Don't Say a Word. Rita Herron

much as she wanted to leave this place, what kind of life could she have if she couldn’t stand to look at herself in the mirror?

      

      DR. PACE SMILED TO HIMSELF as he left Crystal’s room. Pride mushroomed inside him regarding the beautiful woman he had created.

      She was exquisite now. Her bone structure, strong and restored, lifted her cheekbones to a model’s perfection. Tissues had repaired and skin almost healed from the face transplant.

      Yet he wasn’t ready to tell her.

      No, she might not be able to accept where the new skin that covered her face had come from.

      She looked so much like the dead woman that it sent a chill up his neck.

      A seed of guilt gnawed at him for his deception, but he cast it aside. He needed to keep her dependent on him a little longer.

      Soon she would realize that she couldn’t leave, either. That she needed him in every way. Then she would be his forever.

      And none of the lies would matter.

      But if she thought she was healed before he could completely win her, she might ask to be dismissed from the hospital.

      And it was too soon for her to leave him.

      If people recognized her, it would cause problems for him. And danger for her.

      CHAPTER SIX

      THE NEXT MORNING, DAMON was still stewing over the conversation with his parents while he drove to the courthouse for Antwaun’s hearing.

      Dammit. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have secrets from them. But he’d kept them to protect them. And some of them he’d been sworn to by the government, by his job, his duty. Others’ lives might be endangered if he broke his vows.

      This situation, their silence, was different. This had to do with his own damn brother.

      Although they claimed they were protecting him. But, if he knew the secret, he might be able to better help Antwaun…. Had something happened to his brother in the military?

      A half hour later, he, Jean-Paul, Antwaun’s lawyer, Dryer, the D.A. and judge convened for the bond hearing. Antwaun shuffled in, handcuffed and shackled like a common criminal, his expression dark and hooded, his mouth set in a grim line. Damon knew it had been a rough night for his brother and tried to offer him a look of encouragement. But Antwaun’s eyes seemed as empty this morning as if he’d already been tried and convicted.

      The proceedings moved forward quickly. Antwaun pleaded not guilty. The D.A. muttered rhetoric about the blemishes on Antwaun’s career, his ability to easily access phony ID and passports, his connection to the underbelly of crime in the city, then produced photos of Kendra Yates’s mauled hand and emphasized the viciousness of the crime, using every punch he could think of in his request that Antwaun be remanded into custody until the grand jury reviewed the evidence. The police had searched Kendra Yates’s apartment. The inside had been ransacked before they arrived, and blood had been smeared on the walls. They hadn’t found a computer. The only fingerprints they’d discovered were Antwaun’s.

      Dryer argued the fact that only a hand was found, not a body, that all the evidence was circumstantial, and then cited Antwaun’s work and the sacrifices he made daily for the city, his family background, and planting doubt about allowing the press to try the case instead of Antwaun receiving due process.

      “The family has deep roots in the community, Your Honor, has donated time and money to rebuilding the city. Antwaun Dubois is not a flight risk. He is not wealthy, nor does he have a current passport. His parents are even willing to put up their home and business to cover the bail.”

      “Our resources show us that Mr. Dubois may not be wealthy, but that a sizable amount of money has recently been deposited in his account,” the D.A. argued. “In fact, a deposit of one million dollars was placed into an offshore account for Mr. Dubois two days after Kendra Yates went missing.”

      Shock registered on Antwaun’s face. He turned to his lawyer, leaned forward and hissed a denial. Dryer held up his hand in warning, then spoke. “Judge, Mr. Dubois has no idea where that money came from and denies receiving it.”

      But Damon studied the judge, read his body language, sensed that the D.A. had even more evidence that hadn’t been shared with Antwaun’s attorney. Evidence that threw a red flag up to the judge and went against Antwaun’s favor.

      Having picked up on the same vibe, Jean-Paul shot Damon an anxious glance.

      Judge Mattehorn rolled his shoulders and pinned Antwaun in his seat with his gaze. “Due to the circumstances of the case, evidence before me, the recent change in Mr. Dubois’s financial status, and the viciousness of the crime, along with the D.A.’s words, I’m denying bail. Antwaun Dubois, you will remain in custody until such time that the grand jury has reviewed and ruled whether or not to move forward with a trial.”

      Dryer cleared his throat. “Your Honor, we are seriously worried about Mr. Dubois’s safety—”

      Judge Mattehorn cut him off. “I will order administrative segregation until the next court appearance.”

      Judge Mattehorn pounded his gavel then stood, dismissing the proceedings and leaving Antwaun in shock. Even with administrative segregation, he faced the gruesome reality of spending more nights in jail, quartered near some of the very perps he had arrested.

      The anger of injustice rolled through Damon. The judge’s ruling only cemented in his mind the fact that Kendra Yates might have been right about a dirty cop on the force. Someone who could have accessed Antwaun’s accounts and planted money to make it appear as if he’d accepted a bribe.

      Or maybe someone who also had a judge in his pocket….

      

      ALL NIGHT, CRYSTAL HAD struggled with nightmares about her face. She spent the morning with Maria, reading to her until her nana arrived.

      Finally, she crawled back into bed and fell asleep, but images of another life taunted her. A beautiful family. A mother who loved her and was worried sick about her. A man who’d cared for her. No, she’d been wrong. He was bad. He didn’t love her. She was surrounded by small children, yet they were starving. They needed her.

      She jerked awake, bathed in sweat. Dark storm clouds obliterated the sunlight outside and cast a threatening, dreary gray hue on the room that mirrored her mood.

      “Crystal, you had a bad dream again.”

      Lex. His husky voice reverberated through the shadows.

      “Yes,” she whispered, reaching for his hand. The scaly skin should have made her withdraw, but she barely noticed. Oddly though, his hand felt colder. Almost icy to the touch. And he didn’t seem to react to her face at all. Maybe she wasn’t so hideous…

      “I dreamt I had a child somewhere.” Her voice caught. “A baby crying for me.”

      He squeezed her hand, brushed her hair from her cheek. “You will find your way, my sweetness.”

      Tears clogged her throat. “But I’ve been gone for months. What if I have a child and he or she has forgotten me?” Panic seized her chest and turned her voice into a whimper.

      “You will find your answers,” Lex said calmly.

      “Dr. Pace says I need to heal more. I hear what he’s not telling me—I need more surgery. This latest treatment didn’t work.”

      “Do not believe everything he tells you.” Lex’s brittle tone sent goose bumps down her spine. Footsteps sounded outside the door, then suddenly a cold wind blew through the room, rattling the windowpanes. “He has his own agenda.”

      “What do you mean?” He had been everything to her these last few months: doctor, friend, savior.

      “Don’t trust anyone, Crystal. Even Dr. Pace.”

      Crystal