Читать книгу His Runaway Juror - Mallory Kane - Страница 7
ОглавлениеChapter Two
The empty halls of the courthouse mocked Lily as the click of her heels echoed through the silent corridors. Within an hour, these same halls would be buzzing with activity, and yet she’d still be alone.
She hadn’t slept a wink all night. She’d been afraid to turn off the lights, and every noise she heard sent fear slicing through her.
Her father’s bland, trusting face haunted her. He was so helpless, and Castellano was ruthless. He’d gotten to her dad inside the nursing home. How could she keep him safe anywhere?
Still, she’d done her best. She’d stalked into the nursing home, indignant and worried, and demanding that whoever had let her father get hold of matches should be let go. She pulled it off with just enough of a touch of frantic daughter that she’d managed to back the head nurse into a corner.
She had agreed to move Lily’s dad next to the nurse’s station so they could keep an eye on him.
She also promised Lily that she would find out who had left matches lying around and have them fired. Lily didn’t bother to tell her that she wouldn’t find anything.
Lily stepped through a set of double doors, and passed one of the assistant district attorneys assigned to the Sack Simon case. The medium-height young man looked smart and capable as he nodded absently at her. Lily wondered what he would do if she told him Castellano had sent thugs to threaten her.
But she kept walking, her hand clenched around her purse strap. The spider-on-your-skin feeling was still with her. She glanced around, expecting to see the little Cajun or his tall partner watching her, but the only person she spotted was a security guard.
She went through the door into the jury room. It was empty. She managed to make a pot of coffee, but spilled a little when she poured herself a cup. Standing at the door, she searched the face of each person who walked by. She recognized some, such as the ADAs, one of the court reporters and a couple of police officers who knew her father.
Every single time someone walked past, her heart sped up and she prayed for the courage to reach out— to ask for help. But each time she gripped her cup more tightly and remained quiet. None of them could protect her against the most powerful man on the Gulf Coast.
How could this happen in this day and age? Years ago, organized crime had been rampant up the eastern seaboard, along the Gulf, even in the Midwest. Back then the mob was into drugs and prostitution, loansharking and money-laundering.
Giovanni Castellano was of a totally different breed. He owned legitimate businesses, paid health insurance for his employees. He was even on the committee for the renovation of the Gulf Coast.
According to defense counsel, Castellano and everyone who worked for him, including Sack Simon, were model citizens.
Whatever illegal activities Castellano was involved in, they were hidden behind a facade of honest business practices. And that meant it would be almost impossible to find anyone who could protect her against him. Who could she trust?
Icy fear crawled up her spine. Even if she could get protection for herself, what about her father? Giovanni Castellano, the King of the Coast, was untouchable.
It was the Gulf Coast’s worst kept secret that Castellano’s money came from illegal activities such as smuggling and loan-sharking. Yet somehow he’d never been indicted by the police. Her father had always complained that Castellano had a politician in his pocket.
“Lily Raines? Little Lily? Is that you?”
She jumped and almost spilled her coffee again.
A man in an ill-fitting brown suit smiled at her. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
Swallowing the urge to back away, she smiled quizzically. “Yes. I’m Lily Raines. Do I know you?”
“Bill Henderson. I used to be on the job. Worked with your dad.” The man’s florid face lit with a smile as he tugged on his belt, adjusting it over his pot belly.
“Of course, Officer Henderson. It’s been a long time.”
Henderson’s smile faded. “Sure has. Last time I saw you, you were still in high school. Call me Bill. I heard about your dad. Been meaning to get by to see him, but you know how it is. I’m real sorry. He was one of a kind.”
She nodded. She remembered her dad talking about Henderson. Good people, her father had called him.
“You’re on jury duty?” Henderson asked, raising one gray eyebrow.
“The Sack Simon case.”
“Whoa! That rat bastard.” Henderson shook his head. “He’s guilty as sin. Everybody knows he’s Castellano’s top hit man. Got at least fifteen notches in his gun.”
Lily nodded and glanced up and down the hall. As a juror on the case, she wasn’t supposed to talk about it with anyone. “You said you were on the job?”
“Yep, I took my twenty-five and retired. I do some private work here and there, when I’m not fishing.”
“What brings you to the courthouse?” she asked, her thoughts racing. He knew her dad. He’d been a police officer for twenty-five years. She could trust him.
“Divorce case.” He made a face. “I’ve gotta testify. I took the pictures the wife is using to squeeze a bundle out of her soon-to-be ex-husband.”
Lily’s pulse thrummed in her ears. Maybe he could help her. If she knew her father was safe, she could vote guilty. Then, as soon as the trial was over, she and her dad could move far away from Castellano’s reach.
She glanced around again. “Can I ask you a question, Bill?”
“Sure. Anything for Raines’s girl.” Henderson laughed. “You need a ticket fixed, I’m your man.”
A nervous smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Not exactly.” She took a deep breath just as the double door opened.
It was the bailiff. Lily blew her breath out in frustration. He would reprimand her if he caught her talking in front of the jury room.
Two of her fellow jurors entered behind the bailiff.
As she watched the bailiff approach, Lily decided to go ahead. If she was going to reveal what had happened, what difference did it make if the bailiff overheard? Maybe she could let the court know what had happened to her, and Castellano could be arrested for jury-tampering.
“Bill, what if I told you that—” The door opened again, and when she saw who entered, terror sheared her breath.
Sauntering in behind the jurors was a skinny man with sun-darkened skin and coal-black eyes. He leered at her and bared his teeth.
Just like last night. It was him. The Cajun. Lily’s throat closed up. She couldn’t breathe at all.
Behind him came another man—taller, broad-shouldered and confident. It was the Cajun’s tall, menacing partner. His gaze met hers and he frowned. His eyes were a piercing blue, she noticed abstractedly.
He gave a quick, almost imperceptible shake of his head.
She froze, unable to look away from his intense blue gaze. Her fingers tightened reflexively around the ceramic mug in her hands. He was warning her.
She looked from him to the Cajun.
“Lily?” Henderson raised his bushy brows.
She sucked in a long breath and forced herself to face her dad’s former colleague. “N-nice to see you,” Lily stammered as the bailiff stopped in front of her.
“Good morning, Ms. Raines,” the bailiff said.
Lily nodded jerkily.
“I’ll let my father know you asked about him,” she said to Henderson, stepping backward into the room. Her voice was too loud, but she couldn’t help it.
Please don’t say anything, she silently begged Henderson.
More people entered the hallway. The Cajun and his partner passed the door. The Cajun’s black eyes sparkled and he made an offhand gesture at the level of his neck. Lily read his message loud and clear. She touched her throat where the point of the Cajun’s knife had pricked her the night before.
The other man kept his gaze averted, but she felt his presence, his overwhelming attention, and she remembered that he’d stopped the Cajun from hurting her— twice.
She watched the back of his head as he followed the Cajun through the door into the main corridor of the courthouse. Just as he stepped inside, his head angled, as if acknowledging her gaze.
She shuddered, her stomach flipping over. They had to be here checking on her. There was no way she could escape them. They would be there through every minute of the trial. They’d watch her when she went in and out of the jury box. And anytime they wanted to, they could hurt her father.
She ducked inside the jury room, her stomach rebelling at the black coffee she’d swallowed. How would she make it through the day, much less the whole trial?
“WHAT THE HELL’S the matter with her?” Foshee said.
Brand bit back a curse. He knew exactly what Foshee was talking about.
Lily looked as if she might faint and fall right out of her chair. Her face was pale and her eyes had dark circles under them. Her dark hair hung limp and straight around her face, and she clutched the armrest of the jury box chair so hard he could see her whitened knuckles from across the room.
He bent his head and whispered to the shorter man. “She didn’t sleep. She’s probably so scared she’s sick, and I can see the bruise you left on her jaw from here.” You stinking little bully, he added silently.
“Whassup wi’ you, Brand? You sweet on her?” Foshee grinned, showing crooked, stained teeth.
“Nah. Guess I just know better than you how to handle a lady.”
“Zat so?” Foshee angled his head. “Mebbe I let you handle her after I finish wit’ her, eh?’ Cause if she don’ straighten up, she get herself kicked off the jury. See how the DA’s watching her?”
Brand clenched his fists. He’d already noticed. The Assistant District Attorney in charge of the case had been watching Lily all morning, probably worried about the same thing Brand feared. She was so pale and drawn. Was she about to faint?
It was time for the ADA’s summation to the jury. He looked at Lily again, then whispered to his co-counsel. Brand could imagine what they were saying.
They wouldn’t want a sick juror, or one who was terrified, helping to decide the fate of Sack Simon. They had to be sure all the jurors were capable of coherent thought and rational reasoning.
Brand had been there through the jury selection and voir dire. There were two very competent alternates waiting in the wings. The ADA could easily replace Lily.
After another few seconds of whispering, the ADA nodded at his colleague and stood. “Your honor, may we approach?”
Brand stiffened. This was about Lily. He knew it. What if the ADA demanded she be excused from the jury? What would Castellano do then?
He wished he could catch her eye, but after last night, anything he did would be interpreted by her as a threat. If he even made eye contact with her, she would faint.
The judge and the two attorneys consulted while eleven jurors fidgeted. Lily sat stiff and still, her too-wide eyes watching the lawyers and the judge talk. Every so often, her gaze would flicker toward either him or Foshee.
He saw her throat move as she swallowed nervously.
Get yourself together, Lily, he begged her silently. They’ll kill you.
Then the defense attorney glanced their way with a tiny smile.
The lawyers returned to their seats and the judge rapped his gavel. “We’ll recess until tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.”
Brand let out a deep sigh.
“What’s going on?” Foshee asked in surprise as they stood while the judge left the bench.
“We just dodged a bullet. I’m guessing the ADA was asking to excuse juror number seven.”
Foshee’s black eyes glittered. “We gonna have to pay our girlfriend another visit?”
“No,” Brand said quickly. “Look at her. She looks better already. She’s exhausted and scared to death. A good night’s sleep and she’ll be okay. She just needs some time.”
“Mais, oui. We call her, eh? Tell her good-night?”
Brand shook his head. “Leave her alone, Foshee. You hurt her. You scared her half to death. Trust me, she got the message. Let’s give her a day to think about it. She’s smart. She’ll come around.”
They filed out of the courtroom with the rest of the curious onlookers and walked around to the side of the courthouse to stand at the door where the jurors exited. They mingled with the media and the onlookers.
Brand stood beside Foshee, dreading the moment when Lily walked out and saw them waiting for her.
She was the last one through the door. Her face was still pale, and she clutched a tissue as she was escorted to the door by a security guard.
“Sure you’re okay, honey?” the uniformed woman asked her.
Lily nodded and smiled faintly. “Thank you. I feel much better. I appreciate the ice water. It’s probably just a bug. I’ll be fine by tomorrow I’m sure—” Her gaze met Brand’s and she faltered.
Brand lifted his chin and sent her a faint nod.
Her gaze flickered from him to Foshee. She brought the hand holding the tissue to her mouth and hurried past them, catching up with a middle-aged man—juror number three, if Brand wasn’t mistaken.
“Okay. We gotta check in,” Foshee said. “See if the boss wants us to follow her.”
“She’s not going anywhere. Other than maybe to see her father.”
Foshee squinted up at him. “You sure do know a lot for a two-bit bouncer.”
Brand glared down at the little man. “Castellano obviously thinks I do. He gave me this job.”
“Mais, non. He give me the job. He give you to me to train. And I guarantee you he ain’t gonna like how you’re so ’fatiated with our girl.”
Brand shrugged. “It’s your fault she’s too scared to function. Give her a break. She’s got a lot of thinking to do.”
The Cajun laughed, showing his crooked teeth. “That she does, brau. That she does.”
BRAND DIDN’T EVEN GLANCE at the neighborhood bar on his way to his cover apartment that night. He licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair. He’d been deep undercover too long. Hanging out with thugs and lowlifes put a bad taste in his mouth, and he knew from his childhood that it couldn’t be washed away with whiskey.
As soon as this assignment was over, he was done with the undercover racket. He’d take homicide. Working with plain old murderers. At least that way he could feel like a cop, instead of some lowlife.
In his one-bedroom apartment, he turned the radio to an oldies station and grabbed a bottle of water from the small refrigerator.
Flopping down on the sagging couch, he glanced at his watch, took a long drink of the cold water, then sucked in a dose of courage. He needed to call his brother, Ryan.
Ryan was four years older than Brand, and he’d often protected Brand against their father’s alcoholic rages.
He picked up his cell phone and dialed. It took several rings for Ryan to answer.
“Hey, Ry.”
“Hey.” Ryan’s voice was remote.
“How’d it go?” Brand sat forward and propped his elbows on his knees.
“How do you think it went? It was a funeral. Dad missed you.”
The jab hit home. Brand’s chest constricted. “Yeah, well, lift a glass to him from me,” he shot back.
Ryan was silent.
“Come on, Ry. You know why I can’t be there. I asked. They turned me down.”
“Did you?”
“What do you mean, did I? Hell, yeah, I did.”
“Hard to believe they wouldn’t let a guy go to his own father’s funeral.”
“Cut it out, Ryan.” Brand stood and paced, clenching and unclenching his fist. Maybe it was a bad idea to call him so soon. The funeral had been today.
“You know better than that. I’m undercover, and I just got my first break in the case. I can’t afford to blow the operation by disappearing. There are lives at stake.”
“Yeah. You’re so damn important. Everybody was asking about you. Mom’s made you into a hero around here—big bad cop who’s too busy to see his own father buried.”
“Well, at least I saw Patrick,” he threw back.
Damn it. It happened every time they talked. The same old argument. The same old hurts.
Ryan felt guilty because he had been away at school when their oldest brother, Patrick, was murdered. Thirteen-year-old Brand had found him lying across the doorstep of their house, dead from a single bullet to the head, with a dollar bill stuffed in his mouth.
Castellano’s calling card.
“Yeah, and you finally got what you wanted. Revenge.” Ryan’s voice was rough with emotion.
Grief, Brand figured, and guilt, mixed with disapproval of how Brand had chosen to live his life.
“Come on, Ry. I’m not doing this for revenge. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing.”
“Sure you are. That’s why you chose to isolate yourself from your family, and why you went so deep undercover that you’re becoming one of them.” Ryan took a breath. “I saw Aimee the other day. She’s engaged.”
“Aimee?” Brand’s gut tightened. He’d been thinking about giving her a ring when the undercover assignment had come up. He’d only seen her once in the past three years, and he’d had to pretend he didn’t know her.
“Sorry.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Is Mom okay?”
“She’s making it.” Ryan’s voice sounded less tense. He’d needed to blow off some steam, just like Brand had.
“I think we might stay for a while. Mom’s having a fit over the baby. Cassie can help Mom clean out Dad’s stuff, and I might see what kind of contracting jobs are available.”
“Stay? In Alexandria?” A pang in Brand’s chest made him realize how much he’d miss his brother. Even if they didn’t always get along, even if he hadn’t been able to see much of him while he’d been undercover, he’d always known Ryan was just across town if he needed him. Ryan had always been there for him. But Alexandria, where his parents had moved once he’d moved out, was almost three hundred miles away.
“What about the house? Cassie’s studio?”
“I’ve got a guy watching the house. And Cassie hasn’t used the studio since she got pregnant. Fumes from the oil paint and turpentine. I’m thinking about selling it.”
“Right. Tell her I’m sorry I haven’t gotten to see the baby. I didn’t want to put y’all in danger.”
“Sure. We understand.”
Brand cleared his throat. “Gotta go, Ry. Tell Mom I’ll call her when I get a chance. Tell her I love her.”
“Try to stay out of trouble—okay?”
“Always do.” Brand disconnected, blinking hard. He didn’t know why his dad’s dying had affected him. The old man had either been in a rage or passed out drunk during most of Brand’s life. Brand had learned early that the best thing to do was stay out of his way.
He finished his water and shot the empty plastic bottle into the trash can like a basketball.
Thoughts of his father led to thoughts of Lily Raines, and the horror in her eyes when she’d realized Foshee was threatening her father. Her obvious love and fear for her dad haunted him. The way she’d frantically rushed to his side as soon as he and Foshee left made Brand feel guilty and somehow deprived.
He’d felt a secret relief when his request to go to his father’s funeral had been denied. And that had made him feel even more guilty. But the truth was, he hadn’t seen his dad in five years, and as far as he was concerned, that wasn’t nearly long enough.
For him, family equaled pain. His childhood memories were those of crying, yelling, fists and rage. He’d spent his boyhood hiding behind Ryan or hanging out with kids from school—kids whose fathers didn’t trash the house if dinner wasn’t on the table when he got home. Mothers who didn’t jump at every little noise, or stare out the window with haunted eyes in the late afternoon. Kids whose parents were normal.
Then there was his oldest brother. Poor Patrick had followed in his father’s footsteps, all right. He hadn’t even made it to thirty.
He didn’t remember ever feeling the way Lily obviously felt about her father. He had no concept of that kind of love. A place inside him ached—hollow, empty. He ran his hand over his face trying to wipe away his maudlin thoughts.
But he couldn’t wipe away the vision of Lily with her big, frightened brown eyes and her soft, vulnerable lips. He couldn’t get the smell of vanilla and coconut out of his nostrils.
Damn it, he wished he could warn her how necessary it was for her to be strong and brave. This was life and death. He hoped she knew that.
He longed to tell her he would do anything in his power to keep her safe, but that she had to make it through the trial without faltering.
He ached to touch her again, this time to comfort her, rather than scaring her half to death. But if he broke cover, not only would her life and her father’s be forfeit, he and two other cops could die.
LILY PULLED INTO her parking lot and glanced at the dashboard clock. She’d intended to be home before dark, but her father had seemed so happy to have her visit she hadn’t had the heart to leave early. He’d nodded sagely when she mentioned Bill Henderson. He’d even repeated his name.
She’d told him about Castellano’s hit man, and the men who’d threatened her, but he’d just nodded again.
For a moment she sat in her car as her eyes filled with tears of grief. Her dad had once been so strapping and smart.
Ever since her mother had died when she was twelve, she and her dad had depended on each other. She didn’t count the months right after her mother’s death, when her dad had retreated into his own grief. For the most part, he’d been a great dad. He’d taught her how to defend herself, how to handle a gun, so she’d never be helpless. He’d listened when she’d cried with her first broken heart. And he’d been there to cheer when she’d graduated college with a degree in interior design.
“I need you now, Dad,” she whispered. “More than ever. I need to know what to do.”
The father who’d raised her would be appalled if he knew she was even considering voting not guilty. Not with the kind of evidence the prosecution had against Simon. He’d have waved away the danger.
I can take care of myself, he’d have told her. And I can take care of you.
But there was no way he could do that now. She had to take care of him. And if that meant letting a killer go free—so be it.
Still, the strong, beloved voice she’d listened to all her life echoed in her ears.
It all comes down to what’s right, Lilybell. You can’t outrun your conscience.
She slapped the steering wheel with her palms, and wiped her eyes. Enough of acting like a baby. She’d find a way to get help. There had to be someone she could trust.
A car’s headlights glared in the rearview mirror, causing her heart to leap into her throat. She’d broken one of the basic rules of personal safety. Don’t park the car and sit in it. She needed to get inside and put the chain on the door.
Imaginary spiders crawled up the back of her neck as she grabbed her jacket and purse. She shuddered and glanced around. Then she took a deep breath, jumped out of her car and ran up the steps to her second-floor apartment.
As she unlocked her door, her shoulders tightened in awful expectation of the feel of a heavy hand.
She looked over her shoulder. Nothing. She pushed open the door and sighed in relief when she saw her living room bathed in the light from the lamp she’d left on.
The attack came from her left.
A hand clapped over her mouth.
No! Not again! She kicked and bit and tried to scream for help.
The hand pressed tighter and a rock-hard arm pinned hers to her sides. She flung her head backward, trying to head-butt her attacker, but he dodged and pressed the left side of his head against the right side of hers, then pushed her inside and kicked the door shut.
She smelled soap and mint. Alarm sent her heart racing out of control.
“Shh! Lily!” His voice was raspy and soft. “Be still. Shh. Stop struggling.”
Desperately, she stomped his instep.
“Ow. Stop it! Listen to me.” He lifted her as if she weighed nothing and carried her into the living room.
She was so helpless, so weak. None of the defensive moves her father had taught her worked against this man. She struggled, but he was like a massive tree—immovable, sturdy, unbending.
His hand over her mouth loosened and she took a breath to scream.
“Don’t.” The hand tightened again, as did the arm across her chest. She could barely breathe.
She went limp, tears of frustration and fear filling her eyes.
“Promise?” his whisper rasped in her ear. His stubble scraped her cheek.
She tried to nod.
“This is serious, Lily. Don’t try anything. Don’t yell, don’t hit, and for heaven’s sake, don’t bite.”
She nodded again. Her chest burned for air. She sucked as much as she could through her nose. It wasn’t enough.
His hand on her mouth eased up.
She gasped.
He slid his hand down past her jaw, which was still sore from the Cajun’s punishing fingers the night before, to her neck. He didn’t grab her, he didn’t punish. His thumb touched the minuscule wound left by the Cajun’s knife.
In another world, in another time, she might have thought his fingers were gentle, caressing. But here and now, she knew who he was. He’d been here last night. He’d held her—let the Cajun touch her. A quiver of revulsion rippled through her.
He’d threatened her with a searing glare and watched her like a hawk in court.
Lily felt sick. A cold sweat broke out across her face and neck.
He tightened his hold. “Don’t faint on me, Lily. I need you to be strong. You have to listen to me.” His breath was hot on her ear.
She tried to turn, but he held her in place, tight up against his unyielding body. The heat he gave off burned her to her core.
“You almost got kicked off the jury today. Do you know that?”
She swallowed against his fingers, which still held her throat in an ominous caress. Any second he could tighten them and choke her.
“Do you?” he snapped.
She nodded jerkily.
“You’ve got to be brave. You’ve got to stop looking like a doe facing a rifle.”
His low voice sounded earnest, as if he was worried about her. She closed her eyes and fought the urge to give up, to lean against him and stop struggling.
But she knew he couldn’t be trusted. He was the enemy. He had hurt her. He’d held her while the Cajun had hurt her.
“That’s pretty much what I am,” she said shakily.
“You’ve got to look confident. Can you do that? It’s the only way you’ll survive.”
“Wha-what are you talking about?” she croaked, confused by the urgency in his tone.
His hands slid down over her sleeveless top and tightened on her bare upper arms. He turned her around to face him.
His face was grave, his blue eyes burning with intensity as they searched her face. He lifted one hand and traced the bruise the Cajun had left on her jaw with a surprisingly gentle brush of his fingers.
Conflicting emotions swirled inside her. He’d grabbed her, threatened her. Why was he being so kind? Was it a trick? Was the Cajun waiting outside?
She stiffened, and cut her eyes over to her front door.
“Shh. It’s okay. He’s not here.”
Her gaze shot to his, suspicious. “He sent you?”
“No. I came on my own, to warn you.” His left hand touched her chin. “Listen to me, Lily. Jury summations are tomorrow. They won’t take long. The prosecution thinks they’ve got the case sewn up. Get up in the morning, shower and fix your hair. Put on makeup. Do whatever it is you do to look good.”
Tears burned her eyes. She shook her head. “I can’t do it. I can’t sit there in front of the judge and the lawyers, with the families of people Sack Simon killed watching me with their hopeful eyes. I can’t betray them.”
“You’ve got to. You have to walk into the jury box like you own it. Don’t give the ADA a reason to kick you off the jury. If you do, your father will die.” His face darkened. “You’ll die.”
She blinked and the tears streamed down her cheeks, down her neck. His thumb moved, rubbing the dampness into her skin, touching her in a way he had no right to. Making her feel safe when she knew she wasn’t.
“Don’t cry, Lily. Be strong.”
She sobbed.
“Shh.” He bent his head and put his mouth against her ear. She sniffled and was hit with the scent of him— soap and mint.
He’d brushed his teeth to come threaten her again. A little hiccuping giggle burst up from her chest.
“If you can be strong, if you can hold out, I promise you I’ll keep you safe.”
“You?” she spat, jerking her head away from his seductive whisper. She hiccuped again and looked him in the eye. “I’d rather die.”
He sighed and his eyes went storm-cloud gray. “Then you will.”
He turned her around and pulled her back up close against him again. His soft, ominous whisper burned through her. “Think about it, Lily. It’s your only chance. It’s the only way your dad will survive.”
He pushed her toward the couch.
She stumbled and fell onto the cushions. By the time she’d righted herself, he was gone.
The smell of soap and mint lingered in the air.
