Dread Champion (45 page)

As for her lying, deceitful aunt … Tracey smacked her palm against the kitchen tile. Could she have called those jurors? What could she have been thinking? Tracey knew one thing. Ever since the trial had started, Lynn had proven just as bad as her sister.Manipulative and selfish. If Lynn had called those jurors, Tracey hoped they stuck her in jail for a long time.

How nice to be happily rid of her mother
and
her aunt.

Tracey wandered back to the couch. She sank once again onto its buttery leather, telling herself everything was going to work out.Milt had said they'd find Darren guilty.

Guilty.
One little word. And she could finally start living.

“C
HELSEA
.”

Vaguely she heard Sylvia's impatient whisper. She ignored it as prayers streamed through her head.
Protect Kerra, Lord; don't let this happen… .

“Chelsea!”

“I'm sorry, I can't talk now.”

Be the Dread Champion you promised you would be.…

“You have to talk now.”

Chelsea shook her head.“No, please.”

Send your angels. Send someone to help… .

“Listen to me.”

Distractedly she turned away from Sylvia, eyes still squeezed shut.
Use people around her, use
anyone—

“You've got to
listen!
” Sylvia's insistent voice cut through her prayers. The woman shook her by the wrists until her eyes flew open. Sylvia stooped before her, face inches from her own.“You shouldn't be sitting here, praying like some fanatic,” Sylvia hissed. “Don't you see what trouble you're causing? You've already got enough enemies here.”

Chelsea pulled out of her grasp. “It doesn't matter; something's happening and I have to pray!”

“What's happening?”

She tossed her head.
God, please guard Kerra—
“What's happening?” Sylvia shook her again, harder.

Panic sucked up Chelsea's veins.What was this woman trying to do? “Please just give me a minute.”
Do anything, God; send amira—
“Chelsea,
stop.

“No!” Chelsea burst. “Go away!”Her voice filled the jury room. Suddenly she realized all other noise had ceased. She could feel the jurors gawking as if she'd gone mad.

So what?
she cried silently.
I am mad! I'm going stark, raving mad, God. Kerra's out there and I'm in here with these people. You're asking too much of me; I can't
do
this anymore!
A sob caught in Chelsea's throat. She jumped from her seat and ran for the bathroom, then locked the door and hunched against it, forehead shoved against the cool wood.

Lord, I'm sorry. I just… No matter what happens in here, please just protect Kerra… .

C
OLD PINPRICKS RIPPED ACROSS
Brett's body. He could not move. He could only stare at Delgadia's scarred hand, holding the knife against Kerra's pulsing neck. In the sudden silence of the garage, Brett heard blood pounding in his ears.

“Sorry to break up your altercation,”Delgadia spat.

Brett could feel rage burning off the man. Delgadia was not one to be taunted, especially in his private affairs. Rogelio had made a ghastly mistake.

“This is real simple.”Delgadia's eyes narrowed into slits. “I want the adoption paper; then I'm gone.”

Kerra's fingers jerked. Tiny sounds spilled from her lips until Brett thought he would rip apart.
God, help us!
Frantically he searched within himself for strength. Somehow he found his voice.“Delgadia.” He swallowed on a dry throat.
“Think.
Have you gone crazy?”

“This isn't about you, Brett.”

“Yes, it is!” he shouted. “You touch Kerra, it's about me.”

Delgadia's eyelids flickered. “If you care about her, then you understand what a desperate man I am.”

Desperation Brett knew. It catapulted through his limbs like a pinball, smacking at reason. Desperation could drive Delgadia to do anything. Briefly he imagined all three of them rushing the man. Could they get to him in time? They couldn't give that paper up; his dad
needed
it.

How long did it take to slice someone's throat?

“Give him the paper,” he heard himself command Rogelio. The kid looked sick. With shaking fingers Rogelio pulled it from his pocket.

Delgadia's car door gaped open.He dragged Kerra away from it, their shoes scuffling against the floor. “Place it on the seat,” he said brusquely.

His face stricken, Rogelio looked from the paper, to the knife at Kerra's throat, to the paper. “I …”

“Give it to him!”Milt barked.

Rogelio shot him a look of pure hatred.

“Do it
now.
”Delgadia pressed his arm tighter around Kerra. She whimpered. The sound unleashed craziness in Brett's head. He snatched the paper from Rogelio's hand and flung himself toward the car.

“Here! Take it!”He threw the folded paper inside, then hunched facing Delgadia, breathing hard.“Now let her go.”

“Back off.”

Brett slid toward the front of the car.

“More. All the way over there.” Delgadia jerked his chin toward Rogelio and Milt. Brett backed across to them, heart skidding in his chest.When he was close enough to touch Rogelio,Delgadia flicked the knife away from Kerra's throat and shoved her in the opposite direction.With a cry she stumbled and fell. Delgadia dove into the car, slammed the door, and revved it around the corner, tires squealing. Brett flew toward Kerra. As he reached her, he heard Delgadia speed out of the garage and away. His vision blurred as he pulled Kerra, limp and trembling, to his chest.

She clung to him, then erupted in sobs.

SIXTY

Milt wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. In a half daze he heard Kerra's crying and Rogelio's garbled moaning about what to do now. Milt's jaw throbbed; his clothes were a mess. The two rage-filled lunatics here wanted to kill him. Brett was preoccupied, but any minute now Rogelio could snap out of his whining and come gunning for him again.Milt's laptop was probably cracked in two in his briefcase.Which was …Milt searched the ground. He spotted it near the open doorway and shuffled over to pick it up. The movement racked his arm with pain.

Most of all, he was running out of time.

He checked his watch. Twelve twenty. He stared mindlessly at a piece of litter on the dusty floor, trying to get his mind into gear.Why had he even come in here?

Laptop. Car.

Milt breathed deep enough to hurt his lungs. Then dragged himself to his car.
The cell phone!
The thought jolted him into clarity. What if it was broken?
Oh, please, please, no
.With scrabbling fingers he pulled it from his briefcase. The lights were still on. Relief flooded him. He punched a few buttons, automatically dialing Ron's direct line. As the phone rang,Milt kept his eyes on Rogelio. The kid was pacing, hands gripping his head.

“Where have you been?”Ron demanded.“I've been trying to call you.”

Milt looked down at his suit.He wondered if blood had dripped on his white shirt collar. “Indisposed.”

“Well, this is a fine time to be indisposed.We checked again ten minutes ago. It's going to be early.”

“Early!”Milt sagged against his car, frustration and fear welling up in his throat. “What are you trying to
do
to me?”

“Hey, I don't schedule these things!”Ron exhaled loudly.“What's going on with you? Is something wrong?”

Milt almost laughed. “Are you kidding? I'm having the best day of my life.”He glared at his right hand, flexing the fingers. They hurt like crazy. Brett Welk had a hard head.

Kerra's sobs were dying down. Brett still held her as if she were going to fly away.

Focus,Milt, focus!

He pushed away from the car, straightening. “Okay,” he said tersely. “What time?”

“Twelve thirty.”

His chin dropped.He looked a wreck.He
felt
a wreck.How could he ever pull this off? And that's if he was right to begin with.

“You there?”

“Yeah.”

Rogelio yelled Milt's name, his arm raised, finger pointing.Angst and fright and the need to blame pulsed across his face.

“Gotta go; call me.”Milt snapped off the phone and slid it into his shirt pocket, which was amazingly intact.He threw his briefcase into the car and locked the doors. Then collected his wits. Suddenly he knew what to do.

“Rogelio, you have to listen to me.”He moved forward slowly, as if he were approaching a bomb about to explode. “You don't need that paper. I promised you I'd help you get your baby.And you will.
If
you and Brett and Kerra will do exactly what I tell you.”

T
HE URGENCY DISAPPEARED.
Chelsea felt it lift from her shoulders as if she'd sloughed off a heavy blanket. Weakly she leaned against the bathroom door and waited. Opened her eyes, fixed her gaze on the tile floor. She searched within herself, trying to feel the fear, the oppression. She couldn't allow herself to be wrong.

Lord, what's happened? Has the danger passed?

She waited, her unseeing gaze traveling the floor.

Nothing.

She breathed out slowly, bringing a shaking hand to her forehead.
Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you.
She lacked the strength to pray any more than that.

Chelsea could stand no longer. She sank down upon the closed toilet lid, feeling her ankles tremble.Her muscles felt soft, like cooling melted wax. Minutes ticked by as she rubbed her temples, allowed herself to breath, collected the scattered marbles of her emotions. She flexed her back and her spine cracked.

She knew she would have to go back out into the jury room. It wasn't fair for her to be occupying one of only two bathrooms. Besides, she'd need to face the jurors. The trial wasn't over yet.

Chelsea pulled to her feet and surveyed herself blearily in the mirror. She looked as if she'd been hit by a truck.Well, she
had.

Lord, help me. Please.

Five minutes later she emerged from the bathroom. All conversation stopped, every eye warily upon her as if she were schizophrenic. Hesta raised her chin, her expression screaming disdain. Tak sat with arms folded, and Latonia openly sneered. Clay broke the silence with a foreman's bristling resolve.

“Are you going to be able to continue? Or is all our work going to end in a mistrial?”

She locked eyes with him. Only then did she realize her utter calm. After what she'd just been through, what could these people possibly do to her?

“I am fine,” she replied levelly. “No mistrial here. Sylvia, please forgive me.”

She walked to the table and reached for an unclaimed water bottle near Antonio. “May I?”

He picked it up with reluctance and handed it to her, making sure their fingers didn't touch.

T
WELVE FORTY.
M
ILT DRUMMED
nervous fingers against Brett's car.He felt like a fast-talking salesman after the spiel that had gushed from him in the last ten minutes. At least nobody had hit him again. Brett's tanned face had faded to a pasty mud, save for his purpling left temple. He'd hardly been able to absorb Milt's words. Understandable, thought Milt, given the events crammed into the last half hour. Kerra seemed equally stunned. Her tears had dried, leaving tracks through her makeup.Mascara smeared under her eyes. Only Rogelio looked the better for wear.With Milt's explanations,wild as they sounded, the kid's hope had returned.He nearly trembled with anticipation.

Milt gazed at each of them, then felt his jaw.What a motley foursome they made. This was too bizarre.

“It may not work,” he said for the third time. “I've done my best. I've done everything to make it happen. But the next part's out of my control.”

“It's not out of God's,” Kerra blurted.

Milt gave her a look.
Oh no, not another one.Wouldn't Aunty be proud.

Brett nodded sagely. So did Rogelio. Milt turned his head from one to the other, mouth twisting with surprise.What
was
this, a conspiracy?

“Yeah, well, if God doesn't come through, don't kill me, all right?” He ran a hand down his tie, then puffed out air. “Trust me, you won't have to.”

“If this doesn't work,”Brett retorted, “if my father's found guilty and has to wait months for another trial because you wanted your exclusive story”—he sneered the words—“you'd better watch your back.”

Milt tensed. For a minute he thought Brett would take another swing. Kerra wrapped both hands around Brett's upper arm and tugged gently until he calmed down.

The cell phone rang. All four of them jumped.

“Answer it, answer it!” Rogelio's eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Milt yanked it from his pocket and punched a button, heart turning over. “Yeah.”

“I think we got a hit.” Ron sounded breathless.

His eyes closed, relief washing over him once again.

“What, what?” Rogelio cried.

Milt turned away, cramming the phone against his ear.“Tell me.” He listened, envisioning Ron's description. “How long does Gary think the line will take?”

“Not long.Maybe twenty minutes.”

Calculations ran through his mind. Twenty minutes there, plus another twenty …

“Everything all right there?” Ron asked.

Milt swung back to his trio of cohorts and gave them a thumbs-up. Kerra gasped. “The jury's going to be in the courtroom, listening to testimony,” he told Ron. “And you wouldn't believe the folks I've recruited to help me.”

SIXTY-ONE

In Milt's kitchen Tracey filled a glass with ice water from the refrigerator, television droning in the background. The phone rang. She almost dropped the glass. Her heart tripping over itself, she slowly reached out to place the glass on the tile. Three sideways steps and she stood at the counter where the phone lay. She stared at it, reading the i.d. number. It was Milt's cell phone.