criminals he protected.
“He tries to justify what he did, blaming it on the alcohol. He was an angry and brutal man sober. He beat the tar out of his supervisor at work because he threatened to fire him if he didn’t get his act together. My mother lived with abuse and fear, and she died with it. Why should he get parole from suffering when my aunt and I never will?”
He heaved a deep sigh. Thank God that was over. However, reading his aunt’s letter would probably prove even more difficult. He took a deep breath, then read her letter on how his father had threatened her when she’d confronted him about the abuse. How she and Ethan would never recover. How he’d taken her only sibling from her.
The D.A. made his case next, emphasizing that Mr. Ryder posed an unreasonable risk and harm to society, and that according to the prison therapist, he still showed signs of unstable behavior. The cop on the scene that night described how, to this day, it was the most heinous crime he had ever experienced.
The board deliberated, expected to return in ten minutes.
Ethan glanced over his shoulder at his aunt sitting in a chair along the back wall, next to Olivia. Shit. He figured Olivia would be safe outside the parole hearing room with a guard, and inside a prison.
After five minutes, the board returned.
“Not suitable for parole. His release would compromise the welfare of society … ”
His aunt let out a cry of joy, and Ethan relaxed back in the chair, releasing his white-knuckle grip on the chair arms, flexing his fingers, attempting to relieve the tension not only in his hands, but his entire body. As his father was escorted from the room, the stench of Scotch and blood slowly evaporated from Ethan’s mind. He pushed himself up from the chair and walked back to his aunt, avoiding Olivia’s stare.
“We did it, Joanna,” his aunt said, gazing heavenward. “We kept that bastard in prison for at least another five years.”
Petite and slender like his mother had been, Maggie stretched her short arms up, and Ethan stooped over to accommodate her hug. Her floral scented perfume replaced the rancid odors that had filled his head. Olivia wore a sympathetic expression, something he didn’t want. His personal life was off-limits. He only got close enough to witnesses to earn their trust, without becoming close friends or disclosing any weakness about himself that they could one day use to their advantage.
His aunt wiped tears of joy and sorrow from her flushed cheeks.
He glared at Olivia. “Thought I asked you to wait outside.”
“She was such a dear, comforting me out there, I asked her to come back in with me.” His aunt gave Olivia’s arm an appreciative squeeze. “I wanted to hear what was going on, but couldn’t bear to sit here alone.” She smoothed a hand over her short white hair, smiling brightly.
• • •
Olivia’s dad’s crime seemed petty compared to Ethan’s dad’s. She had an overwhelming urge to touch Ethan, to hug him — something to make the pain go away. “I don’t know what to say,” she said quietly, eyeing the scar on his face, wanting to brush a gentle finger across it. Until he’d gestured to it during his testimony, she’d assumed it was the result of protecting a witness, not his mom’s life when he was only ten years old.
“Don’t say anything about it. Ever.” His gaze sharpened and the frightened ten-year-old boy who’d just recounted the traumatic event that had changed his life forever disappeared. “You shouldn’t have been in here.”
“I’m sorry.” She reached out, stopping shy of touching his arm, slowly lowering her hand.
“I asked her to come in,” his aunt said.
His gaze softened slightly at his aunt, then he glanced over at the chair where his dad had sat and his body tensed, radiating raw anger and hatred. “We have a plane to catch.” He strode from the room, never looking back.
Maggie shook her head, frowning. “That’s the most
“He tries to justify what he did, blaming it on the alcohol. He was an angry and brutal man sober. He beat the tar out of his supervisor at work because he threatened to fire him if he didn’t get his act together. My mother lived with abuse and fear, and she died with it. Why should he get parole from suffering when my aunt and I never will?”
He heaved a deep sigh. Thank God that was over. However, reading his aunt’s letter would probably prove even more difficult. He took a deep breath, then read her letter on how his father had threatened her when she’d confronted him about the abuse. How she and Ethan would never recover. How he’d taken her only sibling from her.
The D.A. made his case next, emphasizing that Mr. Ryder posed an unreasonable risk and harm to society, and that according to the prison therapist, he still showed signs of unstable behavior. The cop on the scene that night described how, to this day, it was the most heinous crime he had ever experienced.
The board deliberated, expected to return in ten minutes.
Ethan glanced over his shoulder at his aunt sitting in a chair along the back wall, next to Olivia. Shit. He figured Olivia would be safe outside the parole hearing room with a guard, and inside a prison.
After five minutes, the board returned.
“Not suitable for parole. His release would compromise the welfare of society … ”
His aunt let out a cry of joy, and Ethan relaxed back in the chair, releasing his white-knuckle grip on the chair arms, flexing his fingers, attempting to relieve the tension not only in his hands, but his entire body. As his father was escorted from the room, the stench of Scotch and blood slowly evaporated from Ethan’s mind. He pushed himself up from the chair and walked back to his aunt, avoiding Olivia’s stare.
“We did it, Joanna,” his aunt said, gazing heavenward. “We kept that bastard in prison for at least another five years.”
Petite and slender like his mother had been, Maggie stretched her short arms up, and Ethan stooped over to accommodate her hug. Her floral scented perfume replaced the rancid odors that had filled his head. Olivia wore a sympathetic expression, something he didn’t want. His personal life was off-limits. He only got close enough to witnesses to earn their trust, without becoming close friends or disclosing any weakness about himself that they could one day use to their advantage.
His aunt wiped tears of joy and sorrow from her flushed cheeks.
He glared at Olivia. “Thought I asked you to wait outside.”
“She was such a dear, comforting me out there, I asked her to come back in with me.” His aunt gave Olivia’s arm an appreciative squeeze. “I wanted to hear what was going on, but couldn’t bear to sit here alone.” She smoothed a hand over her short white hair, smiling brightly.
• • •
Olivia’s dad’s crime seemed petty compared to Ethan’s dad’s. She had an overwhelming urge to touch Ethan, to hug him — something to make the pain go away. “I don’t know what to say,” she said quietly, eyeing the scar on his face, wanting to brush a gentle finger across it. Until he’d gestured to it during his testimony, she’d assumed it was the result of protecting a witness, not his mom’s life when he was only ten years old.
“Don’t say anything about it. Ever.” His gaze sharpened and the frightened ten-year-old boy who’d just recounted the traumatic event that had changed his life forever disappeared. “You shouldn’t have been in here.”
“I’m sorry.” She reached out, stopping shy of touching his arm, slowly lowering her hand.
“I asked her to come in,” his aunt said.
His gaze softened slightly at his aunt, then he glanced over at the chair where his dad had sat and his body tensed, radiating raw anger and hatred. “We have a plane to catch.” He strode from the room, never looking back.
Maggie shook her head, frowning. “That’s the most
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