2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Brooklyn Sloane January 2025 Monday — 8:37 am
The overpowering scent of disinfectant filled the courtroom, quelling the hint of lemon from the polish used on the benches in the gallery. The janitorial staff did their best to erase any hint of previous occupants, but there was nothing they could do about the suffocating air that made it a struggle to breathe. Such heavy despair was impossible to eradicate when one waited for the scales of justice to prevail in one’s favor.
“Your Honor,” the defense attorney interjected as he abruptly stood from his chair. He waved his pen toward the prosecutor’s table. “The chain of custody regarding the physical evidence is questionable at best.”
Brook observed the man’s body language, and she noted an arrogant confidence in his stance. Mitch Norona wasn’t green behind the ears, but he wasn’t the run-of-the-mill public defender, either. The tailored suit he wore was sharp, stylish, and extremely expensive. It was apparent from his mannerisms and the tone of his voice that he wasn’t just presenting a case. He was strategizing and planning each move like a skilled chess player, and she had just lost a piece on the board.
How had she not known her brother had hired an experienced defense attorney?
Every single call and visitor to the federal prison where Jacob Walsh was being held was recorded and reported back to her. As far as she was aware, Mitch Norona had never spoken to her brother, let alone made contact of any kind.
Brook was seated in the back row of the gallery. The low murmurs of discussion between the federal prosecuting attorney and his paralegal could be heard over the occasional rustle of papers and the shuffling of feet. They would adamantly maintain their position that everything had been in order before and after Stella Bennett’s remains had been discovered at an abandoned campsite located in the state of Illinois.
Stella Bennett—Jacob’s first victim back in 1996.
Brook couldn’t prevent the tightness in her chest in response to the fear that the judge would deliver in favor of the defense. The absence of Jacob in the courtroom did little to alleviate her tension. It wasn’t difficult to imagine him in his cell whistling an upbeat tune while he had others do his bidding for him. She no longer obsessed over the memories of him watching Sunday morning cartoons with her like any other sibling being raised in a functional home.
Jacob had proven himself to be inhuman in her eyes a very long time ago.
The efforts her brother had taken to locate his last victim—who had miraculously survived his attack—had been astonishing to everyone except Brook. Jacob had willingly surrendered to the FBI in hopes of luring Sarah Evanston out of the witness protection program. His strategy had proved effective, too. Fortunately, Brook had seen to it that Sarah understood the repercussions of her actions. Sarah had eventually returned to the program, and the FBI had ultimately discovered Stella Bennett’s remains with Brook’s assistance.
However, this trial would serve every victim who had died by Jacob’s hand.
“Every step has been followed to the letter, Your Honor,” the prosecutor countered, his demeanor unwavering and resolute. “There is no reason to doubt the validity of the evidence.”
Beside her, Graham Elliott reached out and covered her hands with his, stilling the restless spinning she was achieving on her worry ring. The familiar habit of her subconscious displayed her inner turmoil. It was in moments like this that she became acutely aware of just how much her life had changed over the past few years.
Graham had retired from his position as Commanding General Marine Forces Special Operations Command (MARSOC) years ago, but he remained deeply integrated with the military through government contracts. He had initially sought her out to help solve his daughter’s murder, which had subsequently coincided with Brook’s decision not to renew her consulting contract with the FBI as a profiler. The result had been the two of them entering a business arrangement as silent partners in S&E Investigations, Inc.
Their partnership went beyond just business, though.
Graham never kept hidden his desire to want more from her, and she found herself taking that step with him. Jacob had done his best to ensure she didn’t have a normal life, but she was damn close. So close that she had almost crossed a line last night by declaring three very special words.
Brook pushed the recent memory away as she welcomed the comforting warmth from Graham’s hand. She had originally been drawn to his strength, but it was his unshakable faith in her that drew her to him. In his mind, she wasn’t just a serial killer’s sister.
The gavel hitting the sound block brought Brook’s attention back to the proceedings at hand. Both attorneys had gotten rather heated in their arguments, and she braced herself for an unwelcome outcome.
“Having heard the arguments presented by both sides," Judge Colletti stated in an authoritative tone, “I find that the physical evidence may be presented to the jury during trial.”
The judge’s words registered, but Brook couldn’t bring herself to reduce the tension in her muscles. Mitch Norona didn’t come across as the type of attorney who took losses gracefully. He would continue his pursuit to get this trial thrown out, which meant that she would resume seeking additional evidence for the federal prosecutor to present to the jury.
The terror and pain Stella Bennett must have endured was unfathomable. A twelve-year-old girl did not expect a boy of similar age to viciously attack her with a knife. No one deserved to have their faces carved with a sharp blade until their skin was barely hanging on by a thread before having their throats slit.
How was it possible for such a young boy to harbor so much hatred for the world?
“Defense and prosecution will convene three weeks from today to select the jury pool,” Judge Colletti announced before once again banging his gavel on the sound block in dismissal.
Everyone stood upon the directive of the bailiff.
Graham released her hand to gather their coats, taking his body heat with him. She would have rubbed her fingers together to produce some semblance of warmth, but she stopped herself just in time. Norona had peered over his shoulder, and his intense gaze was aimed at her. She had missed it before, but there wasn’t a hint of curiosity in his expression as he studied her.
“Brooklyn?”
Graham had already made his way to the aisle, pausing when she hadn’t immediately followed his lead. She picked up her purse, taking the time to secure the strap over her shoulder. What had she missed in piecing together Jacob’s movements in the months leading up to his surrender? He had a natural ability to manipulate people, but Norona’s firm was out of Baltimore.
When in her brother’s travels had the two men crossed paths?
“I can rearrange my flight,” Graham offered as they made their way out into the hallway. He set his black coat on the bench against the far wall. Several people were still milling about, but he paid them no mind as he carefully held her scarf under the lapel of her wool coat. Brook set her purse down next to his belongings. “Gus can drive us back to the office, and we can—”
“I’m fine,” Brook murmured, cutting off his offer. She turned to face him after slipping her arms inside the sleeves of her coat and fastening the middle button. “I’d rather have you here in three weeks.”
“Then I’ll do what is necessary to make that happen.” Graham reached out and gently brushed his fingers down her cheek. “Walk with me?”
The soft vibration of her phone could be heard from the corner pocket of her purse. One of her team members was no doubt wondering how the court proceeding had gone this morning. In all likelihood, all four of them were gathered in the conference room waiting for an update.
Brook made no move to reach for her phone. Instead, she wrapped her fingers around Graham’s left wrist and drew his arm up until she could read the face of his Tag Heuer watch.
“You're already running twenty minutes late for your flight.”
“I’m not worried. Gus knows some shortcuts.”
“Go,” Brook directed him softly as she rested her hand on his suit jacket. “And…thank you for coming with me today.”
Extending such appreciation didn’t come naturally to her. Before Graham could respond, the doors across the hallway suddenly opened and revealed Mitch Norona. He had a cell phone pressed to his ear while holding his briefcase in the other hand. His attention landed directly on her before turning his focus to Graham.
The defense attorney was wise to walk in the other direction.
“If you don’t answer your phone, Bit is liable to access the security feeds of the courthouse.” Graham waited for her to tear her gaze away from Norona. The left side of Graham’s mouth lifted in dry humor. “Splitting our time between two trials isn’t in our best interests.”
Brook hadn’t been the only one who had evolved over the past few years. Bobby “Bit” Nowacki had transformed from a distrustful introvert into a confidant colleague whose technical experience rivaled those employed in the FBI’s cybersecurity unit. His workspace at S&E Investigations was less of an office and more of a command center with countless monitors, tangled webs of cables, and cutting-edge tech gadgets. While the Bureau’s interest in Bit had more to do with his previous interactions with a Russian racketeer, Brook didn’t kid herself that they wouldn’t attempt to utilize his talents if given a chance.
“I’ll call you in the morning.” Graham lifted her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her fingers. “Be safe, Brooklyn.”
Somalia was seven hours ahead, which meant that he would be calling her at the end of his day. She monitored his progress down the hall after he had collected his coat. Had she asked him to stay, he wouldn’t have hesitated to do so. The simple knowledge that he would be sitting next to her during the jury selection spoke volumes about his underlying commitment to her.
Would there come a time when he would ask for more?
The insistent vibrations of her phone had her reaching into her purse. Oddly enough, the caller wasn’t a team member. The name on the display was Jordan Miles, CEO of Miles Therapeutics. He was also someone who owed her a favor. Several, in fact. He repaid her through the use of his private jet when her team worked on investigations in different locations.
As far as Brook was aware, the firm hadn’t initiated any such request recently.
“Sloane.”
“Brook, I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I need your help.” Jordan's voice came through the line, strained and urgent. “I was arrested last night…for murdering my wife.”