Chapter 18
Gemma clasped her hands together, clammy and cold. She was standing at the closed door to her courtroom, unable to cross the threshold. Dizzy, she leaned against the wall.
On the other side of that doorway the trial of her lifetime awaited, and it had nothing to do with the case. She was being tested, her commitment to the law coming face-to-face with her concern for another human being.
She turned the doorknob, propelling herself into that other dimension before she could stop.
All rise.
She made her way to her seat behind the bench and sat down. Could they see what she was going through? The stress that threatened to crush her, that nearly stopped her breath?
The bailiff was speaking. Gemma’s eyes finally lifted to meet those of the defendants, Jax Andersson and Leo Wilson. Logan called him Cowboy. They looked like military men, fit and trim with short hair and steely faces.
Men with integrity, Logan said.
Unlike herself.
She wanted to be sick.
It’s not too late. You can call the FBI and put a stop to this miscarriage of justice before it begins.
But there was another man to consider. Royce’s life hung in the balance, and one wrong move could cause his abductors to kill him.
Please don’t let it be glaringly obvious that I’ve been corrupted. Please let there be at least some convincing evidence of their guilt.
The lawyers began opening arguments. They went by quickly, and Gemma felt like a passenger on a roller coaster going down a steep hill with no power to stop the ride.
But you can stop it.
All she had to do was speak up.
What about Royce?
He was a judge himself, one of the highest in the state. He of all people would sympathize with her dilemma. She imagined Royce in her predicament. What would he do in the same situation?
All you have to do is interrupt the proceeding.
She picked up her gavel, her fingers gripping the wooden handle tightly. It felt foreign, somehow strange beneath her hand and she turned it in her palm.
Crudely engraved into the wooden handle were three words.
WE’RE WATCHING YOU.
She dropped the gavel as if she’d been burned. She stood. The prosecutor abruptly stopped talking. A hush fell over the room.
Her eyes scanned the courtroom, going from face to face. There were too many people, too many sets of eyeballs staring back at her, and at least one of them was a monster.
She found her voice. “The court will take a short recess.” She rushed to her chambers, slamming the door behind her like she’d narrowly escaped Hades itself.
She was hyperventilating, her lungs taking in more air than she knew what to do with. She bent at the waist and grabbed the couch, pulling herself onto it.
There was pounding on her chamber door and terror flashed through her. Had she locked the door behind her when she came in? “Who is it?”
“Logan.”
She rushed to the door and opened it a crack. Her secretary wasn’t at her desk, thank goodness. “What are you doing?” she bit out. “You can’t be seen talking to me.”
“What happened back there? You looked like you saw a ghost.”
Her eyes went from side to side, then she pulled him into her office.
“They got to the bench. I don’t know how.
The room’s always locked when court’s not in session, but somehow they got to the bench.
My gavel was engraved—somebody scraped it out with something sharp—and it said, ‘we’re watching you’. ”
She heard herself tripping over her words, knew she was barely making sense.
“Just now? That was written on your gavel?”
She nodded quickly, a noise that was half sob, half laugh escaping her mouth. “What do I do? They’re out there right now, in the courtroom.”
“Maybe. Or else they just wanted to scare you into thinking they were there.”
“Well it worked, okay? They scared me.”
He touched her upper arms and she pulled away. “Not now. Please don’t touch me.”
“Call off the rest of the trial for today. You’re not going to make it back out there like this.”
“I said we’d take a short recess.”
“So pick up the phone and tell them you changed your mind. You’re not feeling well. Anyone who saw you in that courtroom will believe it in a heartbeat. Then you’re coming with me to HERO Force.”
“I can’t do that! What if the kidnappers see me?”
“We’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.” He pulled his polo shirt over his head. “Take my clothes.”
“Have you lost your mind? You’re a gangly six-foot-God-knows-what man, and I’m a short little woman.”
“Just put it on.”
She did as he said, unzipping her robe and hanging it up on a hook.
“Lucky for you, I’m wearing shorts today,” he said, stepping out of them and handing them to her.
“If your shorts fit me, I’m going to kill myself.”
“I have a belt.”
She fastened it around her waist. “I look ridiculous. I certainly don’t look like a man.”
“Hard to look like a guy with that rack.” He winked at her. “But you look a lot less attractive than you usually do. Do you happen to have a hat?”
“Bottom right desk drawer.”
He pulled it out, reading, “Happy Seventieth Birthday Judge Hollurman.” He handed it to her. “Put your hair up.”
She did as he said. “You’re standing in my chambers in your underwear.”
“You like?”
She gestured to his feet. “Maybe without the socks.”
He smiled. “Next time.”
“What are you going to wear?”
“I was thinking your robe would look pretty fantastic on me.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t wear that. Everyone in the building will look at you and realize you’re not one of the judges.”
He shrugged. “So I’ll claim to be a singing telegram guy. I’m certainly not old enough to be a judge.”
“I hate you right now.”
“You look terrible.”
“Where am I going?”
“The Ferrari’s parked in the west lot. The keys are in your pocket. I’ll be twenty feet behind you, hot stuff. Now, lead the way.”