Dread Champion (46 page)

Another ring pealed through the kitchen. She snatched up the receiver. “Hello.”

“It's Milt. Come down right now. The jury's in.”

She sucked in a breath. Suddenly she felt light-headed. “I'll be there.”

In less than a minute she pulled out of the town home parking lot and onto the street.

R
OGELIO USEDMILT'S
CELL phone to quickly call Kristin as they walked to the courthouse. His heart constricted at the sound of her voice. “Are you okay? And Mama Yolanda?”

“We're fine. But I'm getting really tired of this, Rogelio.You have to tell me what's going on.”

“Just stay there. I don't think you'll have to wait much longer.”

“What's
happening?

“Kristin, I'll tell you everything. But I don't have time now. Just promise me you'll stay there and wait for my next call.”

She made an impatient sound in her throat.

“Please.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Call you soon.” He punched off the phone and handed it to Milt. The reporter's shirt was pulled out, his tie all out of whack, and his hair a mess. “You'd better stop in the bathroom,” he said. “You look like someone's just made your day.”

O
NE O'CLOCK.

Milt had gotten strange looks from the guard and deputy sheriff who'd been assigned the unusual task of running courthouse security on a Saturday. Once inside the bathroom, he'd managed to clean himself up remarkably well, save for the bruise on his jaw. At least no blood had stained his shirt. He almost wished the bruise were darker. It would only heighten the drama on camera. He touched the area and winced.

He hung back as other reporters shuffled through the courtroom door, followed by the Three Fates. Stan Breckshire appeared on the escalator. The attorney bounced off the top step and skittered inside.
Oh, buddy,
Milt thought,
you think you're nervous now.
He peeked into the courtroom. Terrance Clyde and Erica Salvador already hovered about the defense table. Chairs squeaked and papers rustled as people settled. A bailiff escorted Darren Welk to his seat, then walked to the courtroom door. “You coming in?”

Milt angled his bruised jaw away from the man.“Maybe later.”

“All right.” The bailiff closed the door.

The hall fell eerily quiet. Only he and Rogelio remained. Brett and Kerra huddled in the tiny conference room at the far end of the hall, the door slightly ajar. Best for Brett to keep out of sight, as his presence might be too intimidating for certain people.Milt wished he weren't so far away, but at least he was well hidden.No doubt he'd cover the distance in a heartbeat if he was needed.

Amazing, Milt thought, how all these pieces were falling into place.

Now, where was Bill?

Rogelio flexed his jaw, casting expectant glances toward the escalator. The kid was making Milt even more nervous. “Go sit on a bench on the other side,with your back to the courtroom,”Milt told him. “Lean forward, stare at the floor like you're waiting for somebody.” Rogelio nodded, then hitched himself away.

Bill appeared a moment later, lugging his equipment. “Channel Five's still around out front,” he said. “Guy asked what on earth I thought I'd be filming. I said, ‘Not a thing. But Milt Waking thinks he owns me.'”

Milt managed a wan smile. His heart thumped around in his chest. Tracey should be here.He'd figured out how to keep her from going into the courtroom. She was so pliable, really, for all she'd done. Half mush melon.

He checked his watch. Two minutes after one.

His cell phone rang and he nearly dropped it in answering.“Milt here.”

“Everything's clear,”Ron said.“You've got about twenty minutes.”

C
HELSEA FELT THE BRIMMING
tension of every jury member as she followed Gloria Nuevo into the courtroom. The calm she'd experienced twenty minutes ago had faded, leaving her nerves worn and prickling. Her ankles felt weak as she lowered herself into her seat.

Brett and Kerra were absent.

Fresh fear bubbled in Chelsea's stomach. Did this mean anything? Maybe they were just at lunch.Maybe they didn't think hearing testimony all over again was important.

That couldn't be it, she argued with herself. Surely Brett would think
anything
occurring in the trial significant.

Oh, Lord, I thought the danger had passed. Please let her be all right!

Judge Chanson entered. Chelsea wrenched her thoughts away from Kerra as everyone rose, then sat again. She
had
to listen to this testimony. Surely the Lord would show her something. If not, she prayed for peace about changing her vote.
Give me wisdom, God; let me hear with your ears.
Judge Chanson examined the jury with intensity, trying to read their expressions. She wouldn't have to try very hard, Chelsea thought fleetingly, given the black looks on most of their faces.

Chelsea's eyes pulled back to the spectators and reporters. She couldn't stop thinking about Kerra. Then she realized with a start that Milt Waking was also gone. The knowledge snagged her breath. No way would he choose to miss any piece of news about this case.

Unless more exciting news was happening somewhere else.

She dropped her gaze to her lap, considering. That had to be it. Slowly understanding seeped through her.Hadn't God told her that he'd chosen to work through Milt? Hadn't he warned her that when she could not act herself, her prayers would be critical? Hadn't God clearly led her to pray for Milt and Brett and Kerra? God was working. While her emotions had swayed her this way and that, while she'd alternately prayed and complained, God had been at work.

Thank you, God, thank you. Inever should have doubted, not for a minute.

“All right,” Judge Chanson announced. “I understand that you want to hear certain parts of Tracey Wilagher's testimony.We have brought up the part of the record that you're interested in, and the clerk will now read it to you.”The judge's eyes caught Chelsea's, then blinked away.

The clerk began. “‘I'd been sick with the flu,'” she read from her computer without emotion. “‘I'd gotten it three days before, and after a day of having a fever, I'd finally gone to bed… .'”

T
RACEY SENT HER PURSE
through security and scurried up the escalator. Everything seemed so deadly quiet. Spooky almost. As she neared the second floor, she spotted Milt outside the courtroom. Only two other people were on the entire floor—a man with a television camera, and some guy she barely noticed, sitting on a bench. Milt met her halfway in the hall.

“Are they already inside?” she huffed. Her stomach felt tied in knots.

Milt squeezed her shoulder. “Yes, but they haven't decided on a verdict after all. They just wanted to hear some testimony read back.”

Tracey's lungs deflated like a punctured balloon. “Oh.” She rubbed her forehead. “Oh.”

“I'm sorry,”Milt said soothingly.

She surveyed him wearily. He seemed a little on edge himself, running his fingers up and down his tie. It took her a moment to register the large bruise on his jaw. “What happened to you?” She reached out her hand.

Milt pulled back before she could touch him.“My clumsy assistant over there.” He indicated with his head. “Bonked me with his camera.”

“Oh,” she said again. Tracey half-turned away, staring mindlessly at the floor. She must sound so stupid, but her brain would hardly work.

“Look, since you're here, you might as well stay.”Milt put an arm around her. “You look exhausted.”He urged her into motion, guiding her to a seat near the far end of the hall. “If you stay down here, when folks come out of the courtroom, you won't be bothered.”

“Maybe I should see what's going on.”

“Nothing but boring testimony.”His lips twisted in a half smile. “Or believe me, I'd be in there myself.”

“Okay.” She slumped on the bench.

“You know I can't stay with you. I'll go talk to my cameraman. Just sit tight now. If I hear anything, I'll let you know.”

As he moved away, she saw him check his watch.

S
TAN FORCED HIMSELF
BACK in his chair, feigning calm, wondering what the problem was with Tracey's testimony.What had he missed in his questioning?

As the clerk's voice droned through the courtroom, his eyes roamed over the jury. Something was definitely up. Tak's typically stoic expression was laced with anger. Latonia's jaw was set, her fore- head creased. Henry sat straight in his seat, arms crossed. Clay leaned forward, head ducked, looking up at the clerk.

Clay's the foreman,
Stan thought.

His gaze slid to Chelsea. She looked worn, beat up. The thought hit him like a brick over the head: she was fighting the jury. Stan couldn't be sure she was alone. Maybe she had one or two on her side. But if she did, he certainly couldn't pick them out based on their body language.

Did she know something?

For the first time since he'd first laid eyes on Chelsea Adams, fear of her supposed ability flashed through his veins.What if she really could see things? What kind of damage could she do?

Just as suddenly the fear vanished.
Nothing,
he told himself,
that's what.
If Chelsea Adams could “see” anything with divine knowledge, she'd see Darren Welk killing his wife. Besides, this God's power stuff was ridiculous. The strange mix of rationality and emotion—that's what ruled the courtroom. Ruled the world, for that matter.

Purposely Stan fixed his eyes upon the clerk, even as his back muscles tightened and anxiety edged down his right arm.

O
NE TEN.
M
ILT SWEATED
bullets as he walked away from Tracey. He felt soaked in his suit, his shirt plastered to the white T-shirt underneath. His eyes swung to Rogelio, who faced the opposite direction, neck and shoulders arched. The kid looked like a cat ready to pounce.

He angled over to Bill,who was sprawled on a bench with an arm on the back. “How much time?” Bill asked in a barely audible voice.

“Maybe ten minutes?”

Bill smirked. “Too bad I can't use lights. A dark picture won't do much to show off your injury.”

“Yeah, well. You ought to see the other guy.”

“Really. Didn't think you had it in you,Waking.”

One eleven.

Milt was about to split a gut. Soon it would be all or nothing. A rocket to the moon or the end of his career.

He glanced back at Tracey. She was staring at her lap. What a great move, getting her to sit all the way down there. All the more floor space for luring. Plus she wasn't that far from the conference room.
That's it, babe, just sit. Just play decoy for ten more minutes.…

“Bill, go over and talk to her, keep her occupied. Sit so you can keep an eye on me. I'm going to watch the bottom floor.”

“Right, Boss.” Bill spoke in a gruff voice, like some Mafia underling.

Milt ignored him.He waited until Bill had settled next to Tracey. Then he sidled toward the top of the escalator and glued his gaze to the bored security duo below.

C
AUTIOUSLY
B
RETT EASED THE
conference room door farther open and peeked out. His temple throbbed where Milt had punched him. A minute ago he and Kerra had heard voices close by—Milt and Tracey. Now he heard another man's voice. There was Tracey. Sitting on a bench in profile, not twenty feet away, talking to Milt's cameraman.

He drew back inside.

“Is she there?” Kerra mouthed.

He nodded.

Kerra bit her lip, then hugged him, quivering with nervous energy.He held her tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head.

Brett could barely grasp what was happening. He'd so quickly assumed that his father was guilty, thinking he'd pieced together the events of that night on the beach.Obviously, his father had believed the same, the glaring evidence filling in the missing elements of a drunken memory. In the last hour, Brett had gone through enough emotions to last a lifetime. Anger, relief, and elation still swirled in his chest like brittle leaves in a dust storm. To think of the months of guilt he'd felt! All those times he'd beat himself up for burying that blouse. All the sick remorse over his dad's refusal to point the finger at his stupid cover-up, just to keep him out of jail. Kerra was right—their actions, however skewed, proved they loved each other. If this worked out, Brett declared to the heavens, he'd shout to the whole world what God had done for him. And for his father.

Kerra drew back and gave him a weak smile.His heart lurched at the concern on her face. She'd been through so much herself, yet all her thoughts now focused on him.

God, thank you for her most of all.

“Promise me something,” he whispered.“Promise that I can visit you every month in Kansas.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I can't leave you.”

“Yes, you can.Your teaching commitment's only for a year.After that I won't let you out of my sight again.”

The meaning of his words played across her face. She wrapped her arms around him once again, fingers pressing into his back.

M
ILT SPOTTED HER.
Stepping through the security scanner, carrying nothing.Whatever she'd brought through customs at the airport had probably been left in a waiting taxi. Coal black hair, cut short. The face was still lean and tanned but far different from her photographs. Jeans and a long-sleeved navy shirt, tucked in at the waist. Nothing to make her stand out. She could have been anybody.

His heart slammed against his chest. He jerked his head at Bill down the hall, then at Rogelio.
Easy, easy; don't spook Tracey.
Bill drew himself up, sliding his fingers into place over his camera.Vaguely Milt heard his voice drift down the hallway. “Nice talking to you.” He started ambling toward Milt. Rogelio caught Milt's eye and came to attention like a soldier hot for battle.