Body of Evidence (Evidence Series) (39 page)

“Overruled.”

Aurora turned back to Mara.

“I can’t name the Secret Service agents, but the other people are Roddy Brogan, Jeannie Fuller, Robert Beck, and my uncle, Andrew Stevens. Centered is the Egyptian man. On the right you can see Evan Beck’s shoulder.”

Shuffling in the gallery and jury box told her the two dead men’s names were noticed by the onlookers, but Mara remained focused on the photograph, on the small part of Evan’s anatomy visible on the edge as she continued. “I remember Evan started to walk in front just as the shutter clicked, which irritated me. He knew about the delay on the digital camera and should have waited.”

“Was Mr. Beck deliberately trying to obscure the shot?”

“Objection,” Sherrod said, “conjecture.”

“Withdrawn.” Aurora glanced at Curt, then slapped Mara with her next question. “I understand Evan Beck was your fiancé?”

She tossed Curt a glare, then answered. “Ex-fiancé. We were engaged for three days.”

“And Roddy Brogan, were you friends with him?” Aurora’s tone was casual. Friendly. And it rankled.

As if the humiliation of admitting under oath she’d been engaged to the monster who’d killed several people and hunted her across the country wasn’t enough, now she was being asked to describe her friendship with the man who set her up for a firing squad. She was as sick of the bared-teeth politeness of the US courtroom as she was of the blatant hostility she’d endured in the North Korean one.

“Yes. We were. Right up until he kidnapped me in North Korea, left me near the DMZ, then returned to Hawai’i with the rest of the team.”

Gasps came from the jury and the gallery, and Mara realized this was the first time the public heard her account of the ordeal.

“Objection!” Sherrod said, projecting his voice over the growing noise. “Question was answered, but then the witness gave testimony on a subject far beyond the scope of the question posed.”

The spectators’ chatter ballooned to a roar.

Mara gave her inquisitor a tight, satisfied smile, and to her surprise, saw glee in the other woman’s eyes.

The judge called for silence and banged her gavel, showing agitation when the pounding had no immediate effect. A dozen thumps later and the room began to quiet.

“Ms. Garrett,” the judge said, her irritation now directed at Mara. “You are to limit your answer to the question posed. The objection is sustained and the witness’s remarks are to be stricken from the record.”

“Your Honor, at this time the prosecution asks for exhibit sixty-eight to be entered into evidence.”

“Objection!” Sherrod jumped to his feet.

Judge Hawthorne sent him a sharp glare and told him to sit with an angry flick of her wrist. “Overruled. Exhibit sixty-eight is entered into evidence.”

“Your Honor, may I publish this photo to the jury?”

“Proceed.”

“Thank you.”

The procedure took several minutes, giving Mara the opportunity to meet her uncle’s gaze. He looked stricken, possibly even a little green.

She finally gave in and shifted her gaze to Curt, who’d remained silent throughout the courtroom uproar. A mix of emotions played across his handsome features as he stared at her with an unwavering intensity. Remorse, pain, satisfaction, and something that looked a lot like caring, but she wouldn’t open the door to that possibility. That would leave her vulnerable to the vicious bitch hope.

“Your Honor,” Aurora Ames said, again drawing the attention of everyone in the room. “At this time I’d like to show Ms. Garrett prosecution exhibit twenty-seven, already accepted into evidence.”

“Proceed.”

Aurora’s shoes echoed in the now silent chamber as she approached Mara with another paper in her hand. She flashed a crisp smile that wasn’t entirely devoid of warmth and offered the photo. Mara’s gaze dropped to the picture, and surprise rippled through her when she recognized the central figure.

“Ms. Garrett, is this a picture of the same man you photographed in Egypt?”

She nodded.

“You need to answer verbally, Ms. Garrett,” the judge said. “For the record.”

“Sorry. Yes. That’s the battle-weary Egyptian. He has the same scar, the same eyes, and the same smile.”

“Let the record show Ms. Garrett has identified war criminal and the leader of Darfur’s Janjaweed militia as the same man she photographed with Andrew Stevens and Robert Beck.”

Time froze after Aurora’s statement. Darfur. Janjaweed. Maybe time hadn’t frozen; maybe her heart had just stopped beating. Her uncle really was a…a monster.

In an instant, her heart resumed, only now it raced at the same speed as the uproar in the courtroom. Sherrod jumped to his feet, shouting objections so fast Mara couldn’t catch them all. The judge used the gavel to quiet the courtroom and reprimanded everyone.

Mara met Curt’s gaze, and he nodded. Not an I-told-you-so sort of nod, just a confirmation that said,
this is why I had to hurt you
.

Uncle Andrew really had traded arms with a war criminal. And, just as Curt had claimed, he’d done it right under her nose.

Her stomach flipped. He’d brought a baby-killing warlord to a JPAC deployment. The man had been fed and cared for by the local villagers in a dinner Mara had arranged.

She felt dirty. Sick. And used. By a man she’d trusted her whole life.

“Your Honor, I have no more questions for this witness,” Aurora said.

“Does the defense wish to cross-examine?” the judge asked.

“No, Your Honor.” No indeed. Sherrod looked like he couldn’t get her off the stand fast enough.

“Ms. Garrett, you may be excused.”

Mara stood and walked out of the now silent courtroom with her head held high. She had no idea what she was walking toward, but she knew exactly what she was walking away from.

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-ONE

M
ARA LEFT THE
courtroom with the same dignity and grace she’d shown in North Korea, but without the blindfold—both mental and literal—that had hampered her then. She knew without a doubt what sort of man her uncle was, and from the pain Curt had glimpsed in her eyes, she resented the messenger as much as she despised the message.

He’d lost her.

For now
. He wasn’t a man to give up, not when he wanted something as much as he wanted her. She’d awoken his heart, making it impossible for him to go back to being the cold, emotionless shark motivated only by ambition.

Outside the courtroom, the two FBI agents would be taking her back to the safe house. She would remain in protective custody for the foreseeable future. Fewer than ten people knew the location of the house, Curt and Lee included. Tonight he would go to her and begin his campaign to win her back.

But first, he had work to do. The next witness was a facial-recognition expert who would rebut Stevens’s statement that Secret Service agents had traveled to Egypt with him. If all went well, closing arguments would be presented tomorrow, and Curt could refine his plan for wooing Mara while the jury deliberated.

He stood and addressed the judge. “Your Honor, at this point the prosecution calls—”

“Your Honor.” Curt turned to see Stevens standing next to his seated lawyer. Ben Sherrod didn’t look pleased. “I request a private meeting with the prosecution.”

The gallery broke out in low murmurs, akin to the buzzing of bees.

Judge Hawthorne glared at the gallery over the top of her glasses while addressing Stevens. “You’re out of order, Mr. Stevens.”

“I know, Your Honor. But before we proceed, I’d like to speak with Mr. Dominick. Alone.”

“What is your purpose?”

“To negotiate a plea bargain.”

Ben Sherrod was on his feet, objecting to his own client’s words.

The buzzing became a strong wind. In seconds, it was a gale.

Hawthorne pounded her gavel with more vigor than Curt had ever seen. “The defendant’s words are to be stricken from the record. The jury is excused and will wait in the jury room.”

The furor died down as the jury filed out, casting glances at Stevens on their way.

Judge Hawthorne glared at the former vice president. “Mr. Stevens, were you hoping for a mistrial with that stunt?”

“No, Your Honor. I want to plead guilty.”

“You had that opportunity before the trial.”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Judge Hawthorne turned her attention to Curt. “Mr. Dominick, are you willing to entertain a plea bargain?”

“After the next witness, I intend to ask the charges be amended to conform to the evidence presented. I will not settle on the lesser charges of obstruction and influence peddling.”

“I’ll plead to everything—even the arms deal,” Stevens said. “I just want to
talk
to you.”

The noise from the gallery couldn’t be contained. “Chambers! Now!” The judge stood and marched to the door behind the bench. Stevens followed with his angry lawyer by his side. Aurora and Curt were the last ones through the door.

They crowded into the judge’s chambers; Hawthorne took a seat behind her desk while the rest stood. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Mr. Stevens? You
know
better than to make statements like that in front of spectators.”

“Your Honor, I don’t care what happens to me. I never have. But I came to the conclusion I’m protecting the wrong people, and I need to do something about it. If that means confessing and going to prison, so be it.”

Sherrod clapped his hand on his client’s shoulder. “Shut up, Andrew.”

Stevens shook off his attorney’s hand. “You’re fired, Ben.”

“You intend to negotiate a plea bargain without your lawyer?” Judge Hawthorne asked.

“Yes. Mr. Dominick and I are going to talk. Alone.”

“Is that acceptable to you, Mr. Dominick?”

“I will not make concessions, but I’d like to hear what he has to say.”

“Court will adjourn for the day, but I won’t release the jury until we have a signed agreement. Settle this tonight, gentlemen. We have a jury sequestered, and I don’t want them held for another day without cause.”

T
HE DRIVE BACK
to the safe house—located on a state-named street north of Embassy Row and her uncle’s former residence at the Naval Observatory—was long thanks to vehicle changes to ensure they weren’t followed. At last they drove down the steep driveway and into the basement garage. It was a nice house, if one liked being a prisoner.

Mara did not.

Inside, she paced the living room and shouted in the direction of the closed front door, “Protective custody, my ass. That bastard just wants to keep me here in case he needs me to testify again.”

But the agent on the other side of the door had stopped responding to her complaints.

She stopped and stared at the gas fireplace, remembering the phone sex with Curt and his attempt to use the fireplace as a visual link between them. To think she’d felt guilty for lying.

When it came to deceit, she had nothing on him.

Had the “dates” merely been bait?

Curt
was
a good chess player. Laying the trap for over a week, saying the right things to make her laugh, make her care; it had probably come easily to him. All so he could call her to DC with the snap of his fingers. And it would have worked. He’d just gotten impatient.

Well, he and Lee
had
saved her from Raptor again. She had to give them credit for that.

What the hell was she going to do?

Raptor still hunted her. A smallpox bomb could go off at any time. Testifying hadn’t decreased her danger, and she wouldn’t be able to come out of hiding until Raptor was charged. She couldn’t do it alone. She needed the FBI. Dammit all to hell. She needed Curt.

In DC, Curt
was
the law. Raptor’s home office was in DC, and prosecution of the CEO would go through the US Attorney’s Office.

How else to bring them down? She’d once thought she could turn to her uncle, but that road was decidedly closed.

There was only one avenue that didn’t include Curt: the State Department. She had information on a smallpox bomb, and it was time to use it. She marched to the front of the house and pounded on the heavy door.