Chapter 15 #2
The color drained from Miller's face. Dawson's expression shifted from triumphant to furious in a heartbeat.
"You're bluffing," he said.
"Am I?" I tilted my head slightly. "Agent Morrison was very interested in what I had to share."
That was only partially true—I'd sent Agent Georginna Morrison a detailed email outlining everything, but I hadn't actually spoken to her yet. Dawson didn't need to know that, though.
"You have nothing," Dawson spat. "And even if you did, it doesn't change the fact that you're under arrest. Both of you."
"Oh, I'm aware." I smiled, and I saw uncertainty flicker in his eyes. "In fact, I was counting on it."
"What?"
"I knew you'd arrest us the moment we came back to town," I said. "Which is why I arranged for a special arraignment this afternoon. Judge Farinholt is expecting us at two o'clock."
Dawson stared at me. "What?"
"Judge Farinholt," I repeated slowly, like I was explaining something to a very stupid child. "I contacted his office and requested an emergency hearing. He was very accommodating once I explained the circumstances."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"You can't—" Dawson started.
"I can, and I did." I kept my voice pleasant, professional.
"You see, Sheriff, the body you've been investigating—Stephen Bentley's body—was found on federal land.
Which means this case falls under federal jurisdiction, not state.
Which means you have no authority to hold my client.
Which means every piece of evidence you've collected, every interrogation you've conducted has been outside your legal purview. "
Dawson's face shifted from red to purple. "That's bullshit—"
"It's the law," I said calmly. "And Judge Farinholt is waiting. So unless you want to add contempt of court to your growing list of professional violations, I suggest you escort us to the courtroom."
For a long moment, Dawson just stared at me, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. I caught the rage boiling behind his eyes, the desperate desire to lash out, to hurt me, to make me pay for outmaneuvering him.
But he couldn't. Not here, not now, not with witnesses.
"Fine," he bit out. "Miller, Patterson—take them to courtroom three."
"Actually," a new voice said from behind us, "I'll take them from here."
I turned to see Kelsey striding down the hallway, her heels clicking authoritatively on the linoleum. She was dressed in a sharp gray suit, her dark blonde hair pulled back in a bun, and she carried a leather briefcase I recognized as mine.
Relief flooded through me so intensely I almost sagged.
"Hello, Randall," she said, extending her hand to Dawson with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm assisting Ms. Potter with case materials for this hearing. I trust you have no objection?"
Dawson looked like he wanted to object very much, but he couldn't.
"Ten minutes," he growled. "Then we're going in."
"That will be sufficient." I turned to Miller and Patterson. "Gentlemen, if you could remove our restraints? We're hardly flight risks at this point."
Miller looked to Dawson, who gave a reluctant nod. The deputy pulled out a knife and cut through Kael's zip ties, then unlocked my handcuffs. The relief of having my hands free was immediate and profound.
"Thank you," I said, rubbing my wrists. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we need to prepare."
Kelsey led us to a small conference room off the main hallway—barely more than a closet with a table and four chairs, but it was private. The moment the door closed behind us, she set the briefcase on the table and turned to me.
"Everything you sent is printed and organized," she said, flipping open the case.
"Motion to dismiss, jurisdictional brief, Dr. Atkins's autopsy report—which, by the way, officially states that Stephen Bentley's death was accidental, all injuries consistent with a fall from significant height resulting in a broken neck. "
"Perfect." I reached for the documents, scanning them quickly.
Everything was exactly as I'd drafted it during a stop on the way back to town—the hour I'd spent hunched over my laptop in a McDonald's parking lot, using their wifi to research case law and file emergency motions while Kael paced outside like a caged animal.
"Sarah," Kael said, his voice tight. "We need to talk."
"We will," I said, not looking up from the documents. "After the hearing."
"No. Now." He moved around the table, putting himself between me and the paperwork. "I'm not letting you do this."
I looked up at him, saw the desperation in his eyes, the fear he was trying so hard to hide. "Do what?"
"Take the fall for me." His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
"I know what you're planning, Sarah. You're going to argue that I'm innocent, that the case should be dismissed, and then Dawson is going to charge you with obstruction and aiding and abetting and Gods knows what else.
You're going to sacrifice your career, your freedom, everything—"
"Kael—"
"No." He shook his head sharply. "I won't allow it. I'm going to confess. I'm going to tell them I killed Stephen, that I kidnapped you, that I forced you to help me. I'll say whatever I have to say to protect you."
I stared at him, at this incredible, infuriating, self-sacrificing man who was willing to throw away his freedom—his life—to save mine.
"You can't do that," I said quietly.
"Watch me."
"Kael." I set down the documents and moved closer to him, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "Do you trust me?"
He made a frustrated sound. "That's not—"
"Do you trust me?" I repeated, more firmly. "Yes or no."
His jaw clenched, and I saw the war raging behind his eyes—the desperate need to protect me battling against the promise he'd made to let me handle this.
"Yes," he said finally, the word rough. "With everything I am."
"Then let me do what I do best." I reached up and placed my hand on his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath my palm.
"Sarah—"
"I'm not going to lose," I said, and I meant it. "I'm not going to let Dawson win. I'm not going to let him hurt you or me or anyone else. But I need you to trust me. I need you to walk into that courtroom and let me handle this. Can you do that?"
For a long moment, he just stared at me, his breathing harsh and uneven. I smelled that sharp, metallic scent again—fear and fury and something else, something that smelled like smoke and burning wood.
Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Okay," he said hoarsely. "But if anything goes wrong—"
"It won't."
"But if it does—"
"Then you have my permission to break down the door and carry me out caveman-style," I said, trying for levity even though my heart was racing. "Deal?"
His lips twitched, almost a smile. "Deal."
Kelsey cleared her throat, her knowing gaze telling me I had a lot of explaining to do later. "Hate to interrupt, but we have about three minutes before Dawson comes looking for us. Sarah, do you want to review the argument one more time?"
"No." I turned back to the table, gathering the documents and organizing them in the order I'd need them. "I know what I'm going to say."
"And if Dawson tries to—"
"He'll bluster and threaten and do everything he can to intimidate the judge," I said calmly. "But Farinholt is a fair man with thirty years on the bench. He doesn't intimidate easily."
"You're sure about this?" Kelsey asked, her eyes searching mine.
"I'm sure."
A knock on the door made us all turn. Patterson's voice came through the wood: "Time's up. Judge is ready for you."
I took a deep breath, smoothing down my blouse and checking my reflection in the small mirror on the wall. I looked tired—shadows under my eyes, hair slightly mussed from the handcuffs—but I looked professional. Competent. Like a lawyer who knew exactly what she was doing.
Even if my hands were shaking slightly as I picked up my briefcase.
"Ready?" Kelsey asked.
I glanced at Kael one more time. He was watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch, his amber eyes burning with something I didn't dare name. I took his hand and squeezed it, feeling him settle at my touch.
"Ready," I said.
We filed out of the conference room and down the hallway toward courtroom three. Dawson was waiting outside the doors, his arms crossed and his expression thunderous. Behind him stood Miller and Patterson, along with two other deputies I recognized but couldn't name.
"About time," Dawson growled. "Judge is waiting."
"Then let's not keep him waiting any longer," I said pleasantly.
I pushed open the courtroom doors and stepped inside.
The courtroom was smaller than the main trial rooms, designed for quick hearings and arraignments rather than full trials.
The gallery was empty except for a court reporter and a bailiff standing near the judge's bench.
At the prosecution table sat Conner Barrish, the assistant district attorney. He hated Orcs as much as Dawson did.
And behind the bench, looking stern and unimpressed, sat Judge Harold Farinholt.
He was in his late sixties, with silver hair and sharp blue eyes that missed nothing. I'd appeared before him twice before, and I knew him to be fair but exacting. He didn't tolerate nonsense, didn't care about politics or pressure, and he had a reputation for following the law to the letter.
Exactly the kind of judge I needed.
"Ms. Potter," he said as I approached the defense table. "I received your emergency motion. Quite the allegations you've made."
"All supported by evidence, Your Honor," I said, setting my briefcase on the table and pulling out the documents. "Which I'm prepared to present."
"I'm sure you are." His gaze shifted to Kael, who had taken a seat beside me, and then to Dawson, who was standing near the prosecution table looking like he wanted to set something on fire. "Sheriff Dawson, I understand you have objections to this hearing?"
"Damn right I do," Dawson said, his voice tight with barely controlled rage. "This is a county matter, Your Honor. Ms. Potter is trying to—"