by Tiffany Snow
My attention was diverted by Blane's arrival. Conversation in the courtroom buzzed more loudly as he and his client took their positions at the defense table.
I was able to get a good look at Kyle Waters now, and he didn't seem like the devil incarnate the press made him out to be. At least a head shorter than Blane, he nonetheless carried himself with dignity even amidst the stares and whispers currently flying around the room. Appearing to be in his late twenties to early thirties, he wore his uniform; his dark hair neatly trimmed and his face clean shaven. Blane spoke quietly in his ear and I saw him nod in response.
“All rise,” intoned the bailiff. Everyone got to their feet with much shuffling and noise as the Judge walked in. I realized that must be the Judge Reynolds Blane had spoken of to James last night. As everyone resumed their seats, I looked curiously at him.
I'd expected him to be old, at least in his fifties or sixties, but he couldn't have been much older than Blane. He had dark hair, wore a moustache and I could see faint scars on his face, pockmarks, like the kind you get if you scratch too much with chicken pox or from particularly bad acne. The scars didn't make him unappealing though, rather they lent him an air of no-nonsense gravity.
He struck his gavel twice and the courtroom fell silent, anticipation heavy in the air. I watched as a man took the witness chair. He was wearing a Navy uniform as well. Tall with dark hair and eyes, he was broad-shouldered and lean.
“Remember you are still under oath, Lieutenant Sheffield,” Judge Reynolds said. His voice was deep and had a gravelly sound to it.
“Yes, sir,” the Lieutenant responded calmly, his deep voice resonating.
I watched as James got up from his seat, buttoning his suit jacket shut as he walked toward the witness stand.
“Lieutenant,” James began, “you work for the Judge Advocate General Corps, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you were informed of the murder of an unarmed American citizen?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Blane interjected as he stood. “Presumes facts not in evidence.”
“Sustained.”
“Who informed you about the shooting?” James rephrased.
“Staff Sergeant Troy Martin,” the Lieutenant answered.
“What did Staff Sergeant Martin tell you?”
“That the team had been forced to kill an unarmed male combatant.” Sheffield’s tone was matter-of-fact.
“Did they say the man threatened them?”
“No.”
“Did he try to run away?”
“No.”
“Did they think he had a weapon at the time?”
“No.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
James sat down and Blane stood, approaching the stand.
“Lieutenant, what were the Rules of Engagement for this mission?”
“The team was authorized to remove any threat they deemed necessary to their survival and the success of the mission.”
“Do you think their actions fall under those rules?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” James said. “The question calls for the witness’s opinion.”
“Considering the witness is employed by the US Navy to render judgment and opinion on matters of military law, I’d ask you for leniency, Your Honor,” Blane responded.
“I’ll allow it,” the Judge decided, nodding toward Blane.
“Lieutenant?” prompted Blane.
“It is quite common in Iraq for even unarmed combatants to alert others as to the presence of military forces,” Sheffield said. “It’s happened before, and good men lost their lives showing leniency. I considered it covered under the ROE and closed the case.”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
Blane sat back down while the judge dismissed Sheffield. James was pokerfaced, but I could tell by the rigidity of his posture and the clenching of his jaw that he wasn't happy. I was enormously satisfied at how he’d been outmaneuvered by Blane.
A messenger came in and handed an envelope to Blane. I watched as he opened it, then he went very still. His client looked curiously as him and Blane wordlessly handed him the packet. Kyle looked through it as well, his face expressionless, before giving it back to Blane who stuffed whatever it was back in the envelope as James called another witness.
About an hour later, they broke for lunch. I hoped I could say a few words to Blane, then hop a bus to take me over to my car. The tire was hopefully fixed by now. I glanced at the defense table. Blane looked really preoccupied, his expression grim, and I hesitated in approaching him. I doubted he’d really want his girlfriend bothering him right now, so I quelled my urge to talk to him and left the courtroom with the tide of people.
I walked to the back of the building, looking for the bus schedule that I knew was taped to one of the walls by a rarely used side exit. Few people were around and I started when someone suddenly grabbed my upper arm from behind me.
“Excuse me, but are you Kathleen Turner?”
I turned to see a man about my height standing there. He looked like a lawyer, his suit neatly pressed, and my instinctive panic receded.
“I am,” I answered. “Who’s asking?”
“Would you please come with me?” he asked, ignoring my question. His grip tightened as he tugged me forward.
“Where are we going?” I asked, reluctantly forced to walk with him.
“Someone needs to see you,” he said cryptically.
I was confused for a moment, then thought it might be Blane. He must’ve seen me in the courtroom and sent this guy to get me. I followed the man as he led me down a dim corridor into an office. I walked inside and turned to see him leaving, closing the door behind him.
“So glad you could join me.”
I spun back around, my mouth falling open in surprise to see James step out of a darkened corner. He’d shed his coat and stood with this arms folded across his chest, a sneer on his face as he surveyed me. I closed my mouth with a snap, trying to ignore the fear that had spiked in me at his unexpected appearance.
“What do you want?” I demanded with more bravado than I felt.
“I'm hurt, Kathleen,” he said snidely, “I would've thought you'd be glad to see me.”
“The last time I saw you I was nearly killed,” I retorted. “And you didn't lift a finger to help me.” I paused, feigning confusion. “You know, some might call that being an accessory, right?”
His smile faded. “Don't play with things you don't understand, Kathleen,” he said angrily.
“Then what do you want, James?” I asked. “Your flunky brought me here for a reason I'm assuming?” I crossed my arms defensively over my chest.
He moved until he was right in front of my face, grabbing my upper arm and yanking me toward him. I yelped in surprise and pain as his fingers dug in, bruising my skin.
“Listen up, Kathleen,” he hissed. “You tell that son of a bitch you're fucking that he's going down and he doesn’t even see it coming. This isn't some case that no one gives a shit about.” He shook me roughly. “Important people, very powerful people, are watching. This case is going to make my career and no one is going to stand in my way. Especially not Blane Kirk.”
His threat sent chills down my spine even as it pissed me off. “Let go of me,” I ordered through gritted teeth, trying to pull my arm out of his grasp. He abruptly released me and I stumbled back, glaring at him.
“Don't you dare threaten Blane,” I spat at him. “He buried you in there and I'm positive he'll do it again. You're no match for Blane. You never have been and you never will be.”
“We’ll see just who is buried when this thing is done,” he said icily. “This isn't a military trial. Logic can only get you so far in a case like this. Wait till I put the orphaned son on the stand, or the grieving mother. Emotions carry further than logic when it's a jury of your peers.”
His eyes were dark with anger and I stepped back, remembering how easily he’d la
shed out at me before. I jumped when my cell phone rang, the shrill sound shattering the tense silence. I scrambled blindly in my purse for it, keeping my eyes on James as I backed toward the door. My hand closed on the knob just as James spoke again.
“You be careful, Kathleen,” he said, menace lacing his voice. “It would be a shame if something happened to you.”
I turned the knob and fell out into the hallway. I didn’t bother taking time to shut the door, just turned on my heel and hurried away. I didn’t want to run and show how much he’d unnerved me, but neither could I make myself walk. My groping hand finally found my still ringing phone and flipped it open.
“Hello?” I answered breathlessly.
“Where are you?” Blane asked, his voice tight.
“I’m in the courthouse,” I said, wondering why he sounded angry. “Why? What’s wrong?”
He blew out a breath and I could almost see him in my mind’s eye, shoving a hand through his hair. “Meet me in room 115, by courtroom two.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “I’m right around the corner.”
I flipped the phone closed and quickly found room 115. I knocked only once before it was jerked open. Blane stood there, his face carefully schooled into an emotionless mask as he looked me up and down.
“What is it?” I asked, confused.
Reaching out, he took my hand and pulled me inside the small conference room. Behind him, I could see Kyle seated at a conference table, Blane’s briefcase and papers laid out on its surface.
“Kyle, meet Kathleen,” Blane said. “Kathleen, Kyle.”
“Nice to meet you,” I quickly interjected, and Kyle gave me a short nod.
“We have a problem,” Blane said cryptically. I watched as he picked up an envelope, recognizing it as the one that had been delivered to him while in the courtroom. He dumped the contents into his hand before handing it to me.
Looking down, I saw he’d given me pictures. Examining them more closely, I realized with a start that they were pictures of me - pictures taken today as I stood outside my car, gazing down at a flat tire. That would’ve been creepy in and of itself without the big red X drawn over my face.
I silently flipped through the small stack, coming to one that had words scrawled across it. “Easy target.” I read silently. I swallowed, hard.
“It’s a bit...dramatic, don’t you think?” I asked tentatively. “Like somebody’s watched too many movies or something.”
“I don’t give a fuck if they’ve seen too many movies,” Blane said, frustration evident in his voice. “Somebody got close enough to take pictures of you. Where is this? What were you doing?”
I shrugged helplessly. “My car. I got a flat today while I was making deliveries.”
“Where’s the gun I gave you?” he demanded.
I hesitated. I really didn’t want to answer that, especially with Blane being in the mood he was in. As it turned out, I didn’t have to say anything because Blane read the answer on my face.
“Christ,” he huffed in exasperation, pushing a hand through his hair as he paced a few steps away from me, stopping to stare out the window, his hands on his hips.
“I knew they wouldn’t let me in the building with it,” I explained to his back. He could be mad all he wanted. I knew not even Hank would have let me inside with a weapon.
“I’m really sorry about this, Kirk,” Kyle said, speaking for the first time.
Blane sighed. “It’s not your fault.” Turning back to Kyle, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Any ideas?” he asked Kyle.
“No clue, man,” Kyle said regretfully. “Could just be a whackjob.”
“Maybe.”
Kyle hesitated, then added, “If they’re going after her because of you, maybe you should cut ties.”
My stomach flipped inside out. “Cut ties” sounded very ominous. I waited to hear what Blane would say. I didn’t have to wait long.
“Agreed.”
“Wait, what does that mean?” I asked. Neither man answered, so I continued, “Does this have anything to do with those horrible death threats you’ve been getting?”
Blane’s eyes narrowed as he focused on me and I felt a twinge of unease. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned that I’d seen the letters. But it seemed to me that if I was getting dragged into this, it would be beneficial to know all the facts.
“Those letters aren’t anything to worry about,” Blane said roughly. “The usual fanatics sending their hate mail. But this,” he gestured to the pictures I was still holding, “this is something else entirely.”
“Oh, so it’s not a big deal if you’re the one threatened,” I said sarcastically, “but if it’s me, then it’s another story.”
“Exactly.”
I glared mutinously at him, but he didn’t waver, his gaze level and undeterred by my anger.
“I think I’ll wait outside,” Kyle said uneasily, rising from his seat. He went out the door, letting it swing shut behind him.
“Kyle’s right,” Blane said. “The only reason they’re screwing with you is because of me. We need to stay away from each other for a while. Until the case is over.”
That was not something I wanted to hear at all. I thought about what James had said to me, the message he’d wanted me to deliver, and abruptly decided against telling Blane about it. In the mood he was in, I wouldn’t put it past him to track James down just to beat the pulp out of him. Not that I objected to that plan in theory, but it would be a pain in the ass if Blane got arrested.
“Why did you take this case?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Because he’s a SEAL, and my friend,” Blane said flatly. “This case is one of the reasons I went into law and why I’m going into politics. The troops need more advocates in government. This case is a prime example of why. Too many people second-guessing after the fact, putting unrealistic constraints on the men over there.”
“But he killed someone,” I said quietly. “An American.”
Blane looked at me. “Yes, he did,” he said. “Someone who hates America and everything it stands for to the point of going to fight for the other side. It’s very likely he would have alerted other men with weapons that would have killed Kyle and his team.”
“You don’t know that he would have done that,” I protested.
“And you don’t know that he wouldn’t have,” Blane retorted. “War really is hell, Kat, and it’s not always just soldiers who die. Better the enemy than four SEALs.”
That made me pause. What if it had been Blane on that mission? A chill went through me at the thought. Somehow, I thought my armchair quarterback judgments wouldn't matter a hill of beans to me if Blane had been the one in danger.
Blane watched me and I moved closer to him, tipping my head back. “I understand what you’re saying,” I told him. “I really do. If it had been you, I’d want you to do whatever you had to do, so long as you came back alive.”
The tightness around Blane’s eyes and mouth eased and I realized he’d been waiting to hear what I would say, if I supported him in this case or not. I was surprised and humbled that he cared what I thought.
“I’ll have Clarice come get you and take you to your car,” Blane said, pulling out his cell phone. “Keep the gun I gave you on you at all times. I don’t want you making any more deliveries either. Stay at the office tomorrow.”
“Great. Diane will love that,” I muttered, grimacing when I thought of her reaction to what she’d see as special treatment from Blane.
“What did you say?” Blane asked, the cell phone at his ear.
“Nothing.”
Clarice must have answered then because Blane began talking to her. I listened with half an ear as he asked her to come get me, flipping through the pictures as I did so. There were only about a half dozen of them, but it was still unnerving to know someone had been watching me, photographing me, without my knowledge. I knew that what Blane was saying made sense. The fact that the photographs had been sent to
him made it obvious that the person doing this intended to hurt him through me.
Blane had ended his call and now stood next to me. He took the photos out of my hands and set them aside. I didn’t look at him. I wasn’t afraid exactly; I was more upset about the staying away from each other part. His hand lifted my chin until I was forced to look at him.
“It’s just temporary,” he said gently. “I need you to be safe.”
I nodded, clearing my throat before I said, “You were great in there today.”
“You were in the gallery?” he asked, surprised.
“For a little while,” I said. “I think you’re going to win. The jurors - they like you, they listen to you.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said with a sigh. “This case can’t be over soon enough for me.”
“Anything I can do to help?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Just help me keep you safe. Don’t do anything...spontaneous,” he said dryly.
I remembered our conversation Saturday night and smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said innocently. “I always think things through first.”
He snorted in derision. “Right,” he said, and I could tell he wasn’t buying it. His eyes twinkled at me. I needed to touch him so I straightened his already straight tie and smoothed down the collar of his shirt and the lapels of his jacket. The wool was soft against my fingers. A knot was forming in my stomach which I tried to ignore. If I thought about it too much, it felt like we were breaking up, so naturally I chose to not think about it.
“Kat,” Blane said softly, and I raised my eyes to his.
The air grew charged between us as he gazed in my eyes. The dark suit made his eyes appear more gray than green, their depths stormy in my imagination. His hand lifted to my hair, catching a lock and slowly wrapping its curl around his finger. He tugged gently and I obediently moved closer, sliding my hands around his waist under his jacket.
Both of his hands threaded through my hair now, tipping my head further back as his palms cradled my head. My breath caught in my chest when he leaned down, his mouth meeting mine. His kiss began tender and sweet, like I was a precious thing, and I took advantage of the moment to open my lips beneath his – I needed to feel a deeper connection.