Dread Champion (44 page)

Yolanda made her way quickly to the kitchen table, pulled out a chair, and sank into it. Resting her elbows on the wood, laced fingers to her bent forehead, she began to pray.

T
WELVE O'CLOCK.
Milt jingled coins in his pocket, nerves frayed. Almost time. Thank God, the jury still huddled. Now they'd be breaking for lunch.

He was going to do it!

The courtroom door opened. A bailiff emerged and headed straight for the defense attorneys. Stan Breckshire immediately hustled over. Brett was on his feet in an instant. Milt's back straightened. Other reporters' heads snapped around. “What's going on?” two of them asked at once. The Three Fates got up, shuffling toward the bailiff to hear.

Milt hurried over.“What's up?”He hoped his voice didn't squeak.

Erica threw him an irritated look.“Not much. The jury wants to have some testimony read back.”

“Now?”

“The judge is going to wait till after lunch.” She turned to Ter-rance with a dramatic sigh. “I
hate
the waiting.”

Milt's heart shriveled.
No!
Everyone would be in the courtroom at the wrong time.Who'd be able to jump to his aid if he needed it? Negative thoughts ping-ponged him right and left.He simply hadn't reasoned every scenario through.What had he been thinking? This plan was crazy from the start; it would never work. Besides, he didn't even know if he'd calculated right.What was he, an imbecile?

As everyone else moved in murmuring groups toward the escalator, he sank onto a bench next to Bill. Vaguely Milt registered the conversation between Brett and Kerra as they passed.

“Let's get in the car and drive somewhere,” Brett said, sighing. “I'm tired of the places down Broadway.”

Bill took one look at Milt's stricken face and shrugged. “It won't matter if they're all in court. If everything works, I'll be here.”

“If everything works, you'll be
filming.”

“Yeah.” He sniffed. “I'm gonna park the camera in the van and walk over to the coffeehouse for some lunch.Wanna come with me?”

“No.” Milt rubbed his forehead. As if he could eat. Bill could afford to be calm; it wasn't
his
career on the line. “I'll get moving in a minute, stash my laptop in my car. Doesn't look like I can afford to have much baggage on me.”

As Bill sauntered off, for no reason at all Milt thought of Chelsea Adams. At the moment he almost envied her faith. Right now he'd give practically anything to be a praying man.

FIFTY-EIGHT

Rogelio drove through Redwood City as fast as he dared.His head pounded from the constant flicking of his eyes to the rearview mirror. He'd seen no sign of Delgadia.Was that good or bad? Rogelio couldn't decide.He'd gotten perhaps a ten-minute lead on the man. He needed time to get his adoption paper into the proper hands. But then what? If Delgadia didn't come, where might he be? What would he be doing? What if coming here had been a terrible mistake?

Please, God, I'll do anything. Just protect Mama Yolanda and Kristin.

Rogelio checked the clock on his dash. Five after twelve. He had little time.What if everybody had scattered for lunch?

Fingers clenching the wheel, he turned into the parking garage. It was nearly empty. On the other side, near the pedestrian walkway that led toward the courthouse, two people were approaching a car. Roge-lio's eyes widened. Brett Welk and that blond girl! Rogelio's foot punched the gas. His tires squealed over the pavement as he lurched the car into a nearby parking space. Brett and the girl turned abruptly, startled.Rogelio grabbed his adoption paper and leaped from the car.

“Stop! Wait!” He pounded toward them, heart beating in his throat. “I have to show you this. I have to show you this now!” He thrust the paper into Brett's hands, words spilling from his tongue. “You need to take it to your lawyer before Delgadia comes.
If
Del-gadia comes. If he gets hold of it, I won't have proof to get Roselita. And Milt said it would help your dad. Please help me.”

Brett ogled him. “What—”

“Just go!” Rogelio shouted. “We don't have much time.”

“Go where? I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Rogelio's hands futilely chopped the air.

“Just calm down,” Brett commanded, grabbing Rogelio's arm until he held still.“Now what?”

Rogelio's explanations tumbled out. Twice Brett had to slow him down. As their meaning began to dawn on Brett, his mouth sagged open. The blond pressed a hand to her lips. Brett stared in shock at the adoption paper. “See, that signature's forged.” Rogelio punched a finger on Janet Cline's name.“And Tracey wasn't a witness, like this says she was.”

“Milt Waking
knew
about this?” the girl breathed. “All week?”

Brett's features blackened.“Terrance could have done something if he'd known.Now it's too late.”His fingers made dents in the paper. For a moment Rogelio thought he would crumple it like trash. “I swear I'll kill Milt Waking.”

“It's not too late; it
can't
be.” If it were too late, what would happen to Roselita? Would no one even care? “We have to
go!
” Rogelio jerked toward the street, the hairs on his neck bristling. “Delgadia could be here any minute.”

“I don't think so,” Brett mumbled, still gawking at the paper.

“Yes, he will.He will come!”Rogelio threw himself in Brett's face. He could not bear to think where else Delgadia might be. Brett abruptly pushed him away, then locked eyes with him, the lines on his forehead unraveling as if he realized Rogelio's plight for the first time. His fingers loosened from the paper and it fluttered to the ground. The girl picked it up.

“Okay, you're right.”Brett's voice sounded shallow.“We both just need to … Right now I can't even
think
straight.” He blew out air, collecting himself. “Okay.My dad's attorneys have probably left for lunch.We'll have to find them.”

Rogelio's head nodded as if it were barely attached to his neck.The girl held out the adoption paper to him.He folded it twice and stuck it into his jeans pocket.With another glance back toward the street, he turned alongside Brett and the girl to head for the courthouse.

Delgadia has to come. Just give us a few minutes, God, then please let him come.

Rogelio slid his fingers into his pocket, double-checking that the paper was secure. He heard a car on the street and spun around, nerves tingling. The other two halted, watching. The car drove by. Rogelio exhaled in wild relief.“Come on,”Brett urged. In the instant that Rogelio turned again, he heard Brett inhale sharply. Brett and the girl stopped abruptly and Rogelio almost knocked into them. His eyes whipped to the walkway and his lungs curdled.

A figure materialized in the open doorway.

T
HE JURY ROOM PULSED
with grim expectation as each person picked up a lunch bag. Chelsea knew she could not eat. Jurors talked in small groups, their voices low. Most of them sat at the table. Some walked around, glad to be on their feet for a few minutes. Now and then someone emitted a nervous chuckle. She stood back from the table, feeling their antagonism. They had her now and they knew it, reveled in it. Bitterness swept over her as she imagined the next few hours.What if she heard nothing new in Tracey's testimony? She'd have to switch to a guilty vote, and they'd go on to discuss which crime Darren Welk was guilty of—second-degree murder or less. What if she couldn't agree with them on that either? Right now she couldn't begin to sort out those questions.What if today ended with no agreement? Would they take Sunday off? How long would this go? Monday? Tuesday?

God, what about Kerra all this time? Please protect her!

A pang of guilt struck Chelsea.What was
wrong
with her? How could she be thinking at all about herself after the vision she had that morning? She needed to be praying, not worrying.

“You going to eat?” B. B. motioned to the last bag sitting on the table. Tak and Hesta fastened Chelsea with frosty stares.

“No. Thank you,” she said. “I think I'll just take my chair over there for a while and … think.”

“You do that,” Latonia commented just loud enough for her to hear.

It was a nasty remark that Chelsea knew she should ignore. But it shot right through her.
Dear God, my nerves are such a wreck. I'm never going to make it through this day.

Wordlessly Henry slid her chair away from the table. He would not look her in the eye. She grabbed the back of it and dragged it near a corner, angling it away from the table. She hoped she could clear her mind of imagining the glares at her back.

She sat down and stared sightlessly at the wall.Without warning another vision, white-hot and intense, seared itself on her brain. Kerra. The man with the scar. A knife. The vision sizzled with urgency, imminence.

Chelsea raked in a breath and held it. Fear exploded within her, and every muscle in her body locked. Her thoughts leaped wildly, then flattened. For a second she could think no rational thought.

Pray now!
The knowledge seemed to split her skull.
Pray!

The jury room, the trial, the smell of sandwiches and chips, all faded as she jerked clasped hands to her mouth and launched into desperate prayer.

T
HE MAN STEPPED FROM
bright sunlight into the garage. Brett processed the suit, the briefcase, the familiar, hated face. Rage, pure and frothing, surged through his veins.His body kicked into motion before he realized it. All the days, the sleepless nights, all the moments of guilt and fear and pain, propelled him in fury toward Milt Waking.

“Brett, no!” Kerra cried.

With a growl in his throat, Brett leaped the last few steps. He let his fist fly, catching the surprised reporter squarely on the jaw. “Ungh!”Milt lurched sideways, briefcase spinning out of his hand. Brett jumped for him, grabbed him by the lapels.

“Get out of the way,” he heard Rogelio cry to Kerra. From the corner of his eye he saw her fade back.

Milt slapped a palm against Brett's chin and shoved. Brett's head snapped back but he hung on.

“Wha—” Milt vainly tried to wrench free. Blood smeared the corner of his mouth. Rogelio darted in to help Brett, face contorted with his own anger.He caught one ofMilt's arms and pulled it back.

“You sent my dad to jail,” Brett said, seething.

The three of them yelled at once, their voices intermingling, bouncing off the walls of the parking garage.

“I don't know what you're talking about—”

“All you care about is getting some story—”

“You lied about helping me—”

Milt threw a strong punch into Brett's temple. Dark spots danced before Brett's eyes. He heard Kerra shouting at them to stop. Roge-lio emitted a string of curses.

“Wait!”Milt cried. “Listen to me!”

“I've listened to you
enough.
” Rogelio ground the words through his teeth as he swung at Milt's head. The reporter ducked.

A car's wheels squeaked against the pavement of the garage. Brett barely registered the sound.Milt backed up toward the wall, flailing at both of them wildly. “Let me—” Rogelio's fist shot out, blocked by Milt's upraised arm. Brett heard the car screech to a halt, engine running. Kerra cried out. Milt jumped backward, puffing. “I'm-going-to-get-your-dad-off!” The words streamed from his bleeding mouth. “I'm-going-to-get-your—”

Kerra wailed. The panicked sound kicked through Brett's head. He and Rogelio swung around at the same time.Milt stilled.

Brett caught sight of a nightmare, and a trap door opened in his stomach.His mind reeled.
This isn't happening, this isn't happening!

His knees weakened and he stumbled. Then pulled himself upright. Enrico Delgadia hulked behind Kerra, pressed against her back, one beefy arm viselike around her chest.Kerra's arms had frozen midair, fingers spread.Her eyes were bugged and wild. Delgadia held a knife at the base of her throat.

FIFTY-NINE

Tracey flipped disconsolately through television channels in Milt's living room. Cartoons, a sitcom in Spanish, documentaries about animals and World War II. Friday was bad enough, but
nothing
was worth watching on Saturdays.

She threw down the remote and pushed off from the leather couch to pace the room. Oatmeal. Everything was colored oatmeal in here. Oatmeal carpet and walls and furniture. She shouldn't complain. The town home was a million times nicer than her apartment. And sleeping next to Milt had been like a dream. But this news about her aunt, plus waiting for the verdict, was about to drive her crazy. As if she hadn't waited months already for the trial. Then who knew how long she'd have to wait for the death certificate and the insurance money. Days? A week? Maybe longer? And that's if Darren Welk was convicted.

She couldn't begin to think what would happen if he was not. She could not allow herself to even remotely imagine it.What would she do? Go to Brazil anyway? With what money?

Besides, she hadn't sent an email to Brazil in days and still didn't care to.Why was she so narrow-mindedly focused on going there anyhow? If she got away with everything, got the money, maybe she should just cut and run. She had the whole world to see.

Could she do that? She stopped near a bookcase, idly fingering the spine of a novel. Go somewhere totally on her own, without knowing anyone? Even with two million dollars, Tracey had to admit the thought scared her to death.

She slid the novel out, pushed it back. Slid it out, pushed it back. Or for that matter, she thought, she could stay right here.Who said she had to leave California? She could afford a great place in the Bay Area. Near Milt.

Her hand stilled.Maybe she could even live with Milt.

She swung away from the bookcase and went toward the kitchen, hope rising. That's what she'd do! Move in with Milt. They could buy an incredible house. Just think of the vacations they could take with all her money! She could buy him presents, buy herself a new car, a fancy wardrobe. They'd go to parties and swank restaurants. She'd
be
somebody.