Witness… And Wife?. Kate Stevenson

decent piece on drugs. But not everyone had access to Wainright. One of the best-known judges in the state, he was celebrated for hard-nosed justice when dealing with the drug cases that passed through his courtroom.

      And he never gave personal interviews.

      Cassie, however, held a trump card. Wainright and Pop had sat on the bench together, and even better, they’d remained friends after her father had retired to teach law.

      She’d been certain Wainright would assist her in her mission. Though she’d seen him only occasionally in recent years, she still recalled his visits to the family home in Denver. His imposing figure, the air of reserved authority that clung to him, as well as her father’s obvious respect for the man’s integrity, had all combined to make an indelible impression on her young mind. Wainright was one of the few men Pop truly admired, and given half a chance, he’d expound for hours on some of the judge’s more famous cases. “Mark my word,” Pop would say. “Some day you’ll see Wainright on the Supreme Court.”

      A crack of thunder split the muffling quiet. At almost the same instant the room brightened with a flash of lightning. Startled from her musings, Cassie checked her watch.

      6:15.

      In spite of her determination to be patient, she frowned. Where was he? She was positive she hadn’t garbled the message, yet it wasn’t like Wainright to overlook an appointment, and she’d only been five minutes late.

      Maybe she’d misread his tone, mistaken distraction for urgency. Or he could have hoped to fit her in before another meeting, then decided not to wait when she didn’t show. After all, he couldn’t be sure she’d received his message in time to come.

      A glance at the window told her nothing had changed outside. Rain buffeted the building, rippling the clear glass like a fun-house mirror. Unwilling to brave the weather again so soon, she decided to give him more time. Half an hour. If he hadn’t come by then, she’d leave a note and call in the morning.

      Shadows crept across the carpet until she was finally on the outer fringe of lamplight, the darkness pressing at her back. The air in the room grew heavy and oppressive, a result of excessive humidity, she felt sure. But knowing the cause didn’t calm the jittery feeling in her stomach nor make breathing any easier. When she felt an eternity had passed she tilted her wrist.

      6:20.

      Maybe she should find the guard and ask for help locating the judge. She rose from the chair, then hesitated. What if Wainright showed up while she was gone?

      A barely audible scraping sound, like the whisper of cord across metal, emanated from the room on the other side of the desk.

      Cassie froze, hairs rising on the nape of her neck. When the sound failed to repeat itself, she let out the stale air locked in her lungs. She paced to the window and peered into the dreary landscape, feeling more sympathetic toward Noah than she ever had during years of Sunday school.

      Air shifted against her back. Her heart thudded.

      Get a grip, woman! Next, you’ll be seeing ghosts.

      She smiled nervously. Cassie Bowers never let her imagination run away with her. She was too sensible, too down-to-earth. Why, if a ghost had dared rear its head, she would have laughed it back into the grave.

      Although she’d checked her watch mere moments ago, she looked again… 6:22. She pressed her lips together and decided her nerves couldn’t take eight more minutes.

      Her mind made up, she crossed to the desk, intent on scribbling a quick note. Something halted her hand as she reached for the notepad next to the lamp.

      A soft, nearly inaudible sound.

      A moan?

      She held her breath and waited for the sound to repeat itself. It didn’t. Narrowing her gaze, she stared at the slit of black that outlined the unsecured door to the judge’s chambers.

      No way could he be here. All the lights had been turned out, and she’d called loud enough to wake the dead.

      Dead?

      A sudden vision of the man, lying ill or injured, floated through her mind. She took a hesitant step toward the door. “Judge Wainright?”

      With the flat of her hand, she pushed at the unresisting barrier. It swung noiselessly inward. In spite of the prickling along her scalp, she took another step and ran her fingers along the wall in search of a light switch.

      A movement within the darkened room caught her attention, drying her mouth and making her pulse flutter.

      “Judge Wainright?”

      Even as she spoke, she suspected it wasn’t the judge. The shape that detached itself from the murky shadows wasn’t tall or solid enough.

      Unnerved by the apparition’s failure to respond, she widened her eyes, trying to adjust her vision to the deep gloom, and groped once more for the elusive light switch.

      The figure seemed to sense her purpose. With lightning speed, it leaped forward. In the dim light something glinted in its upraised hand.

      Cassie’s heart thudded wildly.

      Disbelief cramped her stomach.

      Fumbling, she found the switch as something crashed against her skull.

      Bright light exploded.

      The room went dark.

      Chapter 1

      Straining to open her eyes, Cassie fought the darkness that pressed in from all sides, ominous and threatening like the murky depths of a midnight ocean. An undertow caught her, dragging her deeper and deeper into the abyss. Desperately she snatched at handholds to slow her descent.

      Her clutching fingers came up empty. The current grabbed her, sent her tumbling and spinning farther and farther from the surface. A scream welled up inside her. She was trapped. Prisoner in a surreal world of turbulent water and inky despair.

      Minutes…hours…went by while she struggled, driven as much by fear of the unknown as by instinct to survive. Seaweed tangled around her legs. Her movements grew sluggish. Warmth drained from her body, like blood from an open wound.

      A traitorous voice urged surrender, told her she couldn’t win. She refused to listen. Ignoring her aching chest, her cold-numbed limbs, she gathered herself for one final assault.

      She called on her last bit of willpower and launched herself.

      Forward.

      Upward.

      Toward freedom.

      For long moments she floated, pulling great gulps of air into her burning lungs as the nightmare receded. Gradually her breathing steadied and the world stopped spinning. The gentle rocking of waves solidified into a hard, lumpy surface that poked uncomfortably into her backside. She opened her eyes. Beneath her head, the pillow was damp. A sheet twisted around her legs.

      Sounds, muffled and distant, grazed her ears. A low hum. A faint rattle. Her muddled brain registered the whisper of rubber-soled shoes brushing against tile. An antiseptic smell hung in the air.

      Groggily she peered around, straining to make sense of the dim shapes. Metal bars hemmed the bed. The outline of a nightstand. And on the other side of the room, the edge of a darkened doorway.

      A hospital? What was she doing in a hospital? Alarm spasmed through her.

      “Awake?” a voice whispered.

      The single word perforated the quiet of the room. Her heart lurched. She jerked toward the source and instantly regretted the movement. Pain stabbed behind her eyes, setting off a jackhammer in her skull. Muscles screamed in protest.

      She gasped. What on Earth was the matter with her?

      “Take it slow, slugger.”

      Slugger? No one called her slugger anymore. The only ones who used the