“Unlock me, man,” Sloan demanded from the nearest guard.
“Keep your shirt on.” The guard in front of him fumbled with the key as he unlocked the cuffs. The chains on his feet were quickly gone also. His escorts wandered away, leaving him in the middle of the room.
A burly inmate crossed the room to him with a snarl. “You’re that fella on television, aren’t you? Tom Morrison, right?”
Sloan shot a look at the television. There was no denying it. “What if I am?”
The inmate didn’t stop until he was nose to nose with Sloan. “My sister was in that market. I loved my sister. She was killed. You killed her. Now I’m going to kill you.” Sloan glanced around at the men slowly approaching like wolves calculating their attack. I’m not going to make it to trial. I’m to die here. But I won’t go down without a fight. “Do your best, asshole.”
He lowered his stance to prepare his defense. As the prisoner charged, Sloan kicked him in the gut and sent the man flying back into his cohorts. He dropped his shoulder to topple a couple more that followed.
The next few blows came from behind Sloan. The thick arm of someone near his own size and stature wrapped around his neck like a vise. He struggled against the chokehold, but the kicks to his knees and gut made it difficult. The fists to his face blinded him. There wasn’t a part of his body not suffering from the thugs’ abuse. He vaguely felt something pierce his gut. Sloan gasped desperately for air. None was coming. His vision grew fuzzy and then went dark.
∙•∙
The only sound Sloan heard was his own groan. He had been in fights before. But none of them were like that beat down he had just received. His heart seized in fear. He hated the feeling. It was a foreign emotion. But right now, it filled every crevice of his body. Where am I? Am I still in the prison? Are they waiting for me to wake up?
Slowly, he attempted to pry his eyes open. Before he did, he knew nothing would happen. He could feel them hot and throbbing. Finally, he managed to work past the swelling and open them to slits. Carefully, he turned his aching head to study his surroundings. The medical equipment lining the walls around him indicated only one thing. He was in the hospital wing.
“Look who’s awake.”
Sloan spun toward the voice, eliciting another moan from his lips. Everything was in agony. He peered through his swollen eyelids at the doctor standing beside his bed. He struggled to speak. “How long have I been out?”
“Nearly a day. We thought you weren’t going to make it. You weren’t breathing when we found you. There was a stab wound to your stomach. Somehow the inmate who confronted you had a blade he fashioned in his cell. Something like this was bound to happen. You have fractures, lacerations, swelling. And I have bad news. You were required to stand before the judge in an hour but I convinced them to give you some time. You now need to stand before him in two days. Will you be able to?” The doctor shrugged.
Sloan glanced down at his bruised, broken body. The prison shirt he had been wearing was gone. His pants were covered in blood. He could only assume it was his own. He collapsed back on the bed with a sigh.
The doctor continued. “Mr. Morrison, you need to get into clean clothes. Then we’ll leave you to rest.”
Sloan clenched his eyes shut. He could barely sit up. His casted arm was in a sling. He was certain he couldn’t stand. The last time he remembered being in this much pain was in the hospital after the shooting that had killed his father and brother. How was he supposed to get dressed?
He knew the answer. He would have to be dressed by someone else. The thought soured his stomach. He needed no one’s help. That was, until now. Now, total strangers would strip him of his stained attire and help him put clean things on. Dependence was a concept foreign to him. His family was dependent on him. He was dependent on no one.
A whimper escaped his lips as the doctor and a nurse helped him sit up. They carefully tugged a new shirt over his head. Another doctor suddenly appeared at his side to help lift him to his feet. Leaning on the shoulders of the two doctors, he shuddered as the nurse slipped the pants down his legs and nudged his feet to step out of them.
As she pulled the fresh pair on, all Sloan could think of was Abbey. He wanted her hands touching him, not this woman. He needed his wife caring for him, not these people.
The sound of boot steps announced that there would be an officer standing watch at the door. Sloan gathered his strength and wrenched free from those supporting him. His knees buckled.
The doctor helped him back to the gurney. “Mr. Morrison, please rest. We’ll come to check on you in a bit.” He ushered the nurse and guard from the room and then dimmed the lights before he left. Sloan buried his face in his pillow. With this pain, how could he sleep? Thoughts of Abbey and their children filled his mind. He loved them so much. He just hoped he’d be alive to see them again.
Despite the agony he was in, Sloan was able to get out of bed for court two days later. He lifted his head defiantly and then offered his wrists to the guard to be bound. He heard the whispered protests of the medical professionals. It didn’t matter if he should still be resting. He just wanted to get this over with. The guard just chuckled as he slipped the handcuffs on Sloan. Sloan hissed as the man clenched his fingers around his bruised bicep and led him down the hall. The guard led him through the corridors of the prison to the door leading to the waiting van. Carefully he crawled inside and took a seat just before the guard slammed the door shut.
Each bump the transport van hit on the way to the courthouse resonated through Sloan’s body. He fought back every groan. He could show no weakness, even though all he wanted to do was collapse.
The guards showed no mercy as they led him into the building, through the corridors, and into the courtroom. The prosecuting attorney was dressed in the customary robes and powdered wig. There was no one behind the defense table. Despite their orders to sit, Sloan remained standing. I know I won’t be able to rise for the judge if I sit now. He met the prosecutor’s smirk with a growl.
“All rise.”
A small, hunched, silver-haired man in a black robe and powdered wig scooted across the floor to the bench and settled in his chair. Sloan sank into his seat with a relieved sigh.
The prosecutor stood and walked around the table. “Your honor, I petition that we proceed with a speedy trial. The defense has no case. If I had my way, we would just proceed with sentencing now and lock him in prison for life.”
“But I didn’t do it. I was a child,” Sloan protested.
The attorney crossed over to Sloan’s table and slammed his fists on the wood. “Where is your evidence, Morrison?”
“I have witnesses. I’ll get it.”
“So, essentially, you have nothing.” The lawyer stood and approached the judge. “Your Honor?”
“Mr. Morrison, do you have counsel?” the judge asked.
A voice piped up from the back of the courtroom. “Aye, Your Honor.” A slender lawyer dressed in the powdered wig and robes for court stood and approached the bench. “Forgive me for not sitting with my client. I have been preparing for our case and have yet to introduce myself to him.”
“Shemus, I didn’t realize you took this case.”
“I like the challenge, your honor.”
Shemus slid behind the table next to Sloan. A frown crossed his brow beneath the wig. “You did get roughed up lad, didn’t you?” Shemus turned back to the judge. “I will be representing Mr. Morrison. I will be joined by Mr. Logan Abramson as my second chair. He will be assisting me during deliberations.”
”Thank you, Mr. Toland. I’m honored to be part of these proceedings.”
Sloan’s lips cracked with a smile at the familiar voice.
The official glared at Logan. “Welcome to Northern Ireland, Mr. Abramson. Please, leave the talking to Mr. Toland. All right.”
“Absolutely, your honor. Thank you.” Logan turned to Sloan with a grin. It faded as he caught sight of his employer. He leaned toward
Shemus on the other side of Sloan. “Shemus, we need a minute,” he whispered.
Shemus nodded and stood. “A moment to confer with my client, Your Honor.”
“Granted.”
Logan dropped into the empty chair next to Sloan, his deep brown eyes filled with concern. “What the hell happened to you?”
“I was attacked in the prison a couple of nights ago,” Sloan muttered.
“Sloan, I know you. You would have fought them off. What could possibly have—?”
“There were too many. One stabbed me with a makeshift blade. I fought back, but I couldn’t do much.”
Logan slowly exhaled. “I suppose Gordon, Liam, and the boys haven’t seen you yet.”
“No. The true reason behind the closed proceedings. They would rip these bastards apart. Plus if the media finds out what happened in the prison, it’ll be a press nightmare.”
“Sloan, I’m sorry for what I’m about to do. I have no choice. You’re my number one priority right now.” Shemus patted Sloan on the arm and then stood and faced the judge. He cast a quick glance at Sloan. “When Mr. Morrison is well enough to leave medical care, I petition that he be placed in solitary confinement.”
The intense agony Sloan was in prevented him from jumping to his feet and laying into Shemus. All he could do was groan in protest. Logan must have sensed what Sloan was about to do. He gripped Sloan’s wrist to keep him still.
The official grinned. “I will allow that one.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
“The trial will begin in two weeks. Will that give you enough time, Shemus?”
”Of course, Your Honor. Thank you.”
The rap of the gavel against the bench announced the end of the meeting. The judge scuttled away in retreat. Shemus raised his hand to the guards, asking for a few moments more, and then sank back into his chair.
“Solitary confinement!” Sloan roared in a whisper.
“I would have done the same thing if we were in the States. Ashleigh and I will visit you every day to try to keep you sane,” Logan assured him “If you go back to general, this will just happen again. Shemus and I have people other than you to answer to…the board of directors, your family. And if we let you get hurt again, your wife will have my hide.”
Sloan’s fury disappeared. “Abbey?”
Logan was silent for a long moment. “I can’t reach her. I’ve called her at least three dozen times since I found out you were arrested. If you looked at my call history, you’d think we were dating again. We’re having trouble reaching Vicki, Maggie or Mary too. I’m sorry, Sloan. I promise I’ll keep trying.”
Sloan closed his eyes against the burn of tears. Please baby, don’t give up on me. Talk to someone. Let them know you’re all right.
Chapter Four
Abbey nudged her sunglasses up her nose and then curled a blonde lock of hair nervously as she felt the plane shudder gently as it touched ground. She glanced out the window at the terminal. Belfast International Airport. The last time she was here she took her first step into her husband’s secret past. This time she was here to save him from it.
She climbed out of her seat and shuffled out with the rest of the travelers. Everything she brought fit in her carry-on. She didn’t know what to pack. She didn’t know how long she would be here. And she certainly didn’t know what she was about to do. It was difficult to pack for the unknown. The most useful item in her wardrobe was her credit card.
Her mother had no issue with watching the children while Abbey was in Northern Ireland. Actually, she insisted. In Mary’s opinion, the only place Abbey should be was in that courtroom supporting Sloan. Believe me, I agree with her. And when I’m not in the courtroom I’ll be looking for answers with my stepdad. There was a boatload of tears shed when Abbey told Ame and Ethan goodbye.
Ame peppered her face with kisses and cuddled close. It took until the children went for their nap for her to escape for her flight.
Now she was here. Her stepfather’s newest soldier.
“Hello, Abigail.”
Her head shot up at her name. Gordon was watching her as he leaned against a pole, dressed in a well-fitted charcoal suit. He cocked a smile at her.
“Hey, Dad. I mean…”
“Considering the task ahead of us, you’d better call me Gordon. Calling me Dad will raise too many suspicions. The illusion has been broken. For now, let’s keep up true appearances.”
“So that means as of right now I’m married to Tom.”
“Aye.”
“And my last name is Mor…”
“Aye, lass. I wouldn’t broadcast that right now.”
“All right. How did you know it was me?”
He chuckled. “Let’s get your luggage. We’ll talk in the car.”
Abbey held up the carry-on in her hand. “This is it. I didn’t know what to pack.”
“That’s true. Follow me.”
Abbey followed Gordon through the busy airport. Her eyes shot back and forth until they caught a television over the bar. The image of Sloan in cuffs being led into the prison was too much. She locked her gaze on her stepfather’s back until they reached his rental car.
“So you dyed your hair blonde?” Gordon inquired as he slid into the driver’s seat.
“It’s a wig. I’m not dyeing my hair any color. How did you figure out it was me?” Abbey questioned.
“I’ve spent these past years with you. I lived with you for a while. I can recognize you no matter the color of your hair.”
Abbey tugged the wig onto her lap and then shook out her hair. “Where are we going? The prison?”
“Nay, lass. The prison is out. The fewer people who know you’re here the better. We can’t give the impression that you’re influencing the testimony of the witnesses.”
“And how would I do that?”
Gordon’s chuckle was hesitant. “I don’t know. But I doubt this will be easy. Or clean. You will know more about your husband than you ever did before. We’re heading to the courthouse. Sloan is being arraigned shortly.
“Lovely.” Abbey watched as the streets of Belfast blurred around her. She steeled her courage. Soon she would see the man she loved more than her breath as a prisoner facing trial. Could she handle it? Or would she fall apart?
Her heart thundered in her chest as the courthouse came into view. It didn’t take long for Gordon to find a parking space. One he flipped the ignition off, he stepped out and walked around to the passenger side. He offered her his hand to help her from the car then led her inside.
Gordon touched her arm to still her. “Let me go talk to the gents. Just wait here. Remember, the fewer people who know you’re here the better.”
“All right.”
She watched him as he strode away a large group of reporters and gawkers congregated around the courtroom door. Among the throng she could make out Liam, Robert and Bartholomew. It took some time for Gordon to push his way through the crowd.
His furious brogue pierced through the noise. “Closed proceedings? Why are they closed? What the bloody hell is going on?”
Gordon’s words were cut off when the courtroom doors opened. Those that were inside struggled to leave. Those waiting outside fought to get in. Abbey stepped away from the chaos and retreated outside. She briefly caught a glimpse of Logan and a guy in a long, white, curly wig just before the warm sun hit her face. Why weren’t they allowed in the courtroom? What was going on?
She didn’t realize how far she had wandered until she heard the sound of a van door slide open. Her head snapped up. Behind a chain link gate were at least a half dozen policemen escorting a prisoner from the building. She clasped her hands over her mouth to hold back the scream that wanted to escape.
Sloan’s face was swollen and badly bruised. By the puffiness of his left eye, she could tell it had been swollen shut at one point. There were several bandages that littered his skin. His gait was slow and pained and his eyes were glued to the ground. The officers clo
sest to him helped him into the van then slammed the door behind him.
“Abbey.”
She spun startled at her name. Gordon stood behind her obviously displeased. His hiss was audible only to her. “You needed to stay put inside the building.”
“Sloan’s been hurt,” she murmured.
“I know. We suspect that’s the reason the proceedings were closed. Come. We need to get started as quick as we can. I have a task for you.”
Abbey nodded then followed him back to the car. She stared out the window as the city streets of Belfast faded into rural fields. She gasped as he turned off the highway onto an overgrown, rut-filled path. The car jostled as it bumped along the pounded-down dirt path. In the distance an old farmhouse with a crumbling barn waited for them.
Gordon slid the rental into park and then turned off the ignition. He stepped out and offered his hand to her to help her from the car. She followed him as he ascended the steps and unlocked the front door.
She glanced around the sparsely furnished living room. “What is this place?”
Gordon blew out a long breath. “Liam, Sloan, and I lived here. Liam and I didn’t want Sloan in the IRA. No one wants to watch a child destroy his life due to war. We moved away from Belfast in hopes that he would grow out of it and want to be a normal kid. He had fields to run and play in. There’s a rock quarry just west of here he could explore.”
“But it didn’t work.”
“Not well enough.”
“So where do we start?”
“Again, that’s a great question. The prosecution’s key evidence is blood left at the bomb site. Then DNA processing was slow. It was a good thing we got Sloan out when we did.”
Abbey paused as her heart seized in her chest. “You did move him before the evidence was tested. Was there a reason?”
“Such as?”
“Such as he did do it. That he’s guilty as sin.”
Trial by Fire Page 4