“Do what he says,” Brady ordered. Kyle’s lips were so tightly pressed together that Brady almost couldn’t see the man had a mouth. “Do it, people!” Brady barked.
CiCi left first, followed by counsel, Deputy Carver, and then Kyle, who gave Brady a sorrowful look as he exited the courtroom. After everyone was out, Brady addressed his captor.
“What do you want with me, Mr. Hanson?”
“Well, the first thing we’re gonna do, judge,” he said, “is switch places.” Once more he gestured with the gun.
Brady held his hands up and slowly rose from his seat. He did as he was told and sat in the same seat at counsel table where Hanson had been sitting only minutes earlier.
“That’s much better,” Hanson declared, taking Brady’s place on the bench.
Brady placed his hands flat on the table in front of him so Hanson could see them, thinking it a wise move under the circumstances even though Hanson hadn’t made that demand. Best to try to keep the man calm and mollified. As Hanson sat sneering at him and enjoying his control of the situation, Brady scanned the room. He knew the courtroom monitors were catching every bit of the action, and that Rachel and Sherry and probably the sheriff were in his chambers right now watching on the monitor.
Oddly, Brady wasn’t afraid. He was angry and irritated at being in such circumstances, but fear wasn’t something he was feeling—except when his thoughts turned to Rachel. His stomach turned at the idea of her watching him on the monitors—and the worry and fear she must be experiencing as she saw the stupid drama unfolding in the courtroom.
After everyone had been thrown out of the courtroom by Hanson, a man who was about to join the infamous ranks of nuts with guns who ended up on the news, Kyle and his deputy burst into Rachel and Brady’s chambers from the hall entrance.
“Get a TRT here now from KSP Post 11,” the sheriff bellowed at Deputy Carver.
“What’s a—”
“Tactical Response Team, you idiot! Now get to the sheriff’s office and get back here with every last deputy you can find!” Then he pushed the young man out of the judges’ chambers and into the hall.
Rachel and Sherry huddled in front of the monitor, already aware of what was going on. Sherry had been sitting at her desk, only marginally paying attention to the proceedings in the courtroom on the monitor as she did transcription for Rachel, when she noticed things were not quite right. She’d immediately called Rachel to watch what was unfolding only a few yards away from them in the courtroom.
“You ladies need to leave,” Kyle announced after he’d sent Deputy Carver on his way.
“Then you’ll have to arrest me because I’m sure as hell not walking out of this courthouse voluntarily,” Rachel spat at him, her face wet with tears. “And I happen to know that wall there,” she said, pointing to the wall between the courtroom and the office, “is several inches thick. I heard some of the construction workers complaining about it. They had to get in there to do more rewiring around these chambers. I’m safe here and I’m not leaving.”
Sherry pursed her lips, giving the sheriff a look that perfectly conveyed the message don’t bother arguing with her.
He let out an exasperated hiss, something akin to an angry sigh. Kyle then walked over to the heavy security door to the courtroom and locked it as quietly as possible.
“Leave it locked,” he ordered as he moved toward the door from chambers to the hall, “and stay put.” The radio on his left shoulder started crackling to life. He reached for it, began yelling instructions into it for a deputy to come up and guard Judge Richards, and left.
Sherry got up and gave Rachel, who was trembling and teary, her seat so she could be in a more comfortable position to watch the video monitor on the desk.
Instead, Rachel put her head on the desk and began to weep.
Sherry tried to get Rachel to leave, but to no avail. She pulled her head up from the desk. “I have to see what happens,” she said, “however bad it is.”
Brady had no escape plan. He had fleeting thoughts about trying to wrest the gun from Hanson or catching him unawares and socking him in the face, but these two feeble ideas would require him to be near Hanson. And at that moment, he was yards away and any attempt to get closer would be met with extreme suspicion—and possibly bullets.
Brady’s eyes moved from camera to camera; he wondered how many people were watching the crisis. Probably everyone in the courthouse was glued to a video monitor in the clerk’s office, the sheriff’s station on the first floor, or in chambers—or at least they would be until the courthouse was evacuated. But even after everyone had left the building, Brady knew that every law enforcement official in Bourbon Springs would be watching on the monitors on the first floor at the sheriff’s station.
He hoped Rachel had fled, but doubted it; he knew how stubborn she could be. Brady had heard the faint click of the lock on the door between chambers and the courtroom (he didn’t think Hanson had), so he knew someone had at least been in chambers up until a few minutes ago. Rachel was probably behind that locked door. And if she was there, so was the ever-loyal Sherry.
Hanson saw him looking around. “We bein’ watched, you think?” he asked.
“You can count on it,” Brady said, and explained the video recording system in the courtroom. “There’s a camera right now on you, me, the doors, and the other counsel table,” he said, and pointed to the table about two yards away to his right.
That was the table he had used when he had been a prosecutor. Before he wore the robe. He looked down at the chair in which he was sitting and remembered it had been the same seat Rachel had used when she’d been a public defender. He smiled as it dawned on him they had both chosen the seat at their respective counsel tables that was the closest to the other. There were always at least two chairs along the long side of the rectangular tables, and usually there were three. One could theoretically sit anywhere along the edge of the broad, flat wooden surfaces.
But Rachel had always sat at the far right of the defense counsel table; he’d sat at the far left of his. That had left only a gap of no more than two yards between them.
He was amused at this little revelation, but also remorseful. He felt like they’d wasted years apart. She had been only feet away from him, so to speak, but the distance between them had been more than merely a measure of physical proximity. He’d mentally pushed her away and focused on himself. He’d already apologized for that, and for not treating her like an equal, yet at that moment wanted to apologize again.
But he wondered whether he’d ever get the chance.
“Do you mind if I take off my robe?” Brady asked. “It’s warm in here.”
Hanson scowled at the request, but then nodded. “OK, but do it real slow.”
Brady rose as ordered, removed his robe, and draped it over the table to his left. It was true that he was getting uncomfortably warm. But getting rid of the robe had another practical purpose. If he was going to get into a physical confrontation with Hanson or try to escape (both of which were high probabilities in his mind, despite his lack of a plan), he didn’t need to be wearing a robe during those events.
As soon as he had his robe off he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, then resumed his sitting-with-his-hands-on-table position.
“So what did you want from me?” Brady asked. “You held me hostage and let the others go, for which I’m grateful, by the way.”
“You? Why you? Do you gotta ask?” Hanson sneered. “'Cause you need to listen, that’s why. You just sat up her on this bench and didn’t pay no attention to what my lawyer was sayin'. You don’t give a damn about me or my kids or nothin', that’s what! An' I know this ain’t gonna end well for me—or you, brother—but you know what? I don’t give a damn.”
“So you’re no better than me, right?” Brady shot back. “You said I don’t care. But what about you? You don’t care, either. And what about your kids?” Brady continued. “I bet they care what happens to you.”
Hanson became somber. “They’ll be fine as long as they ain’t around that damned wife of mine. An' I’ll tell you now,” and he pointed the gun at Brady, making Brady sit up and back away from the table, “she ain’t gonna stay sober long even if she does make it outta rehab. She’s been three times! And she’s now got some boyfriend who’s a meth dealer! Not a good situation, is it?”
“But you’ve made it worse,” Brady pointed out.
“Not for those kids,” Hanson said. “They’ll be fine. My mom’ll get custody. Just you watch.”
He could be right. If the children’s mother was beyond rehabilitation, and with Hanson soon to be out of the picture (possibly forever), a grandmother could get custody under those circumstances.
Brady looked absentmindedly around the room, and his eyes came to rest on his robe to his immediate right. He wasn’t really looking at it, but just thinking about what he should do or say next. Hanson apparently saw him glance at the robe.
“You got no business wearin’ that,” Hanson snapped at him, and pointed with his gun toward the robe.
Brady laughed, which surprised Hanson but then made him angry.
“You makin' fun of me or somethin'?” Hanson demanded.
Brady shook his head. “No, not at all,” Brady responded. “Actually, I’d say you’re in good company.”
“What’s that mean?”
“That there are a lot of people who agree with you,” Brady said.
Hanson squinted at him. “Say, is that Davenport woman runnin' against you?”
Brady thought he saw Hanson leering. Did he know the backstory on the judicial race?
“Bingo,” Brady acknowledged.
Hanson nodded. “I know who she is,” Hanson said. “I work down at the bank. I’m a custodian. Don’t talk to her much, except to say hello, but she’s kinda hard to miss.”
Brady suppressed a smile and said nothing in response to this indisputable statement since he knew the eyes of the courthouse and all kinds of law enforcement were on him.
“Looks like she’s gonna win,” Hanson said. “Her signs are everywhere around here. That what you meant about people agreeing with me?”
“That’s right,” Brady said. “I mean, how many signs have you seen for me?”
Hanson frowned. “Uh, I can’t rightly recall.”
“You don’t need to sugarcoat it. If I’m lucky, you’ve seen at least one.”
Hanson squinted at him once more. “So is that big tale she tells true?”
Great. His private life was once more going to be on public display.
“What tale did she tell?” Brady asked. “Because some of it is true, but most of it probably isn’t.”
Hanson sat up in the chair at the bench and shrugged. “Well, I heard her talkin' one day several months ago, back in the summer,” he said, then paused. “Lord, that woman was mad,” he said, almost to himself, and shaking his head at the memory. “Anyway, she come in the bank and started talkin' to the tellers one morning. Said something about her best friend—”
And Hanson stopped.
“Go on,” Brady said. “I’m a big boy. It’s probably nothing I haven’t heard.”
Hanson paused before proceeding. “She said her best friend had been screwing her opponent in that judge race and hadn’t bothered to tell her. Said that she only found out 'cause someone had seen 'em together somewhere. Said it had to be a fling or hookup or whatever. Said they couldn’t be in love because they couldn’t admit it.”
Brady nodded. “Ah, yes, that version of the story. That one was particularly interesting, wasn’t it?”
“You sayin’ it ain’t true?” Hanson asked.
“Where to begin?” Brady asked himself.
“We got lots of time,” Hanson told him. He put his gun down on the bench, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the bench chair, waiting for Brady to begin the story.
Brady was relieved to see his inane tale of romantic woe had the silver lining of distracting Hanson sufficiently to get him to relinquish his grip on the weapon. It wasn’t much of a glimmer of hope, but he’d take it.
“Do you happen to know who the best friend is in this story?” Brady asked him, and Hanson shook his head. “Ever heard of Judge Rachel Richards?”
Hanson’s eyes bulged. “Another judge?”
“Yep,” Brady confirmed. “We share chambers, as a matter of fact.”
Hanson laughed. “I get it. Got close in more ways than one, huh?”
“You’re not getting the full picture,” Brady said. “Rachel—Judge Richards and I have known each other for years, since high school. In fact, we both went to high school with Hannah Davenport.”
Hanson chuckled. “This is quite the little soap opera, ain’t it?”
“It’s turned out that way,” Brady lamented, rubbing his face. “But my point was that I’ve known Judge Richards for a very long time. It’s not like we just met or something. She’s not a casual acquaintance she’s,” and he choked on his last word, “special.”
“OK, I get it now,” Hanson said, chuckling. “You two finally gave into your urges after all these years?”
Brady smiled. “I guess that’s fair to say,” he admitted. “But it’s more than that.”
“Awww,” Hanson intoned, and his voice reminded Brady of Hannah’s mocking tone from that horrible day in the clerk’s office. “Don’t tell me you love her?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Brady said impassively and without any indication of embarrassment or restraint.
Hanson blinked and paused, apparently waiting for a denial or a punchline. “Really?”
“Of course.”
“Well, that Davenport woman said—”
“Did you ever stop to think that everything she said that day in the bank might not be true?”
“But what about hiding it from her?”
Brady put his hands over his face and admitted that part was true. “We thought it was for the best. We didn’t want to hurt her. We were going to tell her after the election.”
“That was stupid,” observed Hanson.
Brady dropped his hands from his face. “It didn’t turn out to be the best decision, I’ll grant you. But we made it, we got busted, so there.”
“So was she worth it?” Hanson asked.
Brady stared at Hanson, not comprehending his question.
“What does that mean?” Brady asked, sitting up straighter.
“Was this Rachel chick worth it? Worth losing the judicial race?”
“That’s a damned stupid question.”
“Can’t answer it?” Hanson mocked.
Brady felt the heat rise in his face and he had to wait a few seconds before answering lest he say something to make Hanson really angry.
“If you’re asking me to choose which I’d rather have—a seat on the bench or the woman I love, there’s no choice there. Rachel. In an instant.”
“So you really do love her?”
“Why would I be lying to you about that? Of course I love her. Haven’t you been listening? Hell, I’ll say it again: I am in love with Rachel Richards. Madly, passionately, crazy in love with the woman. Told her so several months ago, and she’s told me the same. There. Satisfied?”
“So that Davenport woman was full of it?”
“On that point, yes, up to the gills full of it,” Brady said. He took a deep breath and rubbed his face yet again. “Why the hell am I telling you all this?”
Hanson dipped his head and stared coldly at Brady. “Because I’m the man with the gun.”
Chapter 30
The bench phone rang.
“Better answer it,” Brady urged.
“Cops?”
How thick was this guy? “Who else would it be?” Brady asked.
Brady tried to listen in as Hanson talked to the cops. As best he could discern, Hanson was making demands for food.
“Hey,” Brady piped up.
“What?�
�� grunted Hanson.
“As long as you’re making demands, ask for a bottle of Garnet,” he suggested. Brady wanted a little bourbon to help ease his cold, not to mention the tension.
Hanson laughed maniacally. “You’re a genius!”
“You didn’t think that a few minutes ago,” Brady reminded him, sitting back in his chair.
She’s kinda hard to miss.
Rachel and Sherry both snorted at the same time upon hearing Hanson’s take on Hannah’s noticeability quotient.
“True, dat,” said Sherry as Rachel continued to laugh.
Rachel had been glued to the monitor since Brady’s ordeal had begun, although she’d briefly had the urge to flee when the conversation in the courtroom had turned to the judicial race then to her personal life. But she had stayed, transfixed, listening to Brady’s exchanges, admissions, and completely uninhibited confessions. There he was in the courtroom telling a total stranger about his love for her and that he had no regrets. By the time the bench phone rang, even Sherry was crying.
“He probably forgot that everyone in the courthouse is watching,” Rachel said, and plucked the last tissue from the box on Sherry’s desk.
“I doubt it. He told that nut that they were being watched through the video feed,” Sherry pointed out.
Rachel and Sherry knew that the clerk’s office had been evacuated; they’d gotten a call from CiCi that her clerks were getting out but that she’d be on the first floor at the sheriff’s station. “I’m not abandoning this courthouse or a judge,” CiCi had said weepily.
Rachel smiled, blushed, and closed her eyes.
“So everyone at the sheriff’s station downstairs just heard everything Brady said, didn’t they?” she whispered.
“I’ll bet you lunch for an entire week,” Sherry said as she moved to the front door to peek out into the hall for any activity, “that there isn’t a dry eye down on the first floor.”
Hanson had demanded three pizzas (cheese, onion, and pepperoni), three boxes of donuts, a case of cola, not one but two bottles of Old Garnet, and a box of bourbon balls for good measure.
Secret Blend (Bourbon Springs Book 1) Page 25