Keller County Cops Book Seven: Code of Vengeance

by Melanie Atkins

  "Yes, sir," they answered in unison.

  Their quick agreement surprised Keegan, who'd seen more than one jury trial postponed because of various motions from either side. That particular drama evidently wouldn't play out in this case, however. Unless something came up later.

  "Very well." The judge nodded at the bailiff. "Bring in the jury."

  While she waited for the jurors to enter the courtroom and be seated, Keegan sketched Judge Rouse's severe countenance with swift, sure strokes. She always started with a number two pencil and then filled in with color. As always with distinctive people, she was tempted to make his image more of a caricature than a true documentation of his appearance, but she refrained and soon had the judge's likeness on paper to her satisfaction.

  Next up was the prosecutor with his opening argument. Abington was a tall, buff man with a classic Roman nose and a deep, mesmerizing voice. Today, like always, he wore an expensive, well-cut suit that clung to his muscular frame and a pair of dark-rimmed glasses that gave him a stylish, intellectual air. Keegan had spoken to him a time or two, and found him to be arrogant, yet clever. If anybody could finagle a guilty verdict for Wicker, she had no doubt he could. She was glad he was prosecuting this case. Drawing him was a pleasure, because he was all long lines and broad shoulders. The ring on his finger told her he was off limits, and she wished she could congratulate the woman who'd captured his heart. He might be an egotistical ass, but he definitely provided Keegan with some nice eye candy.

  Fred Quincy, on the other hand, reminded her of a predatory hawk. He was tall and thin, with a long beak nose, and he generally wore his suits at least a size too big. She half expected him to flap his arms and take flight every time he got flustered, a common occurrence whenever he battled prosecutors in front of Judge Rouse. She expected that to happen more than once during this trial. Rouse looked down on Wicker and the others at the defense table as if he'd just scraped them off his shoe. Talk about drama...

  When Quincy got up to give his opening statement, Keegan had to suppress a snicker. The difference between his raw, high-pitched whine and Abington's bedroom drawl couldn't be more pronounced. Score one for the prosecution.

  Quincy dragged out his argument, over-dramatizing the fights between husband and wife and doing his best to paint Rosemary Wicker as the abuser. Yeah, right. The woman had barely weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet at the time of her death, while her husband was a brute who'd played football for a big-name college until he'd torn up his knee during his junior year.

  Wicker's obnoxious sneer made Keegan want to vomit. The jurors, however, ignored him and kept their gazes riveted on Quincy, who came off as sympathetic in spite of his irritating whine. If he kept that up, he just might sway their votes Wicker's way.

  The attorney finally completed his statement and sat back down. Rouse, who'd looked bored during the man's harangue, turned to the prosecutor.

  "Mr. Abington, are you ready to call your first witness?"

  "Yes, Your Honor," Abington said in that deep, sexy voice. "I'd like to call Deputy Vernon Jones to the stand. He was the first officer to reach the Wicker resident after Rosemary Wicker's frantic nine-one-one call the day of her murder."

  Keegan sketched Jones while Abington grilled him about that night, wincing as the deputy described the blood spatter and Rosemary's broken body. For good measure, she also added another image with Quincy in the foreground during the defense attorney's cross-examination. Jones was young, probably a brand new deputy, but he stood firm on his testimony despite Quincy's attempts to trip him up. She had to smile at that.

  Once Quincy was done and Abington declined to cross-examine him, the judge ordered the deputy to step down. He then pinned Abington with a knowing gaze.

  "Call your next witness, Counselor."

  "Yes, Your Honor." Abington turned to face the spectators and called another first responder, an EMT who had attempted to revive Rosemary Wicker, to the witness stand. Other first responders followed, including another EMT and two more deputies.

  Finally, once the last deputy stepped down, the prosecutor changed course. "I'd like to call Detective Mitch Ransom to the stand."

  Everyone turned to look at the strapping detective who rose from the back row and marched forward down the aisle. Before he reached the witness stand, however, the rear courtroom door swung open, and Sheriff Rick Blaylock stepped inside.

  He glanced around the courtroom and locked eyes with Keegan. The sheer intensity of his gaze startled her. He was handsome, in a rugged, outdoorsy sort of way. He had short dark brown hair and a tiny crook in his nose told her it had been broken at least once. A scar on his chin told her he was a fighter. He had to be at least forty if he was a day -- making him about eight years older than she -- but he was in damned good shape, with mile wide shoulders, sturdy thighs, and trim hips. A hard, masculine body to go along with his wary cop mind. She swallowed back a gasp when the sheriff turned and fixed his attention on Ransom as the detective settled himself in the witness box.

  The detective sent his boss a deliberate look, and the sheriff bobbed his head in acknowledgement before claiming the seat Ransom had vacated.

  Keegan tightened her hold on her pencil and hastily sketched the detective's strong features. At least, she meant to draw Mitch Ransom. Instead, however, she drafted an image of Sheriff Rick Blaylock. An eye-catching sketch that sent a shudder of arousal rippling through her and chipped away at the impenetrable brick wall around her heart.

  She stilled her hand.

  What in hell are you doing, Keegan? Stop it. He's not testifying. You have no need to--

  An abrupt order from the judge for Abington to proceed jerked Keegan from her disturbing thoughts. A warm flush spread over her skin as she hurriedly erased the image and started over, this time outlining Detective Ransom's stoic features.

  The detective's testimony continued, with Abington questioning him about the day Rosemary died and Quincy cross-examining him. Abington then pounded away at him again, until finally the judge told Ransom he could step down. Before he could even reach his seat, occupied now by the sheriff, Rouse banged his gavel and declared the trial was in recess for lunch and would reconvene at one-thirty.

  Keegan blew out a weary breath, gathered her supplies, and sat back against the hard wooden bench. The morning had been long, filled with disturbing testimony and vivid, nauseating photos of poor Rosemary Wicker lying dead on her bedroom floor. Keegan's stomach bubbled because of the resemblance to Jenny's crime scene, and she did all she could to put the terrifying pictures out of her head. Her attempt to distance herself didn't work, however, and her mind whirred on at warp speed. Everything she'd seen so far told her Wicker had murdered his wife. So if the jury acquitted the scumbag, she'd have no choice but to act.

  Somehow she had to find that damned earring and stay out of the way of the police.

  Determined to focus for the rest of the day, she got up, grabbed her satchel, and headed for the door. She hadn't brought anything exciting with her for lunch, but her sandwich and apple called out to her. Maybe if she ate, her swirling stomach would calm down.

  Just as she put her palm on the heavy door, a big male hand landed above hers on the dark wooden panel and shoved it wide.

  Startled, she turned and stared into Sheriff Rick Blaylock's stormy gray eyes.

  Chapter Three

  "After you," Sheriff Blaylock rumbled, the gritty roughness of his voice sending a delicious tingle down Keegan's spine. A tingle that told her she wanted him to keep talking. He lifted a brow. "Ma'am?"

  "Sheriff?" Detective Ransom charged up beside him. Ignoring Keegan, he held up his cell phone. "Just got a call from Tiffany. She tried you first, but you didn't answer."

  "Damn it." The sheriff dug out his phone and read the display. "I didn't feel it vibrate."

  "You must've been riveted by my excellent testimony." The detective grinned. "Anyway, she has good news. She got the surveillance video from the Kitty
Kat Klub, and the camera caught everything. Woodward leaving the building, his attacker following him, the murder -- plus a little something extra."

  Keegan froze.

  "What do you mean?" Sheriff Blaylock asked with a puzzled look. Before the detective could answer, however, the sheriff turned and speared Keegan with a curious gaze. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Are we in your way?"

  "Oh. No." She swallowed back the urge to bolt. "I-I'm just... um, leaving. Thank you."

  "All right, then," he drawled, pushing the door open a little more.

  The perturbed look in his eyes spurred her to edge past him, even though she longed to stay and hear the detective's explanation of "a little something extra". Doing her best not to huff at both men, she ducked her head and scurried from the courtroom. Her pulse hammered in her ears when they exited the room behind her and headed down the hall in the opposite direction from the break room.

  Her stomach growled, but instead of going after the meager sustenance awaiting her inside the refrigerator, she trucked after them down the hall, doing her best to remain unobtrusive as she strained to hear the rest of their conversation.

  "Okay, so what'd you mean, Mitch? She found some evidence that'll help us?" Sheriff Blaylock asked once they got about ten feet down the hall.

  The detective crooked his mouth. "If we're lucky, yeah. The surveillance camera caught a witness to the murder. Somebody else was at that crime scene."

  "Son of a--" The sheriff halted so abruptly, Keegan almost hurtled into his broad back.

  Somehow, she managed to put on the brakes and jerk out her cell phone before he noticed she'd ended up so close. Desperate for him to ignore her, she thumbed up her messages and acted as if she'd just gotten one she couldn't wait to read.

  "Where in hell did she see this witness? Did he make the call?" the sheriff asked Ransom.

  The detective narrowed his gaze at Keegan before meeting Blaylock's curious gaze and lowering his voice. "Tiffany didn't mention the nine-one-one call, but said the figure was lurking in the shadows next to the building, beside the parking lot." He paused. "She couldn't see his face, but claims it was either a small guy -- or maybe even a woman. Definitely not as big as Woodward or his assailant."

  "Shit. Anything else?"

  "Yeah. Apparently the witness hung around until you pulled up, and then jetted out of there like his tail was on fire. He kept to the shadows. She never got a good look."

  "Damn. We can really use that witness. I'll ask Tiffany to get CSU back out there."

  An icy finger of dread trailed down Keegan's back. Holy cow. If I dropped that earring anywhere near that building, they'll find it now for sure now.

  "She's already on that," the detective assured the sheriff. "She called 'em, but they're tied up with another case. A domestic incident in the boonies that appears to be open and shut."

  "Who caught that one?" Blaylock asked with a scowl.

  Ransom cleared his throat. "C.J. He was at the station bright and early."

  "Ah. Okay. Well, then... I'll give CSU a call once we eat." The sheriff rubbed his brow, and then dropped his hand with a weary sigh. "Come on. Let's go grab a quick burger down at Zeke's. I'd like to sit on more of the trial after lunch."

  "Sounds like a good plan, sir." The detective accompanied the sheriff down the hall.

  Keegan didn't move even after they marched away, her attention still on her phone although she wasn't actually looking at it. No, she was too busy cataloging her movements from that night, doing her best to pinpoint where she might have lost the earring.

  She came up blank, and yet the fear she'd lost it near the crime scene kept niggling at her brain. If CSU found it, Deputy Ransom would pick her up and question her about what she'd been doing there that night.

  What can I say if that happens? I have no alibi. No matter what story I give 'em, they'll eventually do the math and discover I'm Jenny Woodward's sister. Once that happens...

  The dread that had already chilled Keegan to the bone returned to grab her in its glacial fist. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The people marching past her down the hallway became only blurs. She forgot where she was and why she was there. Nothing made sense.

  She felt as if she were drowning in apprehension, waiting to be arrested, even though she hadn't actually broken the law that night.

  "Keegan?" The male voice startled her.

  She jerked around and found herself face to face with Detective Jonah McKee. She'd met him a few months ago and discovered he and his wife and son lived just two houses down. Not knowing quite what to say, she brought a hand to her chest. Her heart raced beneath her palm.

  "Hey, are you all right?" He frowned down at her. "You look a little pale."

  "Yes, I-I'm fine." Embarrassed to have been caught standing in the hallway like a lost little girl, she lowered her hand. "I'm working the Wicker trial. Just... on my way to lunch."

  "Looked more like you were daydreaming. Do you do that a lot?" He grinned.

  She shrugged. "Sometimes. I'm an artist, you know. Right brained, and all that." In a hurry to change the subject, she tilted her head. "How are Brooke and Aiden?"

  His grin widened. "They're great, actually. Brooke and I just adopted another little boy. Colton Jay. He's two months old. Aiden's excited about being a big brother."

  "Wow. That's great news." She matched his smile. "I haven't seen any of you in a while, so I had no idea. Tell Brooke congratulations and give both Aiden and Colton a hug for me."

  "I will. Aiden doesn't understand why Colton can't play cars with him just yet."

  "Too funny." She chuckled, and then let her smile fade. "Well, um... I need to go. I have a sandwich in the break room, and if I don't move fast I won't have time to enjoy it."

  "All right, Keegan. I'll be sure and give Brooke and the boys your congratulations." He slid his hands into his pockets. "Take it easy, okay?"

  "I-I will." She waited until he turned and strode off down the hall before whirling and hurrying to the break room. To her relief, the place was empty. She skidded inside and made a beeline for the refrigerator.

  What was I thinking when I followed the sheriff and Detective Ransom to listen in on their conversation like some voyeur? I wasn't exactly inconspicuous. If they find that damned earring and connect it to me...

  With a bone-deep shudder, she dug her sandwich out of the refrigerator. Only took her a few minutes to gobble both it and the apple. She ate them standing up, then washed them down with an ice-cold bottle of water. Once she was done, she glanced at the clock.

  Time to get back to the courtroom and hear more evidence against Wicker. In fact, she was running late. Somehow, she had to forget about the sheriff's conversation and keep her mind on her job. Wouldn't be easy, but she had to do it.

  "I need this to be over I can go back to that club before CSU gets there," she whispered to herself as she tossed the bottle into the trash. The success of her new plan hung in the balance.

  Sheriff Blaylock was a clever man. If she was ever going to find justice for Jenny, she couldn't allow him or anyone else get in her way.

  *****

  A few minutes after court reconvened, Rick's cell phone vibrated inside his pocket. He fished it out and checked the display. Another text from Tiffany. He opened it and frowned.

  Did Mitch tell you? CSU is tied up out on Hwy. 463.

  Rick cursed under his breath.

  Still?

  Seconds later, the phone vibrated in response.

  Yes, and it's raining again. I'll let ya know when they're done.

  Frustrated, he sent her another text telling her that would be fine. Then he shoved his phone back into his pocket. All the damned rain over the past twenty-four hours could have already washed away any evidence the witness might have left. Maybe if he checked the surveillance tape himself, he'd notice something Tiffany had missed. He glanced at Mitch, who'd returned to the courtroom after lunch because Abington had said he might call the detective back to the s
tand later to refute defense testimony. No sense for Rick to hang around, though. Mitch always handled himself like a pro. Might as well take a look at that video.

  Rick leaned over and told the detective he was leaving before getting up and slipping from the courtroom. The same woman he'd held the door open for earlier stood just outside, a perplexed frown on her pretty oval face, and he bumped right into her even though he attempted to twist away.

  "Oh, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, stumbling back a step and bumping his knee with her satchel. Her sweet lilac scent enveloped him.

  He caught her arm to steady her. "Sorry, ma'am. Are you all right?"

  "Yes, I-I think so." Her coffee-colored eyes were wide and luminous. She put her hand on the wall to steady herself, shrugged him off, and backed away. "Again, I'm sorry. I seem to keep getting in your way today."

  "Believe me, it's not a problem." He tipped up the corners of his mouth. "I never mind running into a beautiful woman."

  "Who, me?" Her cheeks flushed crimson. "No, I--"

  "Are you here on behalf of the defense or the prosecution?"

  "Both, actually." She smiled, then apparently caught herself and let the grin fade. "I'm the court artist, and I really need to get back in there. I'm late."

  "Well, in that case, sorry to hold you up. You take care, ma'am."

  "Likewise, Sheriff." She jerked her gaze away and gnawed at her lip. Without another word, she shot him one last breathless look, wheeled, and disappeared into the courtroom.

  Rick stood in the hallway, drinking in the delicious scent she'd left in her wake until he realized what he was doing and kicked himself into gear. Are you out of your damned mind? She's way too young for you. Probably already taken, too.

  Still berating himself, he opened one of the double doors leading outside and hurried to his duty car, a shiny black Dodge Charger with the KCSO logo emblazoned on the side.

  "Think about the case, you moron," he lectured himself as he started the car. "Now's not the time to get sidetracked by a beautiful woman. Even if you haven't had one in a while."