by Rachel Grant
But he hadn’t wanted her here for a warrant to find the smallpox bomb. No, they really had come full circle. He’d raced to save her only because he wanted her to testify.
“I’m falling in love with you.”
She’d heard those words in her mind a thousand times since he’d uttered them. She’d believed he had stayed away from the safe house the first night to give them both time to cool off. And last night, when he didn’t appear, she’d convinced herself it was because her uncle had taken the stand, and he’d understood how hard that was for her.
The vehicle stopped by the garage elevator. Curt stood by the curb. Her heart lurched at the sight of him, as it had from the first moment she saw him.
An agent opened the SUV door. She climbed out and approached the man she’d thought she was falling in love with. Curt’s expression sent chills up her spine. He looked like he did in the photos with the North Korean dictator. An empty suit. Expressionless.
After all they’d gone through together, she was once again face-to-face with The Shark.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
THE LOOK ON her face nearly killed him, but it was the blow to his cheek that made his head spin. Not a dainty slap from his pixie. No. She’d decked him with a closed fist.
The marshal caught her wrist as she pulled back for a second blow, and dragged her away from him. The two FBI agents flanked her.
“Mr. Dominick, do you intend to press charges?” one of the agents asked.
“No. I deserved it.” Cupping his sore face, he turned and headed to the elevator.
“Goddam you, Curt! You son of a bitch!” Her rant continued, getting more and more creative as she went. She’d clearly spent a lot of time in the field with marines.
Inside the elevator, he said, “You can call me every name you want, but at one thirty you’re going to testify.”
“I will not.”
“You have no choice, Mara. I didn’t want to do this, but it became necessary.”
Inside, the marshal led them to a private room. “Will you be safe with her?” he asked, nodding toward Mara and smiling a little too much.
“Probably not. But I can take it. I want the two agents to guard this room. Right now the fact that no one knows she’s here is the best protection for her.”
The door closed behind him, and they were alone. She spun around and swung at him again. This time he caught her wrist. It wouldn’t do for him to face the jury with a black eye. He held her wrist above her head and felt the prick of a thousand daggers from her gaze.
“You’re falling in love with me, huh?”
“Yes. I am. Every word was true.”
“Jesus, Curt. I trusted you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “How could you do this to me?”
She crumpled before him, and all he could do was pull her against him and pray she’d let him hold her.
She didn’t.
The moment his arms closed around her, she let out a guttural shriek that hurt worse than any blow and shoved him away. “Leave me the hell alone.”
He stepped back. Fire blazed in her eyes. Explaining was impossible at this point. Later, he’d have his chance—if watching her testify didn’t kill him first. “A bailiff will escort you to the courtroom when it’s time.”
“MR. DOMINICK, ARE you ready to call your first rebuttal witness?”
“Yes, Your Honor. The prosecution calls Mara Garrett to the stand.”
At least one jury member gasped, while the gallery exploded with conversation. Judge Hawthorne was forced to resort to the gavel to restore order. “Mr. Dominick, please tell the court exactly what Ms. Garrett is expected to rebut.”
“She will authenticate proposed exhibit sixty-eight and in so doing will impeach the testimony of the defendant.”
“Objection, Your Honor!” Sherrod said. “Prosecution is trying to use rebuttal to try the case by introducing evidence not part of case in chief.”
Judge Hawthorne glared at Curt. She wasn’t pleased with his surprise witness, but he knew the foundation for calling Mara was sound. “Sidebar, gentlemen.”
They met again beside the bench. Sherrod spoke first. “Your Honor, in light of recent events, the witness’s testimony may be biased in favor of the prosecution. She may wish to please the man who rescued her from a firing squad.”
“Mr. Dominick,” Judge Hawthorne said, “if I let you put her on the stand, Ms. Ames will examine the witness and questions will be limited to the photograph and contents thereof.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Then I will allow the witness to be called.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Dominick. I advise caution here. If I see anything that indicates you hold undue influence over the witness, I will have you barred from the courtroom during questioning.”
MARA WAITED IN the witness room, alone. The room was cold. Freezing. It might be the coldest room she’d ever been in in her entire life. Then there were the painful knots in her stomach. The dull ache of fear and betrayal was back, but this time it came from a different source.
Why the hell had she ever allowed herself to start hoping again?
Now she waited in a frigid witness room, watching the second hand slowly rotate around the clock face. This felt just like her cell before the firing squad. At least the North Koreans had had the grace to give her a blindfold. Curt would make her look her uncle in the eye as she gave testimony against him.
And how in the hell had he managed to call her to testify? Hadn’t the prosecution rested days ago? None of this made sense.
A few minutes after Curt left her, Aurora Ames, a tall, polished blonde, showed up with clothing, makeup, and hair products. She’d told Mara she could use or ignore the makeup and brushes, but the clothing change wasn’t optional because the judge didn’t allow jeans in her courtroom.
When Mara threatened to wear the jeans anyway, she was informed the judge would find her in contempt. It wouldn’t get her out of testifying, but it would seriously screw up her day.
So Mara had changed. She ran her fingers over the quality garment and wondered who had picked it out for her—Curt or the sharp-eyed assistant US attorney.
Bored and anxious, she’d ended up playing with the makeup and fiddling with her hair. She studied her reflection in the mirror. The stupid, girlish part of her wondered what Curt would think when he saw her.
She ruthlessly crushed that thought under the classic, low-slung, navy-blue heels provided by the District of Columbia’s US Attorney’s Office.
A bailiff opened the door. “It’s time.”
CHAPTER FORTY
SHE ENTERED THE packed but silent courtroom alone. Her heels clicked on the hard floor, making her feel self-conscious and exposed. She paused before the witness box, raised her right hand as instructed, and took the oath that bound her to the truth. After taking her seat in the raised box to the judge’s left, she scanned the courtroom.
The jury sat to her left, only a few feet away, and each of the fourteen members stared at her with avid interest. The face of the middle-aged man on the end was easy to read: Things have finally gotten interesting. The elderly woman in the middle of the front row smiled encouragingly. None of the other jurors would meet her gaze.
“Thank you for joining us, Ms. Garrett,” Aurora Ames said, drawing her attention to the podium placed between the prosecution and defense tables.
Mara realized her navy suit was similar to Aurora’s and felt a bitter twinge. She’d been dressed to match the blue team. “I wasn’t aware I had a choice.”
She made the mistake of glancing toward the prosecution table, directly in front of her. There he sat, serious and silent. The man who’d tried to lure her here with words of love, and when that failed, came after her with deceit and righteousness. She took a grounding breath and allowed her gaze to stray to the defendant’s side and met the sad eyes of her uncle.
She’d prepared to face his condemnation, but he didn’t look
angry. He looked…pained. Behind him sat his wife, Aunt Clara, and next to her was Mara’s mother.
She hadn’t seen her mom since last Christmas, and her longing to leap out of the box and throw herself into her mother’s arms was overwhelming. Tears ran down her mother’s face, and Mara’s breath hitched.
“Ms. Garrett, will you please answer the question?” the judge said, interrupting her thoughts.
Mara faced the woman seated above her. “I’m sorry, Your Honor. I didn’t hear it. I haven’t seen my family in months. I’m a little overwhelmed.”
“You may have a moment to collect yourself,” the judge said.
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath, then nodded toward the AUSA waiting at the podium.
“Your Honor, if it pleases the court, I’d like it entered into the record that Ms. Garrett is testifying unwillingly,” Aurora Ames said.
The man seated next to her uncle said, “Objection, Your Honor.”
“On what grounds?” the judge asked.
“Argument improper.”
“Sustained.”
“I’ll rephrase, Your Honor,” Aurora said. “Ms. Garrett, are you willingly testifying in the matter of the United States of America v. Andrew Stevens, defendant?”
The volley of statements bounced around the courtroom quickly. Lost, she sat mute in the box, wondering if she was supposed to answer or not.
“You must answer the question, Ms. Garrett,” the judge said.
She cleared her throat and allowed her gaze to land on Curt. He looked…fierce. Intent. On her. She maintained eye contact as she answered. “Well, it’s not a firing squad, but no, I don’t want to be here.”
He didn’t flinch, but a member of the jury laughed, then slapped her hand over her mouth. Mara felt a small amount of satisfaction at getting a reaction out of someone.
Aurora Ames smiled. “Well then, let’s get this over with.” The woman looked toward Curt, seated next to the podium at the prosecution table, and took the piece of paper he offered her. To the judge, Aurora said, “Permission to approach the witness, Your Honor?”
“Granted.”
Aurora stopped in front of the witness box and handed Mara the paper.
Mara glanced at the oversized photograph, then looked sharply at Curt when she realized what she held. She felt dizzy with the shift in mental gears. This had nothing to do with Stanford University and undeserved scholarships. This was Egypt. This was the arms deal that supposedly happened under her nose.
Curt simply nodded, his expression showing no shift in emotion. No encouragement, no sympathy. No sorrow. No regret.
“Ms. Garrett, do you recognize this picture?” Aurora asked, drawing her gaze away from Curt and back to the woman who stood before her.
She cleared her throat. “Yes.”
“Who took the photo?”
“I did.”
“When did you take it?”
“Nearly a year and a half ago. When I was in Egypt with JPAC and Uncle Andrew visited.”
Aurora rattled off a date and asked Mara if it was correct.
“That sounds right.”
“Does this appear to be an exact replica of the photo you took?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you take the photo?” Aurora asked.
“Objection, relevance,” Uncle Andrew’s lawyer said. Mara studied the man, who had the same polish as Curt. He wasn’t pleased to see her in the witness seat. Well, that made two of them.
“Your Honor,” Aurora said, “the prosecution is seeking authentication of the photograph. The photographer’s thoughts at the time the photo was taken will help establish its authenticity.”
“Overruled. You may answer the question, Ms. Garrett.”
“I was bored, so I started taking pictures.”
“But why did you photograph this man?” Aurora persisted.
She studied the image, then met Aurora’s gaze. “I was fascinated by the Egyptian man’s eyes and the jagged scar. He looked battle-worn. He kept himself apart from the other villagers. I was trying to capture that.” Her gaze shifted from Aurora to Curt. “Then he smiled and seemed delighted I was photographing him, so I snapped a few more.”
“Did you speak with him?”
“Not that I remember.”
Curt shifted subtly in his seat, and she realized she’d been staring at him. Even sitting quietly at the prosecution table, he looked like he owned the room. This was his world. His arena. It was like the sun had somehow found a way into this packed, windowless chamber and shone only on him.
“Do you remember the people standing in the background when you took the shot?” Aurora asked.
Mara returned her attention to the assistant US attorney. “Yes.”
“Can you name the other people in the photo?”
“Objection,” her uncle’s attorney said as he jumped to his feet. “In describing the photo, witness is, in a sense, displaying evidence prior to its introduction.”
Aurora pivoted toward the bench. “It goes toward authenticating, Your Honor. Are all the people present in the photograph people she remembers being there?”
“Overruled.”
Aurora turned back to Mara.
“I can’t name the Secret Service agents, but the other people are Roddy Brogan, Jeannie Fuller, Robert Beck, and my uncle, Andrew Stevens. Centered is the Egyptian man. On the right you can see Evan Beck’s shoulder.”
Shuffling in the gallery and jury box told her the two dead men’s names were noticed by the onlookers, but Mara remained focused on the photograph, on the small part of Evan’s anatomy visible on the edge as she continued. “I remember Evan started to walk in front just as the shutter clicked, which irritated me. He knew about the delay on the digital camera and should have waited.”
“Was Mr. Beck deliberately trying to obscure the shot?”
“Objection,” Sherrod said, “conjecture.”
“Withdrawn.” Aurora glanced at Curt, then slapped Mara with her next question. “I understand Evan Beck was your fiancé?”
She tossed Curt a glare, then answered. “Ex-fiancé. We were engaged for three days.”
“And Roddy Brogan, were you friends with him?” Aurora’s tone was casual. Friendly. And it rankled.
As if the humiliation of admitting under oath she’d been engaged to the monster who’d killed several people and hunted her across the country wasn’t enough, now she was being asked to describe her friendship with the man who set her up for a firing squad. She was as sick of the bared-teeth politeness of the US courtroom as she was of the blatant hostility she’d endured in the North Korean one.
“Yes. We were. Right up until he kidnapped me in North Korea, left me near the DMZ, then returned to Hawai’i with the rest of the team.”
Gasps came from the jury and the gallery, and Mara realized this was the first time the public heard her account of the ordeal.
“Objection!” Sherrod said, projecting his voice over the growing noise. “Question was answered, but then the witness gave testimony on a subject far beyond the scope of the question posed.”
The spectators’ chatter ballooned to a roar.
Mara gave her inquisitor a tight, satisfied smile, and to her surprise, saw glee in the other woman’s eyes.
The judge called for silence and banged her gavel, showing agitation when the pounding had no immediate effect. A dozen thumps later and the room began to quiet.
“Ms. Garrett,” the judge said, her irritation now directed at Mara. “You are to limit your answer to the question posed. The objection is sustained and the witness’s remarks are to be stricken from the record.”
“Your Honor, at this time the prosecution asks for exhibit sixty-eight to be entered into evidence.”
“Objection!” Sherrod jumped to his feet.
Judge Hawthorne sent him a sharp glare and told him to sit with an angry flick of her wrist. “Overruled. Exhibit sixty-eight is entered into evidence.”
�
��Your Honor, may I publish this photo to the jury?”
“Proceed.”
“Thank you.”
The procedure took several minutes, giving Mara the opportunity to meet her uncle’s gaze. He looked stricken, possibly even a little green.
She finally gave in and shifted her gaze to Curt, who’d remained silent throughout the courtroom uproar. A mix of emotions played across his handsome features as he stared at her with an unwavering intensity. Remorse, pain, satisfaction, and something that looked a lot like caring, but she wouldn’t open the door to that possibility. That would leave her vulnerable to the vicious bitch hope.
“Your Honor,” Aurora Ames said, again drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “At this time I’d like to show Ms. Garrett prosecution exhibit twenty-seven, already accepted into evidence.”
“Proceed.”
Aurora’s shoes echoed in the now silent chamber as she approached Mara with another paper in her hand. She flashed a crisp smile that wasn’t entirely devoid of warmth and offered the photo. Mara’s gaze dropped to the picture, and surprise rippled through her when she recognized the central figure.
“Ms. Garrett, is this a picture of the same man you photographed in Egypt?”
She nodded.
“You need to answer verbally, Ms. Garrett,” the judge said. “For the record.”
“Sorry. Yes. That’s the battle-weary Egyptian. He has the same scar, the same eyes, and the same smile.”
“Let the record show Ms. Garrett has identified war criminal and the leader of Darfur’s Janjaweed militia as the same man she photographed with Andrew Stevens and Robert Beck.”
Time froze after Aurora’s statement. Darfur. Janjaweed. Maybe time hadn’t frozen; maybe her heart had just stopped beating. Her uncle really was a…a monster.
In an instant, her heart resumed, only now it raced at the same speed as the uproar in the courtroom. Sherrod jumped to his feet, shouting objections so fast Mara couldn’t catch them all. The judge used the gavel to quiet the courtroom and reprimanded everyone.
Mara met Curt’s gaze, and he nodded. Not an I-told-you-so sort of nod, just a confirmation that said, this is why I had to hurt you.