Читать книгу Hot On His Trail - Linda Winstead Jones - Страница 8

No one would look at him. Five men and seven women filed gravely into their seats, their eyes on the floor or their shoes or the back of the juror before them. One woman dabbed at her red eyes. Tears. That couldn’t possibly be a good sign. Nick’s heart felt like it was about to burst through his chest.

The judge didn’t look at Nick, either, nor did the aide who remained close by the judge’s side. The assistant district attorney appeared to be supremely bored. His steely gaze wandered the room in an aimless way.

Nick’s own lawyer didn’t look at him, either. Norman’s solemn eyes were on a blank sheet of paper on the table. His fingers worked restlessly.

From beyond this very small part of the world, in the seats beyond the jury box, eyes were trained on Nick. He knew that. But in the past two weeks he had learned to ignore those onlookers so completely they ceased to exist. His mind had remained on the witnesses against him, the evidence the D.A. had presented so competently, the defense Norman had put together.

His defense was simple, but it was enough. It had to be. Innocent men didn’t go to prison for the rest of their lives. They didn’t go to the electric chair.

At the judge’s direction, he and Norman rose to their feet. Still, no one looked his way. Not the judge, not the D.A., not the members of the jury. Everything was so…quiet. Nick wondered if they could all hear the beat of his pounding heart and the way the blood rushed through his veins, so loudly he could hear the roar in his ears.

He waited to hear the words “Not guilty.” He waited for Norman to smile, to clap him on the back, for relieved eyes to turn his way at last.

Guilty. At first he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. The noise that followed the verdict was deafening. The crowd murmured loudly, with individual voices raised. A few men and women hurried from the room: reporters, damn them all to hell. The judge banged his gavel, and the sheriff’s deputies came to take Nick away. They didn’t look at him, either. Norman said something low and indistinct, something Nick couldn’t hear for the roar in his ears.

Numbly, he allowed the two sheriff’s deputies to lead him away. Through the side door, through the small office, into the hall by way of a doorway near the elevator that would take him back to jail. Back to jail.

His heart beat much too hard now, threatening to burst through his chest. He couldn’t breathe. His vision dimmed. Guilty?

One of the deputies reached for his handcuffs. In a move more instinctive than deliberate, Nick lunged for the man’s weapon.