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Authors: Stephanie Bond
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room and that was thirty
minutes ago. Arraignments would begin in three minutes,
and Wesley’s case, Liz Fischer had warned, could fall
anywhere in the lineup, so he had to be prompt if he
wanted the deal that she’d managed to work out with the
D.A.
The rows of chairs in the gallery were crowded with
people of all shapes and sizes, some of them nervous and
fidgety, others merely bored. Liz Fischer stood next to the
front row and cast furtive glances at her watch. The
district attorney, Kelvin Lucas, sat sprawled in a chair
across the aisle wearing a smug smile as the seconds
ticked away. Carlotta remembered the way the man had
gril ed her after her parents had disappeared.
“They must have said where they were going, or called to
say they were okay. If you know something and you don’t
tel me, young lady, I’l have to charge you with accessory,
and then who’l take care of your brother?”
But she’d stood her ground—she hadn’t known where
they were. If she had, she would’ve turned them in just to
stop her brother’s tears.
The man’s hair was grayer, his neck thicker, but the
arrogant set of his mouth was unmistakable. “Tracking
down Randolph Wren is my top priority,” he’d said to a TV
reporter ten years ago, a vein jumping in his forehead.
“Now it’s personal.”
When his heavy-lidded gaze now landed on Carlotta, she
swallowed and looked away. The man gave her the creeps,
although she supposed that was part of his job
description. She wondered if he had any idea who she was
and how much he’d added to her nightmares at a time
when she’d thought she might never sleep again.
“Did you lose your client?” Carlotta heard him ask Liz
Fischer, his voice cutting through the noise.
“He’l be here,” Liz responded, her tone cool.
Lucas gave a derisive laugh. “It’s déjà vu, Counselor. Just
like ten years ago.”
Carlotta set her jaw. Ignoring the man, Liz strode toward
her and leaned down. “Where the hel is Wesley?”
“He’s in the restroom,” Carlotta said hotly. “He’l be here
in a minute.”
“He’d better,” the woman said. “I don’t even want to think
about what I had to do to get him this deal.”
Carlotta gave her a pointed look. “I’m sure it’s nothing you
haven’t done before.”
“All rise,” the bailiff announced as the judge walked in.
“Go find him,” Liz said through clenched teeth.
Carlotta rose and exited the rear doors into the hallway,
nodding at the guards stationed there. She scanned the
area for Wesley, panic gathering in her chest. Had he fallen
il ? Been detained in some way? Another thought slid into
her mind and took her breath away. Had Wesley, who so
adored their father, somehow gotten it into his head to
imitate The Bird’s behavior, to earn his own notorious
reputation?
She asked one of the guards for directions to the men’s
room. She practically ran in the direction the man pointed
and when she found it, hesitated only a second before
barreling inside. There she found Wesley leaning over a
sink, his mouth bloody and his clothes disheveled and a
bulky man standing over him—Detective Jack Terry.
Her maternal hackles stood on end. “Get away from him!”
She went in slapping at the bigger man like a windmil .
“Hey, hey, hey!” he said, arms raised to ward off her blows
while he backed up. Then he grabbed her wrists and held
her, his eyes blazing. “What the devil are you doing?”
“This is police brutality!” she cried. “Help, someone!”
He released her wrist to clamp a hand over her mouth.
“Shut up before you get someone hurt, dammit. I walked
in and found your brother like this. I was trying to help him
get cleaned up before his court appearance.”
She cut her gaze to Wesley for confirmation and her
brother nodded. “He was trying to help,” he mumbled
through a fat lip.
She relaxed and the detective released her, her red lipstick
bright against
minutes ago. Arraignments would begin in three minutes,
and Wesley’s case, Liz Fischer had warned, could fall
anywhere in the lineup, so he had to be prompt if he
wanted the deal that she’d managed to work out with the
D.A.
The rows of chairs in the gallery were crowded with
people of all shapes and sizes, some of them nervous and
fidgety, others merely bored. Liz Fischer stood next to the
front row and cast furtive glances at her watch. The
district attorney, Kelvin Lucas, sat sprawled in a chair
across the aisle wearing a smug smile as the seconds
ticked away. Carlotta remembered the way the man had
gril ed her after her parents had disappeared.
“They must have said where they were going, or called to
say they were okay. If you know something and you don’t
tel me, young lady, I’l have to charge you with accessory,
and then who’l take care of your brother?”
But she’d stood her ground—she hadn’t known where
they were. If she had, she would’ve turned them in just to
stop her brother’s tears.
The man’s hair was grayer, his neck thicker, but the
arrogant set of his mouth was unmistakable. “Tracking
down Randolph Wren is my top priority,” he’d said to a TV
reporter ten years ago, a vein jumping in his forehead.
“Now it’s personal.”
When his heavy-lidded gaze now landed on Carlotta, she
swallowed and looked away. The man gave her the creeps,
although she supposed that was part of his job
description. She wondered if he had any idea who she was
and how much he’d added to her nightmares at a time
when she’d thought she might never sleep again.
“Did you lose your client?” Carlotta heard him ask Liz
Fischer, his voice cutting through the noise.
“He’l be here,” Liz responded, her tone cool.
Lucas gave a derisive laugh. “It’s déjà vu, Counselor. Just
like ten years ago.”
Carlotta set her jaw. Ignoring the man, Liz strode toward
her and leaned down. “Where the hel is Wesley?”
“He’s in the restroom,” Carlotta said hotly. “He’l be here
in a minute.”
“He’d better,” the woman said. “I don’t even want to think
about what I had to do to get him this deal.”
Carlotta gave her a pointed look. “I’m sure it’s nothing you
haven’t done before.”
“All rise,” the bailiff announced as the judge walked in.
“Go find him,” Liz said through clenched teeth.
Carlotta rose and exited the rear doors into the hallway,
nodding at the guards stationed there. She scanned the
area for Wesley, panic gathering in her chest. Had he fallen
il ? Been detained in some way? Another thought slid into
her mind and took her breath away. Had Wesley, who so
adored their father, somehow gotten it into his head to
imitate The Bird’s behavior, to earn his own notorious
reputation?
She asked one of the guards for directions to the men’s
room. She practically ran in the direction the man pointed
and when she found it, hesitated only a second before
barreling inside. There she found Wesley leaning over a
sink, his mouth bloody and his clothes disheveled and a
bulky man standing over him—Detective Jack Terry.
Her maternal hackles stood on end. “Get away from him!”
She went in slapping at the bigger man like a windmil .
“Hey, hey, hey!” he said, arms raised to ward off her blows
while he backed up. Then he grabbed her wrists and held
her, his eyes blazing. “What the devil are you doing?”
“This is police brutality!” she cried. “Help, someone!”
He released her wrist to clamp a hand over her mouth.
“Shut up before you get someone hurt, dammit. I walked
in and found your brother like this. I was trying to help him
get cleaned up before his court appearance.”
She cut her gaze to Wesley for confirmation and her
brother nodded. “He was trying to help,” he mumbled
through a fat lip.
She relaxed and the detective released her, her red lipstick
bright against
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