You're the One That I Want

by Susan May Warren

  Still, Casper had come home, swept up Owen’s mess, fixed everything. And this was how life—how God—repaid him. Again, he wanted to say it—he wasn’t the villain here. He leaned his forehead against the window, trying to breathe away the scream building inside.

  Then the door opened and a bailiff came in. “It’s time.”

  For what, execution? Because it certainly seemed like everyone had skipped over the innocent-or-guilty part and gone right to locking him up and throwing away the key.

  Casper clenched his jaw and headed into the courtroom.

  He stopped short at the sight of his family in the front two rows.

  Raina he’d expected, and she gave him a smile, her brown eyes warm, reaching out to him with something probably meant to encourage him. She held Layla on her lap, his daughter—his daughter—working her pacifier. He’d also expected his parents, and yeah, they were here, his mother dressed in what looked like Sunday clothes: black pants, a white blouse, a scarf at her neck. His father had stuck to a green Evergreen Resort flannel shirt. They gave him a smile, his mother’s expression one of pain.

  But seated beside her, lined up like his own personal cheering squad, were Darek, holding Joy, and Ivy. Darek looked at Casper, gave a nod. Like No worries, Bro.

  Beside them, Eden held Jace’s hand, Jace looking solemn. Next to him sat Max, his arm around Grace’s shoulder, managing a grim smile. Grace gave him a small wave.

  Behind them, Scotty sat with her arms folded, her face stoic. He frowned at that—he’d expected her to be headed back to Alaska by now. But maybe Owen had something to do with that because he sat beside her, his hands in his pockets, his jaw tight, as if just barely holding himself back from launching over the gate that separated the court from the gallery. He gave a short nod to Casper.

  His people, his crew. He felt like Braveheart before the English, his countrymen at his back, and took his place at the table.

  “All rise,” the bailiff said.

  The judge entered and called the court to order.

  They sat and Bryce leaned over. “I got you first on the docket. This shouldn’t take too long.”

  Casper cast a look across the room, at the table for the prosecution, and wished Ivy were sitting there instead of the portly, middle-aged, balding assistant prosecutor from Duluth.

  The prosecutor and defense attorney stood while the judge read the complaint.

  “Casper Christiansen, you are charged with one count of voluntary manslaughter in the death of Monte Riggs, of Deep Haven, Minnesota.”

  Casper glanced at Bryce, who just . . . stood there.

  This was not right. “I didn’t do it!” Casper found his feet even as Bryce turned to him.

  “Sit down,” Bryce hissed. “This is not the time.”

  “But I’m innocent!”

  In that moment, he heard himself. Angry, just like a defendant on Law & Order. The judge banged his gavel, but Casper missed his words as he stood there, helpless. Pitiful. Shackled.

  He sank into his chair, feeling heat rise up his neck.

  This wasn’t right.

  The county prosecutor began, “Your Honor, the state would like to ask for a no-bail hold on this defendant, as he’s shown a propensity to flee the state.”

  What—? Casper nearly jumped to his feet again, but Bryce put a hand on his shoulder.

  He wanted to drop his head down on the table. Instead, he impaled the judge with a look of disbelief.

  “More, Your Honor, Casper Christiansen has recently come into quite a bit of money, giving him the means to flee, should he decide to do so.”

  Oh, that. Casper closed his eyes. Hung his head.

  He wished he could block out the next words. “This is a violent crime, Your Honor. The evidence points to a man with a history of violence against Mr. Riggs, not to mention members of his own family—”

  Casper winced.

  “—and also shows the motive to plan such an attack, namely Mr. Riggs’s history with Mr. Christiansen’s fiancée. Most of all, eyewitness accounts testify that Mr. Christiansen threatened Mr. Riggs’s life on the day in question.”

  The one thing they actually got right. But he hadn’t killed the man.

  “Your Honor . . .” The prosecutor’s voice took on a hometown flavor, like C’mon, we all know this. “Casper Christiansen grew up here. He knows how and where to hide a body, and by his own admission, he cannot account for his whereabouts on the night in question.”

  He’d gone for a drive to clear his head, finally arriving home late to a sleeping house. Which no one could verify, so apparently his alibi didn’t count.

  “For these reasons, the state humbly requests a no-bail hold until we have our preliminary hearing and decide whether to hold him over for trial.” The prosecutor settled his girth back into his chair.

  The words hollowed Casper out. Because he saw the case laid out before him. Him, angry—no, furious with Monte. Willing to do anything to protect Raina and Layla. The fight outside the VFW—had he broken ribs when he’d tackled Monte? Maybe. Casper had certainly been angry enough—which led to the argument in the municipal parking lot later. And yeah, maybe he had grabbed Monte, shoving him against his truck, threatening him.

  But he hadn’t killed him.

  However, honestly, he did have money—enough to disappear with Raina. The thought had crossed his mind more than once.

  Except what kind of life would that be for her, for Layla? On the run? Always looking over their shoulders?

  Bryce’s turn. He talked about Casper’s job at the trading post, his love for Raina and Layla, and how he had invested his money into the resort. “Your Honor, his family is here, right behind him, to support him.”

  And never had Casper been more aware of that fact as he felt their eyes on him. Sympathetic.

  Even . . . ashamed? Because what kind of person built up enough of a reputation to be reasonably accused of murder? Looking at the fact sheet—his motive, his history—yeah, he would have arrested himself too.

  Maybe he was the villain.

  “I’m inclined to agree with the defense,” the judge said. “As long as Mr. Christiansen agrees to stay in Deep Haven for the weekend, I’m not opposed to setting bail. But, Mr. Christiansen, if you so much as hint at leaving town, I’ll revoke your bail and you’ll wait for Monday’s hearing in the Deep Haven jail.”

  He looked at Casper, who managed a terse, “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Bail is set at one million dollars.”

  One million . . . Behind him, someone gasped, but he didn’t look to see if it had been his mother.

  Bryce returned to the table. “You’ll only need to put up 10 percent of that, and you’ll get it back, minus a fee, Monday morning when you show up for your preliminary hearing. By then we’ll figure out how to plead.”

  “I’m pleading not guilty,” Casper said as he rose. “And can you get these handcuffs taken off?”

  “We need to get the bail order and terms set; then yeah, we’ll get you out of here.” Bryce was packing up his briefcase. “But as for your plea—we need to listen to the prosecutor’s offer for a deal, if they have one.”

  “I’m not cutting a deal!”

  He didn’t mean for his voice to rise but—

  Bryce took him by the arm, cut his voice low. “Let’s not broadcast that, please. What you fail to understand is that if this thing goes to trial, the jury will only need to be convinced beyond a reasonable doubt to convict you. Do you doubt you did it, based on the evidence?”

  “The evidence is . . .” Casper glanced at his crew, at his mother, who wound her arms around her waist, her face drawn. His father’s hand dropped onto her shoulder. Grace looked at Casper with such pity that he couldn’t bear it. And Owen’s frustrated expression seemed just short of fury.

  “What kind of deal?”

  “I don’t know, but if you let this thing go to court, and you’re found guilty, you’re looking at up to fifteen years—”r />
  And that buckled Casper back into the chair. He bent forward, feeling light-headed.

  “Buddy, breathe.” Owen’s voice, suddenly right there; then his brother was crouching before him. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Arrange bail, get him home, and give me a chance to take a look at the evidence, figure out a defense, talk to the prosecutor.”

  Casper looked up to see Bryce talking to Owen. Scotty stood beside him, nodding, her eyes fierce.

  “I’ve got to get back to Minneapolis, but I’ll call over the weekend with a preliminary response.” Then Bryce turned away, in search of the prosecutor.

  The bailiff came over, and Casper found his legs shaky as he was led to the anteroom, where Kyle waited. Then the tour back to the jail, where Casper sat alone, staring again at the walls, barely able to breathe.

  Fifteen years.

  He had gone numb, his brain shutting down over those words by the time Kyle came to collect him. “You made bail.”

  Not that it mattered. But seeing Owen and Scotty, Jace and Eden, Max and Grace, and his parents all clustered into the foyer of the police station burned pitiful tears into his eyes.

  Raina met him at the door, still holding Layla, curling her arm around his neck. “It’s going to be okay.”

  But it wasn’t. Because he’d turned into a child as he burrowed his face in her shoulder, holding on.

  He stood like that, feeling her strength against him. She always had that—a strength to help yank him out of his dark places—and he drank it in.

  Finally he let her go, lifting his head.

  “I made chili,” his mother said, as if she could fix everything with a hot lunch.

  Casper rode back to the resort with Raina, Layla in the backseat, sucking on her fist and staring out the window.

  They’d convict him in record time if they listened to the evidence of the county prosecutor.

  Fifteen years.

  “I should leave,” he said quietly as they turned onto the long drive to the house. “I should just . . . leave. I have enough money to get to Roatán or someplace where they have no extradition treaty with the US.”

  “What? Casper—no!”

  “Raina, they’re going to find me guilty for this—I would—and then I’m going to spend the next fifteen years in Stillwater. And worse, so are you. Because I know you. You’ll do something stupid like move down there and come see me every weekend, and Layla will grow up with a father in jail, being ridiculed by the kids at school, and you’ll have no one to . . .” His eyes filled and he shook his head, clenching his teeth to keep the despair from overwhelming him. “You’ll be alone. And I can’t take that. I’d rather live without you, having you married to someone else, than—”

  “We’ll go with you.” She pulled over, shoved the car into park, and turned to him. “Right now, we’ll leave. Start over.” Her voice betrayed no doubt, no hesitation.

  “No, see, I thought about that too. I thought about Layla and you always worried about me getting caught, or worse, someone tracking me down, and you getting hurt in the cross fire . . .” He took her hands, not caring that he blinked a tear down his cheek, that he looked desperate and weak. “I’ll leave you money. All of it. It’s already in both our names at the bank. You go today and take it out and put it in your own account. Divorce yourself from me. I can do this. I’ll leave before they know it, and by Monday, I’ll be gone. Just . . . away.”

  Now Raina was crying too, shaking her head. He pressed his lips to her hands. “Don’t you see? This is for the best. I’m not a coward—I’m not afraid of jail. I’m afraid of what it would do to you. You can’t live like that. You have to have a normal life. A normal family. Layla needs a father.”

  “You’re her father—”

  “I’m not! I always thought that I could fix everything—faithful Casper, swooping in to save the day—but I’ve only made this worse. If I’d stayed out of your life when you asked me to, maybe you would have been able to tell Owen when he came to Eden’s wedding that you were pregnant. And he would have stuck around.”

  This was the hard part, the part that burned like a live coal in his chest. “He’s a good guy, Raina. He is—down deep. And you would have brought out the best in him—you always do.”

  He wiped the tear from her cheek. “Please stop crying. You know it’s true.”

  “I don’t love him, Casper. I love you.”

  “But we both know that you can’t. You shouldn’t. Not anymore.” He swallowed hard, forcing the words from his knotted chest. “Maybe I was supposed to find Owen, to bring him home . . . for you.”

  She was shaking her head almost violently now.

  “Listen to me! You have to let me do this. And you have to marry Owen.”

  Her eyes widened. “Marry . . . Casper, no!”

  “Yes. For me. Please, for me. You have to let him take care of you and Layla.”

  “I don’t need anyone taking care of us—”

  He took her face in his hands, leaned forward, touched her forehead with his own. “I know you don’t, babe. But . . . I can’t leave you knowing you’ll be alone.” He met her eyes. “Owen is a good man. He will be good to you and to Layla. I know he will.”

  She closed her eyes. “I want to hate you for this, but I—”

  “Good. Hate me.” He could barely get the words out, his voice shaking. “Because that way you won’t go looking for me.”

  And then because the words had landed hard, because she looked at him with so much sadness, he couldn’t help kissing her. Holding her face in his hands, pressing his lips hard against hers, fierce, desperate, willing life to be different or at least to leave in her heart the imprint of how she’d changed him, given him a future, a reason.

  She put her hand around his neck, kissing him back, her tears salty on her lips.

  Casper gathered her in his arms and held her. “Shh. Please don’t cry, Raina.”

  But it seemed he couldn’t obey his own words. He breathed her in, embedding the smell of her, the feel of her, in his memory. I love you, Raina.

  She finally pushed away from him. “Don’t leave yet. Please, let’s talk to your family. See what they say. Maybe they’ll have answers.”

  He gave her a weak smile, a slight nod, but he knew exactly the answer he needed. And he intended to get it from the brother who, surprisingly, seemed to be the hero they all needed.

  “I just can’t believe they think Casper would run.” Owen’s mother sat in the front seat, staring out the window, speaking almost to herself. “They don’t know Casper.”

  “They think they do, Mrs. Christiansen. After all, he’s got some pretty hefty evidence against him.” Scotty didn’t want to be the one to point it out but—“Frankly, I can’t believe the judge granted him bail.”

  Next to her on the pickup’s backseat, Owen glanced at her, frowned.

  She shrugged. “What? I didn’t say I thought he was guilty.”

  Owen touched her hand across the seat, his grip curling around her fingers. “I know.”

  She’d never experienced the solidarity of family that the Christiansens had shown in the courtroom, an immovable force of support that had no doubt influenced the judge toward granting Casper’s bail request.

  “We appreciate your insights, Scotty. And you’re right—we all need to look at this more clearly,” John said, turning at the Evergreen driveway. “Right now, though, we need to take a breath and have some lunch.”

  They pulled up to the resort and piled out, John and Ingrid, then Max, Grace, Jace, and Eden from their cars. Somewhere behind them should be Raina and Casper but—

  No, Ingrid certainly was right. Casper, the guy who’d tracked his brother down to face up to his responsibilities, wouldn’t hightail it to the hills and forsake his own.

  And if he did, well . . .

  Scotty put the thought out of her head. It wasn’t her job to make sure he showed up in court.

  Today she wasn’t a cop.
Today she was . . . Owen’s girlfriend?

  As if to reinforce that thought, Owen caught her hand again on their way toward the house. He pulled her aside as the door banged behind Jace.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Kissing you,” Owen said. Leaning against the house, he slid his hand behind her neck, and his lips found hers. She clung to his lapels and pulled herself closer. He tasted of this morning’s coffee and pancakes, smelled of the north woods, fresh soap, and the sense of coming home.

  Oh, she could stay here. Right here. Caught in the middle of Owen’s attention, the way he seemed to hunger for her. Need her.

  He drew back to meet her gaze with his own, so devastatingly blue. “You’re so beautiful.”

  She wanted to hold on to the woman he seemed to see, someone she didn’t quite know but wanted to. A woman, pretty, strong, yet who belonged in his embrace.

  He touched his forehead to hers. “I just wanted to make sure that I wasn’t dreaming last night.”

  No more than she. Because she’d spent the rest of the night, after he’d walked her upstairs and pulled her into a quick, clandestine embrace, trying to figure out how she might fit into this family.

  Which would, of course, mean staying. Right here, in Deep Haven.

  Maybe she could get a job with the sheriff’s department?

  First, however, she’d have to figure out how they might prove his brother’s innocence. Maybe John was right—lunch. Then a powwow, grilling Casper, and a game plan. A family game plan.

  With Scotty a part of the family.

  Behind them, she heard a car’s tires against gravel, and Owen released her just as Casper and Raina parked.

  Scotty could admit to a rush of silly relief.

  Owen grabbed her hand and tugged her inside the house, to the tangy aroma of chili and a robust conversation about the court proceedings. Grace stood at the counter, buttering French bread, while Eden set out condiments—sour cream, cheese, green onions, jalapeños.