Final Verdict. Jessica R. Patch

FIVE

       SIX

       SEVEN

       EIGHT

       NINE

       TEN

       ELEVEN

       TWELVE

       THIRTEEN

       FOURTEEN

       FIFTEEN

       Extract

       Copyright

       ONE

      Aurora Daniels inhaled the scent of justice wafting through the courtroom. Winning the motion would come at a grave price, no doubt. Every case she tried did. But her seventeen-year-old client, Austin Bledsoe, could be rehabilitated. It wasn’t in the interest of justice to try the boy as an adult. To toss away the key on a kid who needed a champion, an advocate. A boy who reminded her remarkably of her older brother, Richie.

      The courtroom had emptied several minutes ago, and she carefully placed her documents inside her briefcase, taking her time and hoping a mob wouldn’t be waiting for her once she stepped foot into full-on February. Not nearly as frigid as Chicago temperatures, but Hope, Tennessee, could produce incredibly bitter wind and, occasionally, snow.

      “Watch your back, Counselor.”

      Aurora plopped her phone into her coat pocket and whipped her head in the direction of the low but smooth male voice. Sheriff Beckett Marsh loomed at the doors to the courtroom, onyx eyebrows furrowing over intense eyes that matched his dark mood.

      “You threatening me, Sheriff?” Beckett was honest and noble, but he was as fired up over the outcome of today’s motion as the Russell family. Her heart pinched as she thought of them grieving in the right front row. But someone had to do this job. She had to.

      “Warning.” He uncrossed his right ankle from his left, pushed off the door frame and stalked her way, heavy work boots clunking on the freshly polished hardwood. He folded his muscular arms across his chest and Aurora worked to keep her wits. Beckett Marsh was ridiculously fit and attractive, but he wasn’t a fan of hers professionally or—apparently—personally. Most law enforcers didn’t care for defense attorneys. Especially those who were good at their profession. “You realize you’ve taken a murderer and allowed him to be slapped on the wrist.”

      Aurora raised her chin. “Austin Bledsoe has had no trouble with the law. He makes decent grades. His grandmother passed away two weeks ago. She was his only stability.” Stability was everything she’d always wanted and never had, which was why she’d promised herself that, when she became an adult, she’d do whatever necessary to gain it. Enter accepting the position at Benard, Lowenstein & Meyer. What a nightmare that had turned out to be.

      Beckett snorted. “So that makes drinking a bottle of Old Crow and gettin’ drunker than Cooter Brown before plowing into a decent woman—on her way to church, no less—okay?”

      “What he did was far from acceptable.” Aurora’s stomach knotted. “He made a fatal mistake in his grief, and he will face consequences—crushing guilt for the rest of his life, for one—but he won’t be thrown away forever. He can be rehabilitated. I know it.” Too bad she couldn’t be rehabbed from her past shortcomings. No matter how many times her mentor promised her that God could free her from the guilt she carried, she couldn’t muster enough faith to believe it.

      “Well, Bethany Russell can’t be.”

      Aurora dropped her head, torn between championing her client for a second chance and understanding the agonizing pain of the Russell family. She mourned her brother daily. They’d been close. If he could have hung on until she’d graduated law school and got ahold of those case files to exonerate him... But he had slipped away too soon. “I know that, too. Truth is no one won here today. No one.”

      “Guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.” Beckett ran his tongue along his full bottom lip. “In the meantime, you’ve got a big portion of the town in an uproar, and when you walk outside the courthouse it won’t be the wind bitin’ at your throat. It’ll be grieving friends and family who expected a better outcome.”

      Aurora swallowed down a rush of anxiety. “Well...I appreciate the colorful depiction of my near future.” She tried to slide by Beckett, but he grasped her forearm.

      “Counselor, I cared about Bethany Russell and her family. And this town—this county. I’ll do whatever I need to in order to protect the people who live here. My warning isn’t to slice you. You’re a citizen of Hope. I want you safe, so be careful.” The edge in his eyes tempered a fraction and he released his civil grip.

      “Thank you.”

      He jammed his hands into his coat pockets. “You want me to walk you to your car?”

      She viewed the doors leading to the steps that would take her to her vehicle and to the throng of people who hated her for doing her job—for believing that everyone was entitled to a fair trial. They didn’t understand that sometimes she disliked her clients more than anyone. Tossing her glance in Beckett’s direction, she shook her head. “I’m used to unkind words and threats, Sheriff. I’ve handled much worse.” She still felt the stab anyway.

      Beckett’s eyebrows lifted. “You talking about losing Severin Renzetti’s case in Chicago and angering a crime family two years ago?”

      Aurora wasn’t surprised the sheriff had done a background check on her. He was meticulous. Thorough. A former navy SEAL. The man who had a hand in taking down a major Mexican cartel back in June when his now good buddy, Holt McKnight, had come to town undercover for the DEA.

      She wouldn’t even be in his town of Hope if she hadn’t been asked to resign over a stupid, overconfident slipup in the courtroom. She wouldn’t be lying low here in hopes that Franco Renzetti, head of the largest crime family in Chicago, hadn’t changed his mind and decided to seek further retribution for his son, Severin Renzetti’s conviction. She thought of muttering a few prayers for safety, but passed. She didn’t deserve them.

      Aurora ignored Beckett’s observation and opened the ornate wooden doors. The wintry gusts charged down her scarf and gray peacoat, forcing a shiver into her bones.

      Squaring her shoulders, she met the crowd head-on and proceeded down the concrete steps, keeping her face masked from emotion. In Chicago, dozens of cameras had been thrust in front of her nose, reporters’ voices toppling over each other as they begged for the scoop. Asking how it felt losing a case she had been confident of winning. Asking if the rumors of her and Severin Renzetti being romantically involved were true. They weren’t. But the media skewed every detail.

      Severin had been charming, though. He’d been