn’t appear to be into cooking. Aurora fixed poached eggs every single morning.

Beckett gave her the facts on Trevor Russell’s questioning last night while he peppered his grits. She hadn’t expected Mr. Russell or his son to roll over and confess. And she wasn’t sure either of them had been behind the incident, anyway. It could have been anyone. But she had mulled over a few things. “I’ve changed my mind.”

Beckett perked up. “About what?”

“Staying with Kelly. I can’t let a couple of threats keep me from my home, Beckett. It’s silly. It’s drastic.”

“It’s better safe than sorry.” He pointed to her plate. “Eat your eggs.”

Bossy much? She frowned. “Do you know why I choose eggs for breakfast, Sheriff?”

Confusion crinkled the edges of his eyes. “Protein?”

“No,” she said, her voice clipped, as he scooped a forkful of grits. “I eat eggs every day to remind me that I’m not a chicken.”

Beckett paused midbite, eyebrows rising toward his thick, dark hairline. Then he laughed. Loud. Rich. “And you eat them poached because there’s some kind of symbolism to being in hot water?”

She ignored him because maybe on some weird, subconscious level there was.

But the laughter wasn’t funny. No doubt Beckett Marsh feared no one and no thing. “When it got sticky—much stickier than this—in Chicago, you know what I did? I tucked my tail between my legs and ran here, taking Kelly’s offer. She risked her neck to give me this opportunity. I’d made a mess of my career. And I only tell you this because you undoubtedly know it anyway.”

“Fair assessment.” He chuckled again.

“Nothing about this is funny.” She was trying to explain why she couldn’t up and leave her house over some small-town threat. This wasn’t La Cosa Nostra, for crying out loud. It was an angry citizen. It would pass.

“You’re right. Well...the eggs thing is a little funny. Do you really eat eggs every day? And for that reason?”

She simply glowered, making her point.

“Sorry.” The amusement in his eyes said he wasn’t.

“I’m not going to let whoever this is scare me. That’s exactly what he wants.” She held up her hand. “Before you say it, it’s not about winning, but it kind of is. Not for the sake of winning, but to let this guy know he can’t do this. He can’t frighten me out of my home.”

Beckett grimaced and put down his fork, wiped his mouth. “I see your point. But threats shouldn’t be ignored or taken casually. What if it wasn’t a scare tactic? What if it’s a warning of things to come?”

“We take precautions other than me leaving my house. Besides, if he can find me at home, he can find me at someone else’s.”

“True. But I don’t want you far from me.”

“Well, I’m going to Richfield today. To interview—” Her phone rang. Not again. Oliver Benard. Her old law partner from Chicago had been calling the last several days, and Aurora had been ignoring every single one, including the vague voice mails informing her they needed to talk. About what? The fact it was Aurora’s fault his son had died at Renzetti’s hands in that car explosion? Instead of taking Aurora’s life, they’d taken Hayden’s. Aurora had been so ashamed and guilty, she hadn’t even attended Hayden’s funeral.

Here she was talking bravery and she couldn’t even take Oliver’s phone call.

“What is it? Is that an unknown caller? Again?”

“No.” Aurora pocketed her phone and sipped her juice. “Just someone I can’t talk to.”

Beckett buttered his toast. “Why?”

“I don’t want to. Now, back to my day. I appreciate you picking me up from Blair’s this morning. But I can’t become your new sidekick. I have a life. I have work. And I have Richie’s case to dig into, which is why I’m going to Richfield this morning.”

“I don’t like it. That’s two hours away.” He pushed his plate aside. “Put it off until tomorrow. I’ll go with you.”

Aurora sized him up. Most of the time she could read people fairly well. This was a man bent on doing what he said he would—keeping her safe at all costs—which meant he wasn’t going to budge on this. “I’ll make a few calls and see if we can reschedule. If not, I’m doing it today, Beckett. I’ve put off defending my brother long enough.”

He pointed to her plate. “Choke down your courage and I’ll get the check, then drop you at the courthouse.”

Aurora groaned. “Are you going to escort me across the street to my office afterward, as well?”

A sly grin cruised across his face. “Not if you eat your eggs.”

She huffed, but a giggle surfaced in her throat. She switched the subject back to his hovering over her like she was some sheep in need of a shepherd. “This might be extreme.”

“You have no idea what extreme is, Counselor.” Beckett motioned for Jace Black, co-owner of the establishment, to bring the check.

She did know extreme, but the way Beckett said it, Aurora had a sneaky feeling he’d seen things that had nothing to do with SEAL missions or war. Something he kept private. A need to know rose up in her. A wish he’d confide in her. Which was silly. The last two days were the most she’d ever personally spent with Beckett. But she was beginning to see a side of him other than surly and unsociable. A sense of humor for one. Considerate. Thoughtful. She admired those attributes. Too much.

He held the door open for her and led her to the Tahoe. At the courthouse, Aurora waved to Beckett as she entered, then she made her way to Kelly’s chambers. She knocked and was met with an invitation to come inside. Kelly sat behind her mahogany desk, robed. Her short, silver chin-length bob framed compassionate eyes. “I’m about to head into court, but I’m glad to see you. I heard about the threats.”

“From who?”

Kelly tented her fingers on the desk. “The town in general. Rumors were buzzing around the courthouse this morning.”

“Oh. So, how is the baby?”

“A doll. I have pictures.” Kelly beamed.

Babies. Once upon a time she’d wanted to get married and have children of her own. But Richie had gone to prison and she’d jumped onto a different path. No time for real relationships or children. She’d been focused on work and all her pro bono cases, which had been the biggest appeal of the position at Benard, Lowenstein & Meyer. “So, you heard about the calls or the whiskey bottle?”

Kelly’s mouth dropped open. “I heard your car got keyed and someone knocked out a window at your place. What else is going on?”

Aurora shared the details.

Kelly sat quietly, then clasped Aurora’s hand. “You should stay with me.”

Aurora had no doubt Kelly would offer. “I’m fine. You know how this goes. It’ll blow over.” She hoped. “But I do need to vent about something. Oliver Benard has been calling me.”

Kelly leaned back in her plush office chair. “So answer.”

“I can’t. I’m scared.”

“Scared to answer a phone call, but brave enough to stay in a house alone with threats coming through your front window.” Kelly pointed at her. “The invitation to stay with me stands. I think you’re being foolish by not accepting. However, I understand why you want to stand your ground and thus proclaim you’re not afraid of threats. But if they escalate...”

“I’ll let you know and take you up on it. About Oliver?”

“Take his call. You never know. He might want to show you some grace.”

Grace.

She didn’t deserve it. His son was dead because of her. “I’d rather crawl into a hole. What if he’s not calling to offer me gracious words?”

“Why, after two years, would he call you if not to extend a little kindness?”

“Anniversary of his son’s death is February fifteenth. Maybe he wants to make sure I remember.” Like she could forget.

“Aurora.” Kelly’s motherly tone warmed her. Her own mother hadn’t been too motherly, and she’d spent most of her time locked in her bedroom. At least, when she wasn’t taking her antidepressants, which was most of the time. “Trust God to work on your behalf.”

She’d trusted God once. Before Richie had been stamped guilty. Before Aurora had been. Before her world had crumbled all around her. It didn’t seem like God was there for her at all. “I’m heading to my office. I’ll think about what you said.”

She was leaving Kelly’s chambers as her phone rang.

Unknown Caller.

Did she ignore it?

Chills poked her spine, but she answered.

No one spoke, only breath filtering lightly through the line.

“I was doing my job. So back off. If you think I won’t figure out who you are, then you’re mistaken.”

A dark and menacing laugh cut straight to her marrow. “We’ll see.”

The line went dead.

Had she seriously taunted this guy? Well, she wouldn’t be confiding that to Beckett.

She crossed the street to her office on the corner, working to erase the creepy-crawlers scuttling up and down her arms and the back of her neck. She entered.

“Mags?”

Her receptionist wasn’t at her desk, but the light was on and piano music played on the Pandora station. Maybe she had run to grab tea at the Read It and Steep shop.

She ambled down the hall to her office and unlocked the door. Aurora caught a whiff of something. A foreign yet familiar scent. Something possibly masculine.

Bizarre. A wintry whisper pricked her neck.

She eyed her office. The lid on the cardboard box housing files for Richie’s case was loose. It’d been on tight before Beckett had driven her to breakfast. Heels clicking on the tile caught her attention, and she poked her head out the office door.

Mags came in, blond hair spiking all over her head. “Hey, boss. I’m trying this new blooming tea. Felicity talked me in...to... What’s wrong?”

Aurora controlled the panic in her voice. “Did anyone come in while I was at The Black-Eyed Pea?”

“No. Why?”

“No reason.” She ducked back inside her office and finished removing the lid on the file box.

They were out of order.

Someone had pilfered through them.

But why?

And who? And how had he gotten into her office when she’d locked the door before heading to breakfast?

Peeking out the window behind her desk, Aurora skimmed the street. Nothing. Was this something she ought to bring to Beckett’s attention? If she did, he’d go right back on his spiel to stay somewhere else. Maybe she hadn’t had the lid on tight, or the files organized.

No. She had.

And the scent lingering. That was new.

He needed to know—once she drummed up a defense in favor of not packing up and running scared.

She combed through the files. Nothing had been taken. She called the detective and Gus McGregor’s widow and rescheduled, then met with a few clients.

At lunch, she wasn’t as shaken up, and by the time Beckett picked her up for dinner, she had decided not to mention it. Yet. He seemed tense on the drive to her house. He pulled into her driveway.

“I really don’t like this,” he said.

Aurora plucked Richie’s file box from the floorboard. “See you tomorrow morning. My appointment with Detective Holmstead is at ten.”

“I know you heard me.”

“What was that?” She slanted her head as if she couldn’t hear.

He scowled. “I’m coming in to clear the house.”

“Well, of course you are.”

Beckett climbed out of the Tahoe and walked Aurora up to the front door. She unlocked it and he entered first. A few moments later, he deemed it safe and she kicked off her shoes. “See you in the morning.”

He hemmed and hawed around, then left. She locked the door and lit the fireplace. By the time she had finished making a few notes to ask Detective Holmstead, it was nearly nine o’clock. A low whistle pushed through the small crevices in the plywood covering the broken window. The glass man was coming out the day after tomorrow.

She crawled in bed and watched the news until she couldn’t stay awake. The phone rang, startling her from sleep. Glancing at the clock, she growled. Eleven o’clock.

Unknown Caller.

She ignored it, her nerves fraying.

It rang again.

Silence filled the house except for the hum of her heating unit kicking on. Please leave me alone.

The shrill of the phone came once more. She answered. “Stop calling. It won’t change anything. And you’re not scaring me.” Lies. Lies. Lies.

Nothing but a low exhalation. She hung up.

He called back.

After a few more times, she turned her cell phone off and padded to the kitchen for some chamomile tea. She filled her teapot and set it on the stove to boil. Leaning against the kitchen counter, she focused on calming her pulse.

The kettle whistled.

The light above the stove flickered and died.

She peeked under the microwave. Bulb must have burned out. She switched on the kitchen light.

Nothing.

A sense of dread pooled in her gut. She crept into the living room and turned the switch on the lamp.

Darkness.

Might have tripped the circuit. She tiptoed down the hall, refraining from the instinct goading her to sprint. She entered her room and retrieved her gun and a book light. She wasn’t the idiot heroine who walked outside without a weapon. She flicked the safety off and approached the garage to flip the breaker. Invisible fingers slid across her skin, raising goose bumps.

It’s a tripped circuit. That’s it.

Muted moonlight left a sliver across the frigid concrete floor. Aurora quivered. Maybe from winter monopolizing the garage. Maybe a fair amount of fear. Probably both. She hurried to the metal breaker box and shined the book light on the black switches.

Yep. Tripped circuit. She slid it left and back to the right, then relaxed. “Stupid breaker. You picked a fine time to fail me.”

A whiff of that same scent from her office snaked into her nostrils.

Hairs stood on end, awareness hammering her like a gavel against the sound block.

No time to move or swivel toward the presence in the garage. A strong arm shrouded in a black jacket came around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides; a gloved hand sealed her mouth and nose.

Can’t breathe!

Panic kicked in, sending a sour taste to her throat and leaving her light-headed. She still clung to her gun, but he had her across the forearms, pinned and unable to aim even at his foot.

Aurora stomped the attacker’s toes as hard as she could, then bent forward, throwing him off balance. When he loosened his grip she swung around. A mask covered his face.

Bringing the gun up, she aimed, but he ducked as she fired, then he tore through the door leading into her house.

The front door slammed.

Aurora bent at the knees and gulped for air.

The odd scent remained, and she couldn’t quite place it other than that it had been in her office earlier.

Why would her attacker be interested in Richie’s files? A frightening thought knocked her off balance.

What if the tossed whiskey bottle had nothing to do with the earlier calls and attacks? What if this had everything to do with her nosing into Gus McGregor’s murder?