Love at First flight

by Marie Force

  “Stop.” His heart racing with anxiety, Michael hugged her close to him. “That’s enough. You don’t have to tell the police about that.”

  “He said he had to come back because he’d left a loose end behind and that he couldn’t let me live because his clients wouldn’t want anyone left who could link him to the trial.”

  His blood gone cold, Michael sat up. “He said that? In those exact words?”

  “Just about.”

  “Holy shit. This is a nightmare that refuses to end. You can link him to the Benedettis. They haven’t found anything else to tie him to them.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’re still in danger.”

  Chapter 28

  Early the next morning, Michael’s detail took him home to shower and change. He returned in less than an hour with clothes for Juliana to wear home from the hospital. For the moment, his colleague George Samuels was handling the trial. Since they had no real defense, the Benedettis’ attorneys were calling a parade of character witnesses to testify on their behalf. According to George, the previous afternoon consisted of glowing praise for the brothers’ care of their widowed mother, their work at the YMCA with underprivileged kids, and other bullshit that George didn’t think the jury was buying. Michael’s absence had been explained as a personal emergency.

  Juliana showered and got dressed. The nurses changed the dressing on her cut and showed Michael how to do it at home. The stitches would dissolve, and they hoped the scar would be undetectable. However, the bruise on her face had exploded with color overnight, and she had a black eye. She was weak from the blood loss and the cut hurt like crazy, but otherwise she felt well enough to go home.

  “God, I look like hell,” she complained to Michael when she came out of the bathroom.

  “Not to me.”

  “You have to say that.”

  “I don’t care how you look as long as you’re alive and safe. It’s going to be a long time before I care about anything else.”

  She put her arms around him and rested her head on his chest. “I’m sorry you were so scared.”

  “Scared doesn’t begin to describe it.”

  “Let’s go home.”

  The detectives were coming by the house in an hour to take her statement. Michael had asked Tom Houlihan to be there, too.

  “We need to talk about our living situation,” he reminded her as he helped her into the wheelchair the nurses left for them.

  “Not now, okay?”

  “Not now, but later. Definitely later.”

  After Juliana gave the detectives her statement—skipping over Escalada’s rape threats—Tom showed them out. Juliana rested on the sofa against the mountain of pillows Michael insisted on.

  “I think we can work this so the Benedettis won’t know that Escalada gave them up,” Tom said.

  “Until they’re tried for the attempted murder-for-hire of the cops and Rachelle,” Michael reminded him.

  “That’ll be a year or more from now. If we can keep a lid on it until discovery, Juliana will be safe from them.”

  “What happens after discovery?” Juliana asked.

  Tom and Michael exchanged glances.

  “Protective custody,” Tom said. “Followed most likely by witness protection.”

  Juliana twisted her fingers as she absorbed the news. She thought that threat died along with Escalada. Unfortunately, he had told her just enough to keep her ensnared in the case.

  Tom sat down next to Juliana. “I know what you’re thinking: we failed to keep Rachelle safe, so what’s to say the same thing won’t happen to you.” He took her hand. “I’m not going to feed you a big line of bull because you’ve seen how bad it can get. I’m just going to promise you that we’ll do everything we can to ensure your safety.”

  “That’s all you can do. Thank you, Tom, and thank you for the flowers, too. They’re gorgeous.”

  “Feel better soon.” Tom stood up to shake hands with Michael. “Take as much time as you need. George has things covered in court.”

  Michael thanked him and walked him to the door. When he came back, he sat down next to Juliana. “Can I get you anything?”

  “No, I’m good, but you need to get back to work.”

  “I will, tomorrow probably. We need to talk about what’s going to happen now. I think you should go home—to your place. You’d be safer there.”

  “I’d be alone there.”

  “You’re going to be alone here when I go to work tomorrow.”

  “But I won’t be alone at night. I can ask Mrs. R to come over during the day. She’d love to hang out with me.”

  Michael sighed with exasperation. “You’re working me. I know that look. You think if you look at me that way you can get whatever you want.”

  She reached for his hand. “What look?”

  “That one! You’re doing it again! It’s not going to work. I want you to go home. I don’t want you here anymore.”

  “Now you’re just lying to my bruised and battered face,” she said, kissing the palm of his hand.

  He rested it against the bruised cheek. “I never knew you were such an operator. Maybe you’re more like Paige than I thought.”

  “Oh!” She punched his chest. “Take that back!”

  He chuckled and leaned in to kiss her. “I don’t want to.”

  “I’m not kissing you until you take it back.”

  “You’re going home,” he said, nudging at her lips with his tongue.

  “Make me.” She tormented him by sliding her lips over his without giving him the access he craved.

  With a groan of frustration, he gave in. “Fine! Stay. Get yourself killed. See if I care. Now kiss me.”

  “You forgot something,” she said with a victorious smile.

  “What?”

  “Take back the Paige crack.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I take it back, I take it back! Now will you kiss me?”

  She held him at arm’s length. “One more thing.”

  “What?”

  “The part where you said you don’t want me here and the ‘see if I care’ comment… I didn’t like that, either.”

  “No?”

  “Not so much.”

  “I’m seeing a whole new side to you that I’m not sure I like.” In truth he was so relieved by the sassy spark in her gorgeous brown eyes that he would take anything she cared to dish out.

  She folded her arms. “Now you’ve got to take that back.”

  He laughed. “I take it back. I take it all back,” he said, moving her arms and nuzzling the uninjured side of her neck.

  “Say something nice so I’ll forget all that mean stuff.”

  He pretended to struggle to think of something.

  She pushed him away. “Forget it!”

  “No wait, I think I’ve got it.”

  Raising a skeptical eyebrow, she said, “This had better be good.”

  “You’re everything to me. You make me happier than I’ve ever been in my life. Just knowing you’ll be here when I get home gets me through anything I have to face during the day. I don’t know how I ever lived before I knew you, and the thought of you being in danger because of me…” He shook his head when he couldn’t go on.

  She held out her arms to him, and he rested against her chest.

  “How was that?” he asked a minute later.

  “Good,” she said in a voice gone hoarse with emotion. “Really, really good.”

  He tilted his face up to hers and was rewarded with a kiss he would never forget.

  Over the next two weeks, word got out among her friends and clients that Juliana was recovering from an accident at home. In an unprecedented display of selflessness, her sister Donatella coordinated with the salon to organize appointments for hair styling sessions for Juliana’s closest friends and longest-standing clients in Michael’s living room.

  When people asked why she was staying there, Juliana simply said that she and Jeremy were
taking a break to figure some things out and that she was renting a room from Michael in the meantime. To her great relief, no one pressed her for more information. While she was self-conscious about being out in public with the colorful bruise on her face, she told her sister and close friends that the bruise and the bandage on her neck were from a car accident.

  Juliana enjoyed the parade of friends who came by to check on her and appreciated Dona’s efforts to organize “Juliana’s Salon,” which kept her busy and her mind off her troubles—not to mention it provided some welcome extra income since her clients insisted on paying her.

  One day, Dona even brought their mother by for lunch and a haircut. Paullina looked better than Juliana had seen her in years, and she was filled with curiosity about the home health aide who had brought about such a miraculous transformation in her mother.

  Since the Benedettis were in isolation in jail and didn’t know Escalada was dead or what he told Juliana before his death, Tom and Michael thought it would be safe for her to go back to work—with her detail in tow—when the bruise on her face healed and she felt ready to resume her regular life.

  When she wasn’t acting as the proprietor of Juliana’s Salon, she made good use of the time at home to rearrange almost every room in Michael’s house, to make fabulous dinners that he said he dreamed about during the long days in court, and to recover from the trauma of her encounter with Escalada. She also did a lot of thinking about where her life was going as Jeremy’s arrival edged closer. He left a message on her cell phone asking her to meet him at their house next Saturday morning.

  One more week.

  Michael endured endless days in court while the defense employed one pathetic tactic after another in an effort to make the jury forget about the powerful evidence presented by the prosecution. He wished he could bring a book or a newspaper to read during the ridiculous parade of witnesses who did nothing to dispel the fact that Marco and Steven Benedetti, while apparently pillars of the community, had gunned down three defenseless kids in a parking lot. Michael didn’t even bother to cross-examine most of the defense witnesses.

  Finally, at three o’clock on the Friday before the last weekend Michael might ever spend with Juliana, the defense rested without calling the defendants to testify. Michael thought their attorneys had served them well in keeping them off the stand. Most of the legal analysts following the trial had speculated the Benedettis would not testify on their own behalf, and Michael agreed with them. But he had been ready if the defense decided to call them. Judge Stein set closing arguments for nine o’clock on Monday. The end was in sight.

  On the way home, Michael stopped to buy a bottle of champagne and a dozen yellow roses. He arrived just after four to find his living room rearranged in a way he never would have considered. It was perfect. Just like her. Pulsing music and the smell of something that made him want to drool led him to the kitchen. He found her dancing to the beat at the stove and was reminded of their first week together. He resisted the urge to sneak up on her since she had been jumpy after her ordeal with Escalada.

  “Hey,” he yelled over the din.

  Her face lit up when she turned to find him there. “You’re home early!”

  He pulled the champagne and roses from behind his back. “With presents.”

  “Oh, for me? They’re gorgeous! Thank you.” She kissed him. “What’s the occasion?”

  Michael loved that she appreciated even the simplest of gestures. “Let me quote: ‘your honor, the defense rests.’”

  “Yippee! It’s almost over then, right?”

  “Closing arguments on Monday, and then it goes to the jury.” He pulled off his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

  “Then tonight we celebrate.” She found a vase for the roses and put them on the dining room table.

  “Is Juliana’s Salon closed for the day?”

  “Sure is. We had a banner day with five clients.” She tugged a wad of cash out of her back pocket and tried to put it in his. “Rent.”

  He sidestepped her. “Get real, Juliana. I’m not taking that.” Peeking into a pan simmering on the stove, he asked, “What are you making?”

  She put the money on the counter, but he knew she’d try again later and looked forward to the wrestling match that would no doubt ensue.

  “It’s a new shrimp recipe Mrs. R gave me. She cut it out of a magazine, so no guarantees.”

  “If it tastes as good as it smells, we’ve got another winner. I was going to take you out tonight to give you a break from all the cooking you’ve been doing.”

  She reached up to cover the faded but still visible bruise on her face. “Not yet. Another couple of days maybe. Besides, I love to cook.”

  “And I love to eat what you cook. I think I’ve gained ten pounds since you moved in.”

  Juliana wound her arms around his neck. “Why don’t we open that bottle of champagne, light a fire, and hibernate all weekend? It’s freezing out anyway.”

  With his hands on her hips, he drew her close to him and leaned in to kiss her. “I like how you think.”

  Late on Sunday night, after Michael practiced his closing for Juliana one last time, he snuggled with her in bed. “Thanks for the excellent suggestions. You’d make a good lawyer.”

  “Nah, I’d never make it through all that school. I don’t have the smarts.”

  “Are you kidding me? Someone who’s smart enough to find a way to make a 911 call when there’s a killer in the same room? Give me a break. You’re smarter than most of the people I went to law school with.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.” He turned on his side to face her. “This was the best weekend I’ve ever had.”

  “It was fun, wasn’t it?”

  “Is it going to be our last weekend together, Juliana?”

  She shook her head.

  “You’ve made a decision?”

  “I think so,” she said softly, reaching up to stroke his hair. “When everything happened with Escalada, when he was holding that knife against my throat, the only thing I could think about was you and finding a way out of it so I could be with you again.”

  “Juliana…” He rested his forehead against hers where a tiny white mark was all that remained of the cut from the coffee table glass.

  “Jeremy asked me to give him a couple of days, and I’m going to do that. I have to play it out with him and end it the right way. You understand, don’t you?”

  “I’m trying to. It’s just the thought of you…”

  “What?”

  He ran a hand over the warm, soft skin of her back. “In bed with him…”

  She raised herself up on one elbow. “I’m not going to sleep with him.”

  “You’re not?”

  “I couldn’t. Not after being with you.”

  Michael closed his eyes and released a jagged deep breath. “God, I wish we’d talked about this sooner. I’ve been driving myself nuts imagining you with him.”

  “I’m sorry.” She combed her fingers through his hair. “I’m going to hear him out, but that’s it.”

  He arranged her so she was lying on top of him. “I love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my life. You and only you.”

  Juliana kissed the engagement ring nestled in his chest hair. “Soon, Michael. Soon enough, I hope I can say that, too.”

  “I can wait one more week.” He drew her down for a kiss. “By this time next Sunday, we’ll be free and clear.”

  Chapter 29

  Michael delivered his closing first thing Monday morning. He took the jury through the last day in the lives of Jose Borges, Timothy Sargant, and Mark Domingos. Earlier, he warned the boys’ families of what he planned to do so they could prepare themselves.

  He reminded the jurors of the argument the boys had with the defendants in the arcade, talked about the testimony of the boys’ friends who witnessed the fight, and reiterated the evidence offered by the detectives and ballistics experts.


  “You heard the eye-witness’s chilling account of the shootings and her description of how ruthlessly the defendants shot first Mark Domingos, then Jose Borges, and finally Timmy Sargant. All of this over an arcade game.” He paused for effect like he practiced with Juliana. “Throughout the course of the trial, you’ve heard the victims’ names repeatedly. You already know they liked to play video games and they spent their last moments skateboarding in the parking lot of Jose’s apartment complex. What you maybe don’t know is they were honor roll students.” Michael smiled as he paid tribute to boys he’d never met but had come to know so well over the last year.

  “Jose was an outstanding baseball player—a promising pitcher with a fierce curve ball—who loved to torment his little sisters. Timmy made the all-city basketball team in sixth and seventh grade, and he knew everything there was to know about Star Wars. Mark was on his way to being an Eagle Scout and played a mean guitar. His hero was Richie Sambora from Bon Jovi.”

  The parents of the boys wept quietly in the gallery as Michael moved over to lean against the jury box.

  “They were good kids who made the fatal mistake of arguing with two men who were capable of murder.” He paused to let that thought settle and was satisfied when two of the female jurors dabbed at their eyes. “My job is to leave you with no doubt that Marco and Steven Benedetti murdered Jose Borges, Timothy Sargant, and Mark Domingos. If I’ve left you with reasonable doubt that it was the Benedettis who pumped one round after another into those defenseless boys, then you’ll have no choice but to acquit them. But if I’ve done my job and you have no doubt—no doubt whatsoever that it was them,” he said, turning to point to the defendants who were both looking elsewhere, “then you must convict.” Making eye contact with each of the jurors, Michael said, “Jose, Timmy, and Mark are counting on you. Don’t let them down.”

  With an empathetic glance at the boys’ families, he returned to his seat next to George Samuels.

  “Perfect,” George whispered. “Spot-on perfect.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Michael replied as the lead defense attorney got up to do her closing. He said a silent thank you to Juliana who suggested the last line—don’t let them down. George was right. It was perfect.