The bailiff standing by the bench, a sweet guy named Larry, glanced up from his phone and nodded.
I returned the ‘professional hey’ with my own nod, sat, and set down my case folders. This was a chance to reach plea bargains before the judge even showed up, and then all we had to do was go on the record with our deals. Or set trial dates. I glanced around. The public defender wasn’t there.
That was okay. I could deal with the criminals myself. Life was pretty simple in my view. Usually. I took the top file, opened it, and read, “Thelma Mullen?”
Two elderly women, one thin and one not-so-much, slowly made their way from the last row to sit at my table. “I’m Thelma and this is Georgiana Lambertini. You probably have a file on her, too,” the thin one said, smiling.
The ladies didn’t appear a day over eighty with pouffed white hair and more wrinkles than a linen skirt on a humid summer day. Thelma perched like a colorful bird in a skinny purple suit, lime green pumps, and a yellow broach in the shape of a black widow spider. Georgiana had covered her impressive bulk with a bright flowered muumuu above beach thongs.
Thelma leaned forward. “We were nailed with a B and E, sweetie,” she said with a twinkle in her faded blue eyes.
I held up a hand. “Don’t say anything else. I’m the prosecutor, and I’m not on your side here.”
Georgiana patted my hand. “Oh, you’re a sweetheart. I can tell. Of course, you’re on our side.”
“No,” I protested, looking around, panic grabbing me yet again. This week was too much. At some point, my heart was just going to implode from the pressure. “You should have your own lawyer. If you can’t afford one, we’ll get one appointed to you.”
Thelma waved the suggestion away. “Oh, we don’t want him. We met him and didn’t like him. We want you.”
“You can’t have me,” I said softly. “I’m here to prosecute you.”
“No.” Thelma shook her head. “That’s not right. I can tell about people. You’re one of the good ones.”
She reminded me of my grandma, and the familial guilt slid through me like garlic butter. Maybe this was just a misunderstanding. I opened the case file and read it quickly. “You were caught going through the underwear drawer of your neighbor, Melvin Whitaker?”
The women nodded.
“Melvin lives in the adjoining duplex to yours?” I asked.
“Yes. Melvin has disappeared, and we were trying to find the pot,” Georgiana stage whispered as I concentrated on the cataracts in her thick eyes. She squinted at me, trying to focus.
Pot? Eesh. “What are you talking about?”
“The good stuff,” Thelma whispered.
“Where is Melvin?” I whispered, not sure why.
Thelma shrugged. “Dunno.”
This wasn’t making a lick of sense. “First of all, don’t confess to anything,” I warned them, probably against the vow I’d taken for the job. But come on. “If you don’t know where Melvin is, then how were you arrested?” Logic had left the conversation.
“Well—” Georgiana flushed a deep red— “I pushed Thelma too hard through the kitchen window, and she knocked over some glasses on the counter. Eunice Johnson lives on the other side of Melvin. She called the police after she saw me climb through.”
Thelma sniffed. “That eighty-year-old trollop has never liked us. Always wanted to hook poor Melvin, and we wouldn’t let her.”
Could an eighty-year-old be a trollop?
Thelma continued. “The police took their time. We managed to search the kitchen, living room, and bathroom before the coppers showed up.”
“We had just started on the bedroom,” Georgiana said. “Who knew Melvin was a boxer man? I would’ve guessed briefs.”
“I thought he free-balled it,” Thelma said thoughtfully.
“All right, ladies.” I wanted to laugh, but the day had gotten completely away from me. I had a lot more to worry about than a couple of sweet old ladies wanting to smoke pot, which was legal just thirty minutes away in Washington state. “What would you accept in this case?”
Thelma’s red lips trembled. “Well, we figure we’re heading to the big house.”
No way would I let these sweet ladies go to jail. There had to be some justice in my job. I tilted my head to the side. “If Melvin wasn’t home, maybe you were watering his plants?”
Georgiana’s cloudy eyes lit up. “Um, yeah. And getting his mail.” She was obviously the criminal mastermind between the two.
“But,” Thelma started to argue before her friend shushed her.
I nodded. “We’ll see what we can do.” They ambled back to their seats.
Just then, the side door opened, and the big bailiff bellowed, “All rise as Judge Williams enters.”
Everyone stood, and pews creaked behind me.
“Be seated.” The judge smiled at the courtroom as she walked to sit at the bench. Her skin was a smooth and deep brown, her lips peach colored, and her salt and pepper hair curly above the judge’s robe. “Morning, Ms. Albertini. It’s good to see you again.” Her brown eyes were sharp and seeking, and she tilted her head to the side, inviting silent gossip or even answers.
I shook my head very subtly—because I had no clue what was happening with Scot or the DEA or pretty much anybody at the moment.
“I see,” the judge said, turning to the small stack of case files in front of her, clearly disappointed at the lack of gossip. “Let’s get to business, then. Georgiana Lambertini,” she called out in a clear voice.
I turned as Georgiana and Thelma shuffled up to my table. Georgiana had donned a pirate’s black eye patch.
I shifted my attention to the judge. “This is Georgiana and also Thelma Mullen. They were charged together.”
The judge raised her eyebrows. “For breaking and entering?”
Georgiana’s hands clasped against her chest. “It was a mistake, judge,” she said solemnly, her visible brown eye earnest and cloudy. “We were just trying to be good neighbors. We’re getting close to heaven’s gates, you know.”
“But,” Thelma started, then, “Ouch!” She grimaced down at her foot.
Georgiana smiled angelically next to her. “Yeah, we were just watering our dear neighbor’s plants,” she continued, her face beseeching and sad.
Thelma hummed and fluttered mascara-caked eyelashes. “Well, all right then,” she said.
The judge nodded at Georgiana’s eye patch. “Were you injured?”
“Oh no.” Georgiana flipped the eye patch up, revealing a cataract riddled brown eye. “I thought it was a good look for the big house. You know, so the bad bitches don’t mess with us.”
The judge buried her head in the file, and I couldn’t move. The lady had just sworn in court. It was funny, but…I couldn’t move.
Judge Williams cleared her throat. “Ah, all right then. Ms. Albertini?”
For the second time that week, I purposefully didn’t do my job. Or maybe I did. The bigger picture was that I seek justice, and at the moment, I couldn’t find any by hurting these ladies. “Obviously there was a mistake made here, Judge. The state would like to dismiss all charges, so long as the defendants refrain from repeating the conduct.” I said the last with a firm nod toward the two women.
“Of course,” Thelma uttered breathlessly.
Georgiana pressed her palms together. “Yeah, we won’t make so much noise next time.”
I shook my head. “Stay out of trouble. Promise me.”
They both nodded, and Georgiana grabbed Thelma’s arm and tugged her toward the door.
Judge Williams peered into a file. “Next up I have Randy Taylor.”
Randy looked around eighteen and was still fighting acne. He ambled up, his arms skinny and his brown hair back in a man bun. I knew there were sexy pictures of guys on Pinterest with man buns. Randy was not one of those guys.
“Where’s your attorney?” the judge asked.
“Fired him,” the kid muttered.
The judge
sighed. “Is there an offer from the state?” she asked.
I read the file. Randy had been caught with marijuana and then had fled arrest after punching a cop. Not good. Really not good. I didn’t like that at all. “Three years.”
Randy shook his head wildly, and the man bun fell apart as his hair flew around.
The judge sighed. “I take it you plead not guilty and request a jury trial?”
“Yes, your honor.” Randy’s voice wobbled this time.
“Fair enough. We’ll get a calendar going for the case and set the trial date at the next status conference.” The judge made a notation. “Ms. Albertini, you’re excused. Looks like it was a quick day.”
Maybe for her. Mine had given me a migraine. I grabbed my files and all but fled the courtroom. I pushed the door open and headed into the hallway, winding through bodies and ending up outside. The sun had disappeared, and clouds had begun to gather. I increased my speed toward the office.
Randy ran behind me. “Hey, lady. Come on, give me a better deal.”
Irritation almost dropped me cold. I kept violence at bay and squinted at the sky, balancing myself with calves I’d earned by running every day and trying to outdistance stress in law school. If a total klutz and shy geek girl with issues could be athletic, I’d given it my best to be athletic once in a while. “Get a lawyer,” I said.
He allowed a kid on a skateboard to fly by and then returned to walk by my side. “When do you think the trial will be?”
I glanced to my left at the perfectly square park with its winding walking trails, new benches, and freshly cut grass. Flowers and bushes ringed the entire area, adding a splash of color. “The misdemeanor criminal cases are probably a few months out.”
“Good. Um, do I have to stay in Idaho?” His voice cracked as we skirted perfectly tended purple pansies.
“I am not your attorney. But take some advice and go into Washington state for pot from now on. At least it’s kind of legal there.” According to the state, pot was legal, although the federal government disagreed but seemed content to turn a blind eye.
“Okay.” Randy blew out air in a sigh only an eighteen-year-old caught with pot could muster. We headed toward the crosswalk at the corner, and I breathed in the clean scent of cut grass from the center park. “You seem cool to me. How old are you?”
“Old enough to prosecute you,” I said.
He chuckled. The kid needed to leave me alone. My job was to put him in jail, and he wanted to make friends.
He pushed a folded piece of paper in my hand.
“What—” I started to ask.
“Here’s my contact information in case you need to find me. I’m not at the address on the arrest warrant anymore ‘cause I’m staying with my uncle.” A dark flush wandered over his face, and he shuffled his feet before shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Thanks.” I slid the paper into his file. He’d just helped the opposition.
He tensed next to me, his eyes darting around.
I scanned the area. A few cars drove by near the corner, the only place they could drive close before turning along the parking area behind my building, but nothing interesting was going on. “What?”
“Just thought I saw someone.” He hunched his shoulders.
A screech of tires echoed around the corner, and a brown SUV sped near with the window rolled down. A long, black barrel poked out, and a weird pattering filled the air. What the heck?
Out of nowhere, a large body tackled me to the ground and tumbled me toward the bushes, covering me. The wind whooshed out of my lungs. Fear and panic ripped through me. I struggled to breathe; my face pressed sideways into the grass. “Hey!” Dirt filled my nose. The guy over me was hard as January ice over the lake.
Then silence.
He shifted, rolled me over, and tugged me to my feet. Clumps of dirty grass dropped from my suit. I still clutched my files in trembling hands. Paper cut into my thumb. What had just happened?
The world narrowed in focus. I stared up into the deepest, bluest eyes I had ever seen. I knew those eyes. “Aiden,” I whispered. He’d just saved me.
Again.
Chapter 4
“Aingeal,” Aiden murmured. After being free for a day, he looked even better out of the orange jumpsuit. Faded jeans hung low over tight hips under a black T-shirt, giving him even more of a badass look.
“What are you doing here?” I sputtered, trying to regain some sense of reality.
“I was looking for you. Figured we should talk.” His gaze narrowed when I swayed. The world seemed to be spinning oddly again. “Anna, are you all right?” he asked urgently as the sound of sirens trilled through the air. His sensuous lips and lilting speech brought goose bumps to my skin.
“Um, yes. I, ah, well. I have anxiety and night terrors still.” I gulped, trying to breathe. My skin tingled. Panic attack? Probably on its way.
He studied me.
Realization hit, and heat flashed into my face. “Oh. You mean this time.”
He smiled then, and I swear, the sun parted through the clouds. Seriously. “Yeah. I mean this time.” His voice was so gentle, I wanted to cry.
That quickly, I returned to reality. This disaster and danger. My stomach heaved, and my knees buckled. Someone had shot at me. I started to fall.
Strong arms swooped me into the air. “I’ve got you.”
Aidan Devlin had just saved me. Again.
His dark eyebrows lifted as several police vehicles barreled to a stop in their side parking lot. Befuddled, I took stock. My wide gaze landed on Randy, who leaped to his feet, his eyes wild with fear.
“What the fuck?” he bellowed.
I tried to spit out a piece of grass and remember that I was a lawyer, all grown up, and not a terrified ten-year-old kid who’d been kidnapped by a psychopath. “Are you all right, Mr. Taylor?”
Uniformed cops spilled out of the police station. Emergency vehicle doors opened from the parking area, and boots hit the ground.
Randy glared. “Who shot at you?”
Aiden tightened his arms. “I think they were shooting at you, sport.” His voice still hinted of Ireland, the lilting tone sounding like my Mom’s and grounding me for a moment. I leaned my face into the strong cords of his neck and breathed in salt, musk, and man, trying to calm my stomach. Trying to ignore the nerves firing all over my body. He held me easily, securely in his solid arms as I regained my equilibrium. I so didn’t want to puke in front of him.
“It’s all right, Angel.” He pulled me closer, dipping his head to cradle my face in comfort. To shield me on all fronts—from any more hurts. It was the same way he’d held me when he’d saved me before.
Did he remember doing so?
This was crazy. I should stand on my own feet like some modern-day lady of justice. But I didn’t. I burrowed deeper. Into strength and safety. It’s where I had wanted to be for well over a decade. I’m not sure what that says about me, but it’s probably not something to put on a headstone.
“Deep breaths. They’re long gone. No more shooting.” His voice crooned from a magical place, and I concentrated on it, sucking in air, trying to keep from falling into a panic attack. “You control your own mind. Take it somewhere else. Just for a moment.”
My concentration shot straight to the hardness holding me. His breathing remained steady, his stance secure. Man, he was strong. And I liked the way we fit. I shook my head—this was insane, and I needed some space. No matter how many times I’d dreamed of him through the years, I had to pull it together. He was a criminal defendant facing trial, for Pete’s sake. People changed.
The sound of running feet as people barreled out the courthouse doors brought me back to the present. I surveyed the fancy suit I’d borrowed from my sister, Donna. Two jagged rips marred the skirt, but no bullet holes. Thank God. No wounds.
“I’m okay now.” I leaned to look up into his face. “You can put me down.” My arms remained around his neck, and I fought the urge
to play with the thick hair curling over his nape. Feeling safe was almost an aphrodisiac. Who knew?
“I think I’ll keep you for a while.” His gaze ran over my face, his jaw tight. Sounded good. Then he took a quick inventory and blew out a breath. “Ah, sweetheart. You’re bleeding.”
I followed his gaze to my right shoulder. Holy crap. Blood welled, and suddenly my shoulder hurt. A lot.
“Jesus. You got shot,” Randy yelled.
Shot. Bullets and blood. Oh God.
Aiden stalked forward several paces to place me on the stone ledge that cornered the park. Quick movements had my sister’s jacket removed, and him leaning forward to peer at my wound.
Randy sniffed next to us, and I fought the urge to keep from screaming. Panic would only make things worse. My vision hazed. Wasn’t there an artery somewhere close to the bullet hole? Oh no. There was an artery.
“I’m bleeding out,” I sniffed.
Aiden bit back a quick grin. I knew he did, because a dimple flashed in his left cheek for just a second. “You’re okay,” he murmured.
“Hey Devlin.” The other man dressed in black that didn’t hide his intricate neck tattoos jogged up to hand my savior a smartphone. He was one of the guys who’d come into the courthouse the day before.
I blinked to keep conscious. Yep. I could feel the blood just draining out of me.
Aiden straightened and slid the phone into his back pocket. “The bullet burned you, Angel. A Band-Aid will suffice.” He partially turned toward the other man. “Get a first aid kit.”
I glanced down at a bad scrape. Oh. Just a scratch. No artery or spurting blood. Hmm. So much for worrying about my Last Will and Testament.
A spring breeze scattered pine needles across my shoes. I shivered in my light blue camisole, heat rising in my face when I remembered I hadn’t worn a bra. I mean, why would I since I’d kept the jacket on all day? “Ah, er…” My nipples pebbled against the silk.
Disorderly Conduct (The Anna Albertini Files Book 1) Page 3