You're the One That I Want

by Susan May Warren

  “I just didn’t get it. Raina was a tease and had Casper’s baby. Why would Monte want her?”

  Scotty didn’t correct her. “So after the fight that night, you decided to remind him of that, didn’t you? You probably saw how drunk he was and got worried about him. Maybe you even saw Casper and Monte talking in the parking lot. It was late that night. Maybe you were just getting off work?”

  She wiped her cheek. Shrugged.

  “And with Casper threatening him, you knew he needed someone.”

  She grabbed a napkin. “He was really upset and yeah, drunk, and I was worried about him. So I told him I’d take him to my place . . .”

  When she looked at Scotty with such sadness in her eyes, Scotty saw herself. Alone. Sad. And while Signe filled her world with flirting and empty hookups, Scotty filled hers with . . . danger. Work. Anything she could to get her mind off how lonely she felt all the time.

  Until now. Until her life had suddenly gotten messy and big and . . . happy.

  Really happy.

  “What happened, Signe? You said he was only mean when he drank.” Then she got it. “Did he see Casper’s necklace around your neck and lose it?”

  Her voice turned low, broken. “I forgot it was there. I remember talking about it, but I didn’t know he knew who it belonged to. And he just grabbed it. It was leather—it wasn’t going to come off, not easily.” She pressed a hand to her mouth. “He was choking me. I don’t know how I got away. I remember the thong breaking off my neck. But it was dark, and I just ran and hid. . . . I headed up to Twin Pine Point. I knew he would think I went to the cabin but . . .”

  Signe gave a quick, broken shake of her head. “I was so scared. I heard him come up the path, and suddenly he was there, standing over me. He grabbed my arm, so much anger in his eyes—I don’t even remember thinking, just reacting. I hit him—I had grabbed a rock, and I just . . . hit him. He fell back and I ran. I heard him yelling for me. And then . . . he screamed. It was terrible, but I was so afraid that I took off and went back to the VFW, slept in Schmitty’s office. I figured Monte would hike back to town. And when he never came back in, I thought he’d left town. I had no idea that he’d . . .” She started crying again. “I should have gone back for him! I keep thinking of him there in the ravine, dying in the darkness. Alone. Cold. Scared.”

  For a second, Scotty was there too, imagining him broken, hurt. No one to rescue him.

  She found her arms around Signe, awkwardly hugging her, her words soft. Kind. “Shh, it’ll be okay.”

  She spotted Schmitty, spatula in hand, looking over at them. Scotty offered him a wan smile.

  Then she found the cop inside. “Signe, you have to give a statement to the court.”

  Signe pushed her away. “Are you kidding me? They’ll accuse me of murder, just like they did Casper. And I don’t have a family like the Christiansens to stand beside me, tell the world I’m innocent. I’ll go to jail—”

  “No, you won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m going with you. You’re not in this alone.”

  Not in this alone.

  She completely understood the way Signe stared at her. Disbelieving.

  “Have a little faith, Signe.”

  Have a little faith, Owen.

  Crazy how those five words could light so much hope inside him. And not just that Scotty’s theory would somehow materialize into a miraculous answer that exonerated Casper, but also . . .

  That she might actually have . . . faith.

  Wouldn’t that be something? God using a guy who’d given up on life, on faith, to ignite it in someone else?

  Owen looked at his father, seated in the gallery behind Casper at the defense table, and his words rushed back to him. God is constantly using broken, messy people to restore the world and bring Him glory.

  Oh, he longed for that. To be someone God could actually use, a guy with purpose again. A guy with a long-term contract with the winning team.

  “All rise,” the bailiff said, and Owen found his feet next to the rest of his family. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Please, Scotty.

  He sat down as instructed, wiping his suddenly sweaty hands on his pants. Down the row, his mother had his father’s hand in a tight grip.

  Casper had showered, shaved, and wore the suit his mother brought him. He sat next to Bryce, his jaw clenched.

  “This is simply an evidentiary hearing,” the judge was saying. “Mr. Christiansen, after it is determined whether to hold you over for trial, then you may consider your plea.” The judge looked at the papers on his desk. “We will also, at that time, take into consideration, if necessary, the complaint and request to revoke your current bail.”

  Raina bounced Layla on her lap, the little girl sucking on her fist and playing with her stuffed bunny. She leaned over and grabbed at her shoes, the bunny falling to the floor.

  Owen picked it up, handed it back to Raina. She smiled at him, her expression strained.

  He should offer to hold Layla, maybe.

  The prosecutor stood and began to outline the charges against Casper. “We’re asking for a charge of voluntary manslaughter. We will show that although Casper Christiansen had no prior intent to kill, he acted in the heat of passion in such a way as to leave Monte Riggs fatally wounded.”

  Owen checked the clock again.

  “The state will show that Mr. Christiansen had motive, means, and opportunity by exploring his violent history, his relationship with the deceased’s former girlfriend—”

  Yeah, even Owen felt the prick of those words.

  “—a previous assault charge, and witnesses to an altercation on the night in question. We will also show the familiarity of Casper Christiansen with the location of Mr. Riggs’s body. Finally, we’ll produce physical evidence that puts Mr. Christiansen at the crime scene, as well as show his attempt to flee the crime.”

  “Your Honor—” This from Bryce, who’d driven up from Minneapolis that morning. “This evidence is at best circumstantial. It’s not a crime to have an argument with someone. More, Monte Riggs had a history of threatening the accused’s girlfriend, and we are on record with a restraining order taken out—”

  “Two days after the deceased went missing,” the judge said. He put on his glasses as he considered the documents the prosecution delivered. Silence fell over the courtroom, Owen’s heartbeat in his ears.

  “Mr. Christiansen, do you have an alibi for the time period in question?” The judge looked up, and Owen wanted to bounce to his feet, say something—anything.

  Even confess to a crime he couldn’t have committed. Because Scotty was exactly right—Owen would go in Casper’s place if he could.

  Now Owen sank his head into his hands as Casper quietly answered, “No, Your Honor. I went for a drive to cool off.”

  The judge nodded. “Very well.”

  And Owen knew, just knew, what would come next.

  “This case is weak at best, but it is—”

  “Please!” Owen was on his feet, holding on to the railing in front of him. “Please don’t do this. He’s innocent, I swear it. But he’s got this little girl, and he can’t go to jail and—if anyone goes to jail, let it be me. I’m the one who screwed up. If it weren’t for me, Raina wouldn’t have gotten pregnant and Casper wouldn’t have . . . we wouldn’t have . . .” Oh, he had the sense that he was making it worse because the judge stared at him, his eyes dark. But as usual, Owen’s mouth couldn’t stop. “Casper and Raina would have never been apart and Monte wouldn’t even have been in the picture—”

  “Sit down. Or I’ll remove you.” The gavel banged and Owen felt a hand on his arm. Eden, tugging him down.

  But—“Your Honor, please!”

  “Bailiff—”

  Owen held up his hands. “C’mon, don’t do this.”

  His father stood. “Your Honor, just listen. He doesn’t mean any harm—he just cares about his brother.”

  And then Darek move
d to stand in front of Owen. “Don’t you touch him.”

  “Everybody calm down.” Jace loomed over them all.

  “C’mon, Judge, are you serious?” Max, behind him, having his back.

  Casper, now standing too, turned. “Owen, let it go!”

  Layla started crying.

  “Leave my brothers alone!”

  The voice, high, sharp—and new—echoed from the back of the room.

  Everyone froze.

  Except of course, the bailiff because he had no idea that Amelia Christiansen had suddenly appeared, from Africa, in the Deep Haven courtroom.

  “Amelia—what are you doing here?” Ingrid scooted out from the bench, pulling her daughter into a quick embrace.

  Owen just stood there, breathing hard, his gaze darting between the bailiff, who now had him by the arm, and Amelia. Wow, had she really grown that much? Beautiful, with her long auburn hair, a tan, and a new confidence about her.

  And behind her, what, her chaperone? Because he looked about five years older, dark hair, lean, tall, and wearing a solemn look as he put his hand on Amelia’s shoulder.

  “Who’s that?” he said to Raina.

  “That’s Roark, remember?”

  “I don’t remember.” During their Skype call, Amelia had seemed more interested in hearing about his return and Casper’s arrest. “Someone left him out of the picture.”

  “Oh, he’s definitely in the picture now. Especially after he chased her across the ocean and apparently back,” Raina said, trying to soothe Layla.

  As he watched, Roark shook John’s hand.

  “Order!” This from the judge as the bailiff wrestled Owen out of the row, turned him around.

  Handcuffs? He glanced over his shoulder. Casper gave him a sad smile, an inexplicable warmth in his eyes.

  “Your Honor, can I say something?” Amelia stepped forward to join Casper at the table.

  Owen tried to shrug out of the bailiff’s grip. “Wait; will you—?”

  “Who are you?” This from the judge.

  “My name is Amelia Christiansen, and I have something—well, Roark actually has something to say about the case.” She flashed a smile at Roark—and clearly she’d grown up because it was the kind of smile that said, You are my whole world.

  Owen knew just what that kind of smile felt like.

  “Roark lived here this summer, above the Java Cup, overlooking the municipal parking lot,” Amelia said, turning back to the judge.

  “I’m listening.”

  Roark stepped up beside Amelia. Nodded to Casper. “Your Honor, when I heard about Casper’s case from Amelia, I realized that I had information pertinent to the court’s findings.” His voice came out in sharpened, aristocratic syllables.

  “He’s rich,” Raina said to Owen. “And from Brussels.”

  Of course he was.

  “Go on,” the judge instructed.

  “On the night in question, as Amelia has pointed out, I lived above the coffee shop, which overlooks the municipal parking lot. I heard the row between Mr. Christiansen and Mr. Riggs.”

  Oh no. Owen wanted to kill His Highness.

  “I saw them push one another.”

  Perfect.

  “And I saw Mr. Christiansen leave.”

  Owen shot a look at Casper, whose mouth hung open.

  “That doesn’t account for the time during which Mr. Riggs disappeared.” This from the prosecutor.

  “Except Mr. Riggs didn’t leave alone, Your Honor. Shortly after Mr. Christiansen left, I saw Mr. Riggs with a woman. He seemed intoxicated, and she put him in her car. They left together.”

  Owen scrambled to untangle the testimony, to fit it into Scotty’s suppositions.

  What if that woman was—?

  “I appreciate your testimony, Mr. . . .”

  “St. John. Roark St. John.”

  “Mr. St. John, I’m sure the defense will add your statement into evidence, but we still have no alibi for Mr. Christiansen. And barring testimony from said woman, I am afraid I’m finding—”

  “I have that testimony, Your Honor.”

  And hallelujah, Owen had just known his faith would be rewarded because Scotty came in the side door, beckoning Signe Netterlund in beside her.

  The judge appeared ready to throw them all in cuffs, especially when Owen finally broke free of the bailiff, started toward Scotty. “What took you so long?”

  She patted his cheek as she walked by, winking.

  Winking?

  Then the bailiff had Owen by the arm again. “Come with me—”

  “Not on your life!”

  But Scotty was right there, edging in between him and the bailiff. “Easy there. He’s still nursing an injury.” She turned to Owen and said, “Go with the man.” But when he shook his head, she put her hands on his face. “Don’t worry. We’ll come and get you when it’s over.”

  We. As in Scotty and his family, who now looked at him, the lot of them, nodding.

  They’d come and get him.

  So he took a breath and let the bailiff lead him away, into the anteroom, then out to a cruiser, where he climbed into the backseat and soon after found himself taking up residence in Casper’s cell.

  Which actually felt about right.

  Casper stood frozen as the judge’s words echoed in his head.

  Free to go.

  Free. To. Go.

  He turned, and his eyes landed first on Raina, tears cutting down her cheeks as she rocked Layla. Then on Amelia, who launched herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck. He returned her hug.

  “I can’t believe you came back!”

  She practically glowed as she smiled at him, then glanced at Roark. “He’s the one who insisted. When I told him about our conversation, he remembered that night exactly.”

  “Roark. Thank you.” Casper held out his hand, still amazed that the guy who’d once broken Amelia’s heart had landed on the happy end of the story. But maybe the same thing could be said for him as he embraced the members of his family, one after another, working his way to Raina.

  Finally, Raina. Her eyes shone. He held her face in his hands, kissed her. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she said. “But I think you’re going to have to bail Owen out of jail.”

  Owen. He still couldn’t believe how his brother had freaked, the words issuing from him turning Casper inside out.

  Owen was the hero of the story. Yeah, Casper had trekked across the country to find him, to bring him home to face his mistakes, but Owen, in his too-passionate, impulsive, die-hard way, had saved him by believing in him and convincing Scotty to help, and by his stubborn determination to find the truth and never give up.

  Or maybe they’d saved each other. Both prodigals. Both villains. Both heroes.

  Signe. Casper searched for her, found her, surprisingly, standing next to Scotty, being embraced by Ingrid.

  As usual, his mother’s overlove of everyone had Signe rattled, her face wrecked with tears. “Thank you, Signe,” Casper overheard his mother as he came up to them.

  “Yeah. Thank you.” He didn’t know what to do. Hug her? Shake her hand?

  “I should have come forward, but I was too afraid and . . . I’m so sorry, Casper.”

  He drew her into a quick hug. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I know you cared about Monte.”

  She held on a little longer, arms around his neck. When she let go, Scotty led her over to the prosecutor to give a proper statement.

  “I suppose Owen will have to spend the night in jail?” Max shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “I already talked to the judge. He’s going to levy a fine, and Owen can be released,” Bryce said, walking into their conversation. “Stop by the court offices and pay it, and then go get your crazy brother.”

  “Hey!” Casper said. “He’s not crazy. He’s just—”

  “Very passionate about what he believes in,” Scotty said, returning. She looked at Casper. “I don’t sup
pose you’d spring my boyfriend out of jail?” She wore a half smile, hope in her voice.

  “I’ll meet you there.” Casper’s smile lingered, and in it, he hoped she saw forgiveness.

  He returned to Raina, lifted Layla from her arms. “How about while I’m at the county clerk’s office paying my brother’s fine, I pick up a marriage license?”

  “You’re so romantic, Casper Christiansen,” Raina said, grinning.

  He wiped a tear from her cheek. “Oh, honey, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

  He hooked his arm around her waist, headed for the door. His mother caught him with a hand on his arm. “I’m making a little celebration lunch,” she said, her eyes still misty. “Go get your brother and bring him home, will you?”

  “It’s what I do.”

  Here he was, the outcast once again. Owen sat in the cell, his back to the cold wall, wanting to wince as he sorted through his behavior in court.

  He should count himself fortunate that they hadn’t thrown him to the floor, opened his stitches, and dragged him out in chains.

  Clearly he needed to learn to curb his emotions.

  In fact, if he’d learned to do that from the beginning . . . to curb his passion for hockey, which had led him away from home . . . Maybe that passion wouldn’t have been so terrible if hockey hadn’t become his entire life.

  If being someone, proving himself, becoming the best, hadn’t turned into an obsession. Which led to his trying to prove himself off the ice.

  And losing everything.

  But he hadn’t learned, not even then, still hell-bent on proving that he wasn’t a failure, channeling his grief into dangerous and heartbreaking decisions.

  Which only left a trail of disaster.

  Owen got up, paced the cell. Wow, how he wanted to be different, wanted to have faith. . . .

  Except . . . all this time, every impulse had been about . . . him. His hurts, his wounds, his fears, his hopes.

  Until now. Until he’d wanted to step in, take Casper’s punishment. Because he loved Casper more than himself.

  Finally.

  For us, Jesus stood in front of death and said, “No. You may not have them. They are what I came for, who I want.”