The Twins (Beautiful Creeps #2)

Chapter One

Rebecca

“I will do everything in my power to keep you out of jail, Emma. We have a very good case.”

“But what if…?” Emma wiped her nose and then sniffed. “What if…they…think that I am guilty of…murdering him? I mean… I did kill him. I did do it.”

I took her hand. Her fingers were disfigured from being broken and not set by a medic. A door slammed on them, apparently. Bastard.

“I’ve been watching the jury for nearly two weeks,” I said. “They are compassionate people, two were visibly upset during your testimony. And there are more women than men, which is good, they are likely to be on your side.”

“I just don’t think it will go my way and—?”

“No more thinking negatively. I have the closing statement prepared, and I’ll deliver mine after the prosecution so it will be my words in the jurors’ minds when they go into deliberation. This is good for us.”

“You think?” She withdrew her hand from mine and searched in her pocket for a clean tissue.

“Yes, I do think.” A fresh wave of determination went through me. “We’re going to get you home to your kids, Emma, it’s the only thing that can happen.”

She blinked, a tear escaping, and set her gaze on mine. “You think? You really think so?”

“I do.” I pulled in a breath and stopped myself from making a promise. After the Burgess case I’d made a pact with myself not to do that to clients; the promise wasn’t mine to make. A jury’s decision could go either way. That was the whole point of the system.

“In that case.” She tilted her chin and set down her shoulders. “I’ll try and think positive thoughts, it might help in that awful courtroom. Anything to block out the atmosphere in there.”

I understood why she didn’t like the austere courtroom.

It was ruled over by Judge Jenkins, firm but fair, and official procedure was his religion.

Nothing was ever out of place, not a word spoken when it shouldn’t be, and no one dared be late for a session—that would result in a fine doled out by him, which was his right.

But I liked the atmosphere. It was my comfort zone and where I did my best work.

It was my stage to present all of those hours of research and preparation.

“Yes, positive thoughts.” I smiled and stood, gathering my notes. “Any minute now and we’ll be going in.”

Knock. Knock

“Ah, here we go.” I walked to the door.

It opened, and a female prison officer jerked her head at Emma. “This way.”

Emma stood. Her hands shook as she smoothed down her plain navy dress.

“Your appearance is fine, perfect,” I said when she started fiddling with her hair, tucking it behind her ears. “Just be yourself. That’s all that you need to do.”

She swallowed and then went ahead of me.

The prison guard stayed close. Emma had been in custody since the killing. Deemed an unpredictable, violent individual and threat to society by someone who had no understanding of domestic violence.

Her two children had spent the last four months in foster care, the very last thing they needed.

I headed into the courtroom. The jury weren’t in yet; they were always the last to arrive.

The prosecuting barrister, Joseph Gooding, was shuffling through his notes.

He was loud, bombastic, dramatic, and I didn’t like his style, it was as though he was a wannabe actor and was making the most of his moment with everyone’s attention on him.

I also didn’t know how he’d been sleeping at night, trying to persuade a jury to send a woman who had been beaten to within an inch of her life, kept under house arrest, raped and drugged, to prison.

Not to say I hadn’t taken on cases I didn’t want to, or didn’t believe in, I had, but these days, now that I was a senior member of the prestigious Oxford based Carter and Harris law firm, I got a say in what I got out of bed for.

Soon Judge Jenkin’s courtroom was full. There were two journalists waiting to take notes on the summation of the case for the local paper. The jury were in, poker-faced and stiff-shouldered.

I glanced at the public gallery, and my heart did a strange little skip.

Why is he here?

Finn Sullivan.

Chiseled features, sleek dark hair, and perfect amount of stubble, the sight of him chased all thoughts of the case from my mind.

Because he had been on my mind. Ever since I’d met him the previous week, or rather helped him get out of a sticky situation that had landed him in a police cell, I’d been having distinctly dirty thoughts about what I could do with his honed and toned body.

His intense gaze bore into mine, and the right side of his mouth tipped into an almost imperceptible smile.

It was clear he was there for me.

To watch me.

See me in action.

I’d agreed to dinner with him on Friday. Perhaps, like me, he’d thought that was too long to wait.

I cleared my throat and turned away from him, pulled in a deep breath. I had a job to do, and a handsome guy with a seductive Irish accent was not going to distract me.

The prosecution, Joseph, stood in a bluster of self-importance and began his closing. His language was sharp and emotive. He concentrated mainly on why Emma had a gun in the first place, a premeditated crime, he said, and rattled on about her being an unfit mother.

I’d learned to control my anger in these situations. It was a case that should never have come to the criminal court. But here we were, and it was up to me to convince the jury that Emma was no more a danger to society than I was.

Because in all honesty, I would have shot her abusive asshole husband too. Probably long before she had.

When Joseph finished, the jury were wide-eyed. Some had taken notes and some had their arms folded, giving nothing away.

Judge Jenkins gave me look. I resisted glancing up at Finn, though I could practically feel his gaze on me—a heated dark caress that lay like a blanket over my shoulders.

I stood. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have been witness to the evidence put before you in the case of the Crown versus Emma Tippin, and I hope you will come to the right conclusion. The only conclusion. And that is to find Emma Tippin not guilty of murdering Daniel Tippin. Why do I say this?” I gestured to Emma who was seated behind a glass screen and flanked by two police officers.

“Because it is a truth. This woman is not a murderer. She is a victim of domestic abuse. Evil, coercive domestic abuse that, as you have seen, nearly took her life on several occasions. You have observed with your own eyes the photos of the bruising, the strangulation marks, you have seen for yourself the deformities in her hands from having them slammed repeatedly in doors.” I paused and studied each juror individually.

“Wouldn’t you feel murderous if someone had subjected you to such torture? ”

“Objection.” Joseph jumped up. “Inappropriate statement.”

“Ms. Saunders, please stick to the facts.” Judge Jenkins frowned at me.

“Yes, Your Honor.” I resisted a shrug; what did it matter?

The words were out there now and in the jurors’ minds.

“You have heard from Emma how she got the gun, illegally yes, she’s admitted that crime.

She’s also admitted that she had it for self-defense.

Her husband had fists and knives and rope, she had a gun, a fair fight, I’d say, especially when she had two children to defend from his vicious and violent temper.

” Again I paused. “And you’ll remember how little Sammy had started to get beatings for trying to protect his mummy and on one occasion he was thrown down the stairs, resulting in a fractured wrist.”

I studied my notes, again letting the information settle.

I took a sip of water and cleared my throat.

“On the night of the attack, we have heard of Mr. Tippin’s drunken rage, neighbors have sat in the stand and concurred with Emma’s statement.

His words clearly heard through the wall…

and what were those words? Do you remember?

I’m sure you do, no decent human would be able to forget them. ” I set my attention on Emma.

A single tear ran down her face.

I went on. “I am going to kill your ugly children, gut them and make you watch, you bitch, and then I’m going to gut you, but keep you alive so you suffer for as long as possible.

And then, you’re all going in a hole I’ve already prepared in Standon Forest. It’s there, your hole, waiting for you, for all of you.

You’ll be in the dirt, the shit, where you belong, whore. ”

A shudder went through me. It wasn’t the first time this had happened during this particular case. Daniel Tippin had been the devil himself and was no doubt partying in Hell right now.

One of the jurors let out a small sob and wiped the corner of her left eye.

Good. That was what I wanted. Understanding, empathy, a clear picture of the moments before Emma had pulled the trigger and put a bullet through the bastard’s heart.

If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be here now.

“And we heard, from Emma herself, how she huddled in the bedroom, the children tucked behind her, and begged for their lives. How Daniel raged, how he smashed through the door, a carving knife in his hand. We’ve heard how she truly believed she and her children were about to die.

That they were breathing their last breaths and this man was going to murder them all.

” I paused, and for some reason my gaze went up to the public gallery.

Finn was steely-faced, his mouth a tight straight line, and his shoulders drawn up as though he were a spring ready to burst into action.

He tilted his chin and held my gaze.

I turned away. “Can you imagine that moment? Can you put yourself in Emma’s place—?”

“Objection.” Joseph stood, raising his arm and wafting his robe dramatically.

Judge Jenkins frowned. “Stick to the facts, Ms. Saunders.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” I nodded. “This was self defense, nothing more and nothing less. Emma had a right to defend herself and her children from a monster who had shown in the past just how violent he was, and was now threatening and planning to kill them in the most gruesome and horrific of ways. Why this is being tried as a criminal case God only knows.”

“Ms. Saunders.” Judge Jenkins banged his hammer. “You have been warned.”

“I am finished.” I held up my hands, palms facing forward.

“And I hope the jury will come to a ‘not guilty’ verdict so that Emma and her children can rebuild their lives after this catastrophic event and the violence and misery of the last eight years. And…” I placed my hands on my hips.

“So that we can continue striving to end violence against women and girls, not just in this country but around the world.” I steadied my gaze on each juror in turn.

“Violence against women and girls is a global pandemic that must be stopped. I think, actually I know , all of you good people agree.”

They all held my unwavering, determined stare for a few moments.

And then I sat and neatened my notes by tapping their bases on the table.

My heart was pounding. Had I done enough? Had I hit the right note? I hoped so. It was my best shot. It was all I had.

Emma was being led out with her shoulders hunched and dabbing at her face.

I conjured a vision of her at home—a new home, safe, smiling, and with her children, this part of her life tucked away in the past. That was what I wanted for her, and maybe if I thought enough about it, it would happen.

“Good luck,” Joseph said to me.

“Thanks,” I muttered. Luck shouldn’t be anything to do with the justice system. It was about truth and facts, nothing more and nothing less.

The courtroom emptied. I was permitted to leave but I had to stay in the building.

The jury could come back in at any moment with their verdict.

If they were out for less than two hours it meant all twelve had reached the same conclusion.

After that they only had to get a majority of ten to reach a verdict.

I was last to leave the courtroom, and as I did so I glanced upward.

Finn was gone. The public gallery was empty.

A little pang of disappointment hit me, and I realized that I’d hoped to speak to him.

Clearly, he was busy doing whatever it was he did.

I headed down the corridor to the communal office I used when in court. The ceilings of the old building were high, and drab landscape paintings in dusty frames hung above a dado rail. I passed a water cooler and a cleaning trolley then turned a corner. There was no one around.

“Hey.”

Suddenly a hand wrapped around my upper arm, and I was pulled to the right.

“What the…?” My breath caught, and I spun. “Finn?”

He grinned devilishly at me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Shh, I’m not supposed to be here.”

“Too right you’re not.” There was still no one in sight. “How did you get in here?”

“I have my ways.” He tapped the side of his nose and grinned.

“But…there’s…”

“It doesn’t matter.” He glanced to his right and then reached for a door handle. He pushed the door open. It had a small brass sign on it that read Stationery . “Come in here.”

“I can’t. We…”

I didn’t say anymore because the sexy Irish guy I’d been fantasizing about wrapped his arm around my waist and tugged me into a dark, quiet cupboard and shut out the world.