by Julie Miller
“None.”
She ignored Cade Shipley’s snicker. Did he really think she was foolish enough to pursue this line of questioning if she thought it would prove his client’s innocence? “But you said the jacket he was wearing had no bullet hole in it.”
Mac Taylor leaned forward to speak directly into the microphone. “Correct. The jacket had his blood on it. Part of the zipper had been broken and ripped out, as though it had gotten caught on something, or he’d gotten frustrated with it when he was putting it on.”
“Relevance, your honor?” Shipley protested. “It’s after four o’clock and I’m interested in eating dinner sometime tonight.”
Audrey bit down on what she thought Shipley could do with his dinner if he kept on interrupting her. She thought it a wiser move to smile at Judge Shanks. “I have a point to make, Your Honor, I promise.”
“Then get to it.”
She returned to the witness. “So there was no bullet hole in the jacket Demetrius Smith was wearing, yet Mr. Smith’s medical records clearly show that he’d been shot in the arm. What conclusion did your lab reach, based on that evidence?”
“That Smith wasn’t wearing that jacket when he was shot.”
“Now Captain Cutler of the responding SWAT team on the scene has already testified that they stormed the house within a minute of hearing Mr. Smith yelling that he’d been shot and wanted to surrender.” She looked out into the gallery watching the trial, reminding the jury of the tall, salt-and-pepper-haired man in his black KCPD SWAT uniform who’d been on the stand earlier. Her gaze skimmed over Alex, sitting beside him. It shouldn’t give her that little rush of confidence that he was out there supporting her, protecting her. But those dark eyes watching her did make her think that she could do this. She brought her gaze back to Mac Taylor’s sighted eye. “Your lab also processed a jacket worn by another suspect at the scene, Tyrell Sampson. Would you tell the court what you found on Mr. Sampson’s jacket?”
Mac nodded. “A bullet hole in the right sleeve. Blood. GPR on the right cuff. And traces of gun oil with minute metal filings that match the gun registered to Demetrius Smith.”
“The gun that killed Calvin Chambers?”
“Yes.”
“Had Mr. Sampson been shot?”
“Not according to the police report.”
From the corner of her eye, Audrey saw Demetrius lean over and whisper something to his attorney. Seconds later, Cade Shipley was on his feet again. “Your Honor, if you recall, in that same police report, the interview with Tyrell Sampson stated that he was already in the system as the victim of a gunshot wound. An accident with a friend who was cleaning his gun, I believe.”
Judge Shanks scratched at his curly black beard and sighed into his hand. “So noted. Miss Kline? Your point?”
Audrey cleared her throat to keep from smiling. Keep going, Shipley. Help me win this case.
She wrapped her fingers around the railing in front of the witness box and asked a simple question. “Was the blood on Tyrell Sampson’s jacket his?”
“No. It was Demetrius Smith’s.”
Audrey let the grumbling through the courtroom gallery subside before she spoke again. “So is it feasible to assume that Demetrius Smith changed jackets with Mr. Sampson in the minute between him being shot and being handcuffed by SWAT?”
“A quick-change artist could do it, yes.”
Cade Shipley quickly objected. “Your Honor. Speculation.”
“Withdrawn.” Audrey quickly responded before looking up at Judge Shanks. “I have no further questions for this witness, Your Honor.”
“Thank you, Mr. Taylor. You’re dismissed.”
Audrey returned to her seat, stealing a sly look at the jury as she walked by. She could see by their reactions that she’d successfully put the possibility into their minds that Demetrius had indeed shot and killed Calvin Chambers, and then switched the jacket that held the incriminating evidence as soon as he realized he was going to be captured.
It wasn’t a fact she could win a case on. But if she could find one Broadway Bad Boy who’d been on the scene to say he’d seen Demetrius switch jackets, then she didn’t need to put the gun in his hand. The forensic evidence would put it there for her.
“All rise.”
Audrey checked her watch as the courtroom was dismissed. If the fates were with her, she could wrap up a conviction in a matter of days rather than dragging this out over the holidays or settling for reduced charges against Smith. Alex had put in a call to his uncle Josh, one of the detectives working the Chambers shooting, and he and his partner were rounding up Tyrell Sampson for her to reinterview before the end of the day. Maybe she couldn’t get him to state that he saw Demetrius fire the kill shot, but she might be able to get him to say something about changing clothes—unless he wanted to say the jacket with all the evidence was his, and take the rap for killing Calvin Chambers himself.
She tucked her notes into her attaché bag and looped it over her shoulder.
If the fates were…
When she turned to leave the prosecution table, Demetrius Smith was looking right at her. Staring at her. No, damning her. Yes, he was in handcuffs. Yes, he was listening to whatever Shipley was saying to him. But this silent conversation was all about him and her.
You scared yet, bitch?
Audrey couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Her hand fisted around the strap of her bag. She couldn’t seem to look away from the vile promise in his eyes, either.
And then she heard, “Turn around, Smith.”
Her breath rushed out in a gasp of relief as Alex pushed through the gate and inserted himself between Audrey and the defense table. She hadn’t noticed it when she’d seen him earlier, but he must be back on the clock because at some time during the day, he’d changed into his SWAT uniform—long-sleeved black shirt over a turtleneck, black pants tucked into black army-grade boots, his sidearm strapped to his muscular thigh. Even from this view, he looked as imposing and official as the night she’d first met him.
Demetrius licked his lips and smiled. “I’m just enjoying the scenery, officer. There aren’t any pretty girls where I’m at right now.”
Tension sparked off every corded muscle. “Shipley, corral your client, or I will.”
Shipley said something that displeased his client, but the courtroom officers were already pulling Demetrius away from the table. Alex stood fast, blocking Audrey between the table and the railing until Demetrius had been removed and Shipley was packing up his briefcase.
Only then did he turn. “You okay?”
His hand came up, but quickly dropped to his side. She couldn’t tell whether it was the protocol taboo of keeping his hands off the A.D.A. in court, or their prickly argument this morning about giving her time to think through her feelings that made him limit his concern to the dark expression in his eyes.
Audrey nodded, wondering at her own wistful response to the fact that he hadn’t touched her. She tilted her chin and pretended her nerves weren’t still rattling. “I must be making pretty good progress on my case for him to think he has to scare me back into my place like that.”
“Do you think it’d cost me my badge if I punched him out for leering at you that way?”
Screw protocol. She reached over and grazed her fingers against his. He needed to take a step back from his gangbanger instincts, and she needed…she just needed to touch him. She needed that inexplicable anchor she felt whenever she connected with him in some way. It was just a simple brushing of fingertips, down low between them where only someone who was looking for the forbidden contact might see. But it was enough to regroup and feel grounded again. “Take the advice of an attorney, Alex. I’m okay. Just walk me to my car. I want to get to the police station and talk to Demetrius’s friend Tyrell.”
“Uncle Mac set the stage for you to wrap up this trial, didn’t he?”
“Are you related to every cop at KCPD?”
“About half of them, it seems.�
�� With a nod to Trip, who quickly exited the back of the room, Alex pushed open the gate for her and followed her out of the near-empty courtroom. “He’ll pick us up at the side entrance so you don’t have to run the gauntlet of reporters today.”
“I have to say something to them.”
“No, you don’t. Do you know how hard it is to spot a threat in a crowd like that?”
“They’ll hound me all evening if I don’t at least give them a statement.”
He stopped her at the elevator and indicated to others that they go on so that she and Alex could ride down in a car alone. “Fine. Make a statement. But no questions. I’ll alert Trip.”
By the time she hit the chilly sunshine on the sidewalk in front of the courthouse, Audrey wished she’d taken Alex up on his offer to sneak her out the side entrance. Gauntlet was right. When she exited the glass doors, enough lights flashed to temporarily blind her. The assault of questions was equally unnerving. She barely got a look at the bundled-up onlookers and protest signs across the street in the park when the cameras and reporters swarmed around her. The salt that had been put down to melt the sleet and snow crunched beneath her boots as she took an instinctive step of retreat.
She bumped into Alex’s hand at her back and was reminded she wasn’t facing this alone. Raising her chin to a level of authority and control she didn’t quite feel, she quieted them long enough to make her statement.
“The prosecution’s case against Demetrius Smith is proceeding according to the strategy the district attorney’s office has mapped out. We have strong circumstantial evidence and a timeline of events that shows—”
“But you can’t get any witnesses to testify against him, can you?” someone shouted.
“Do you think Trace Vaughn’s murder silenced any hope of getting someone to come forward?”
She felt Alex shift behind her. “Just a statement, Red.”
Audrey cleared her throat and continued. “We have more expert testimony scheduled for tomorrow, including a representative from the drug enforcement task force to detail Mr. Smith’s criminal record.”
“He’s going to get away with killing that little boy, isn’t he?” She turned to the other side to face the new accusation. “Cade Shipley says you can’t prove murder.”
“Mr. Shipley is welcome to say whatever he wants. Of course, he’s going to come out in support of his client.”
She recognized Steve Lassen pushing his way to the front of the crowd and braced herself before he ever spoke. “He’s got you running scared, doesn’t he, Miss Kline?”
Alex’s arm tightened around her waist, pulling her forward. “We’re done here.”
You scared yet?
Audrey planted her feet and faced Lassen’s chubby red nose. “I didn’t appreciate your article in the paper this morning, Mr. Lassen. It’d be nice if you’d stick to the facts instead of sensationalizing a tragic event.”
He had the audacity to smile. “Which tragic event would that be? That kid’s murder—?”
“That ‘kid’ is Calvin Chambers.”
“—yesterday’s bombing? Or your father’s heart attack this morning?”
“How did you…? How dare you!” Every blood cell in Audrey’s body swelled with fury. “My personal life doesn’t have a damn thing to do with your story.”
“Audrey.” Alex strong-armed his way through the crowd, dragging Audrey along with him, forcing her into a trot to keep up. “He’s baiting you. Now isn’t the time to let those emotions go.”
But Steve Lassen and a barrage of questions dogged their every step out to the street.
“Is Rupert Kline still alive?”
“What hospital is he in?”
“Any time now, Trip,” Alex muttered, pulling Audrey into his arms and spinning her away from the crowd.
“Have you received any more threats from Demetrius Smith’s crew?” Lassen prodded.
“Don’t answer that.”
Audrey twisted against Alex’s grip. How did Lassen know these details? Did he really think his tabloid tactics were going to get him a regular assignment back at a legitimate newspaper? Or was he privy to inside information?
“Do you think you’re going to live to see the end of this trial?”
Audrey felt the unwanted hand on her arm, urging her to turn. She saw Lassen’s camera flash to capture her open-mouthed shock.
“Get your hands off her!”
In a matter of milliseconds, Lassen’s grip on her arm popped open and Alex was shoving the bastard’s face down to the pavement. Tires screeched to a halt on the pavement behind her and Alex raised his fist.
“Alex!”
A woman screamed. Cameras flashed.
“Taylor!” Trip called out.
Audrey yanked on Alex’s shirt. But he’d already frozen at the sharp command.
“You—cuff this guy.” Trip Jones ran up beside them, ordering the reporters back, summoning the uniformed officers nearby. He closed his big hands over Audrey’s shoulders and pulled her back. “Into the truck, ma’am. Let’s go, Taylor.”
Steve Lassen spat out blood and cursed Alex for breaking his camera as two officers locked his wrists behind him and pulled him up. Alex rolled to his feet, his shoulders still heaving with every steadying breath, his eyes never leaving the reporter who’d gotten to her.
“Book this guy on assault and confiscate that camera as potential evidence,” Trip ordered.
“What about my rights?” Lassen argued.
“What about her rights?” Alex crept forward. “You think terrorizing her makes a good story?”
“So I was right. The Society Princess has received another threat.” Lassen made a terrible mistake. He smiled.
“Alex!” Audrey dove out of the truck to stop him from attacking the loathsome reporter. She grabbed on to his belt and tried to pull him away.
But Trip was there first, one big hand on Alex’s shoulder, warning him back—the other hand pointed at Lassen’s face. For a big man with a booming voice, Trip’s hushed words sounded far more dangerous. “Let me tell you one thing, Lassen. I may be twice this guy’s size, but I’m not the one you want to be pickin’ a fight with. Now you go quietly with these officers, or I’ll add resisting arrest to the assault charge and trespassing in a restricted area without your press credentials.”
The two officers pulled Lassen away from the scene, but the washed-up reporter kept right on talking. “You know, one of these days I’ll get my regular job back at the Journal, and I’ll be writing such an exposé about police brutality and how the rich girls in this town get to call the shots and the poor jerks like me have to bow down to whatever you say. I’m going to change things. You wait and see.”
“Rich girls?” Audrey released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “He blames me for him getting fired at the Journal?”
Lassen was locked inside a black-and-white cruiser before Trip released his hold on Alex. “He’s an old drunk who can’t keep a job, so he’s trying to prolong his fifteen minutes of fame. Don’t let him get to you.”
Alex shoved his fingers through his hair, leaving a rumpled wake. “I let him get to Audrey.”
“No, you kept him from hurting her, from exploiting her.”
Finally, Alex took his eyes off Lassen and glanced up at Trip. “Semantics, big guy. Now’s the time when you should be giving me the lecture about the rookie forgetting procedure and losing his cool.”
“If somebody I cared about was being mobbed like that…?” Trip thumbed over his shoulder. “Get in the truck.”
As the crowd dispersed and the legitimate reporters got on their phones and in their cars to call in their stories, Audrey climbed up into the truck between the two men and they headed toward KCPD headquarters just a few blocks away.
Alex glanced over and touched the smudge of dirt Lassen had left on the sleeve of her coat. “The next time I give you grief about checking your emotions, tell me to shut up.”
“He’s no
t allowed to touch her, Taylor.” Trip stopped at a light. He checked the intersection in every direction, even using the mirrors to see behind them. “You did your job.”
Did Alex notice that Trip had refrained from using his “shrimp” nickname? Alex’s friend was backing him up. Understanding.
“Yeah. Just doing my job. Maybe I haven’t outgrown my street background as much as I thought.”
“Alex…” Audrey began. Maybe Alex didn’t hear the distinction Trip had made. He fisted his hand in his lap, seething in uncharacteristic silence beside her. She reached over and curled her fingers around his hand. “I was scared back there. It felt so personal, like it didn’t have anything to do with the trial.”
He instantly opened his fist and turned his hand to match his palm to hers and lace their fingers together. “I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.”
She squeezed his hand, believing his promise, thanking him. “I was scared you were going to get yourself into trouble. But mostly I was scared by how much I wanted to see you punch his lights out.” His dark eyes narrowed quizzically and she shrugged. “Not very high-brow or politically correct of me, is it? He knew Dad was in the hospital. He knew about the threats. He said ‘rich girl.’” Her hand shook inside Alex’s grip. “I’ve lost two friends, Val Gallagher and Gretchen Cosgrove, to somebody the police are calling the Rich Girl Killer.”
Alex brushed a tendril of hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “Sweetheart, he was pushing your buttons, that’s all.”
“He didn’t give a damn that I might be upset or afraid. I wanted you to hit him, to shut him up.” She paused as Trip moved into traffic again, waiting for the implication to set in. “See what happens when I get emotional? I don’t cry pretty, my face turns pink and I want to hit something. And here I thought I’d been raised to be a lady. Does that make me ‘street,’ too?”
Trip threw back his head and laughed. She felt the tension in Alex finally relax. He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. He was grinning. “Audrey Kline, you’ve got so much class running through your blood that you couldn’t be ‘street’ if I tattooed it on your ass.” He leaned over and kissed her mouth. “But you’re learning. Now let’s go convince some Bad Boys to turn on Big D.”