Never Go Back

by Jewel Geffen

  “I don't know what I'd do without you,” he murmured.

  “It's alright, sweetie,” she said, “you're okay. I'm not going anywhere. I'll take care of you, baby.”

  Silence. A long and pregnant silence lay between them, a thousand things left unsaid, a thousand possibilities. For the moment, however, they were both of them content to leave unspoken all that might have been said.

  “I'll call next time,” she said, “I promise. And I am sorry for making you worry.”

  Next time? What “next time” could she be thinking of? She'd been shot at, for Christ's sake; it wasn't an experience she was in any way looking to repeat. Or maybe was actually thinking of the next time she was with Jordan...

  They hadn't made any plans, hadn't really discussed what had happened. The trial was just going to be getting underway in earnest, and it didn't seem like the right time to make things complicated. So they'd just left it as it was.

  But it wouldn't remain unspoken forever. She wanted to be with Jordan; even now it was all she could think of, being in his arms again, feeling his touch, taking his cock inside of her... But she didn't want to cheat on her husband, no matter how things were between them. She was going to have to talk to both of them about what this meant for the futures of everyone involved.

  But not today. Today, she needed to reserve as much of her focus and attention as possible for Tasha Bishop. She was going to be standing up in front of a judge soon, and she had to be razor sharp, or she might cost that young girl the rest of her life.

  She gave her husband a squeeze. “I'm sorry,” she said, “but I've got court in a couple hours. I need to get ready. We can talk about this more tonight, okay?”

  He nodded, sniffling ever so slightly, “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

  She could hear him picking himself up from the floor as she went up the stairs, and then she heard the click of his office door closing once again behind him.

  Natalie looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. God, she was a mess. Last night had been a wild ride, to say the least. She felt like she'd been wrung out like a sponge. Weariness in mind and body suffused every inch of her being.

  Natalie turned on the water and let it fill her hands, then splashed it on her face. She had to focus, had to recover her center, had to be a lawyer.

  It was time to go to work.

  Chapter Twenty

  Two hours later she was standing in front of a polished oak defense desk in the stately old downtown courthouse, her hair brushed straight and wearing a crisp slate blue pantsuit. She'd checked herself in the mirror before coming in. If there was any sign of the previous night's activities, it wasn't readily apparent to her. She looked cool, calm and collected, the very image of a tough and high-powered young female defense attorney.

  She shut her eyes for a moment, breathing in the scent of the courtroom, listening to the low murmur of voices from around her, the shuffle of papers and sound of expensive shoes scraping gently across the old stone floor.

  This was her realm. She might not be much help out on the streets, except perhaps as a piece of arm candy for Jordan to use as a decoy, but in here she was the one in control.

  He was sitting right behind her, in the first row of the spectator's benches. She could practically feel his nervous energy, though he kept himself outwardly under control. She tried her best to keep him out of her thoughts. Too much of a distraction, to think of him right now. If she started thinking about him, her thoughts would invariably drift to remembrances of his body, his naked skin, the shape of him, the curve of his buttocks and the tense power of his muscles. She would think of his cock, thick and long and dark, sliding into her. She would think of his hands holding her down and his groan of satisfaction when he'd reached his pleasure...

  She shook her head fiercely. No, she wasn't going to think of any of that.

  She looked to her left, where Tasha sat, her fingers knit anxiously together in her lap, biting her lower lip and trembling. Then to her right, where, across the little aisle, the DA's prosecutor was sitting ramrod straight in his chair. Grant Blackburn himself, as immaculately presented as she herself, if not more so. His black hair seemed to have been combed with a laser, and his suit was as sharp as if it had just come off the tailor's rack. His leather briefcase sat before him on the desk, the bronze clasps gleaming.

  She'd been right in her suspensions about the DA. He was going for the kill. Blackburn was his attack dog, the one he brought out when he wasn't taking any prisoners. Blackburn played hard and dirty. He would push relentlessly for a conviction, and use every trick in the book to get it done. He would go for the harshest sentence he could get, always.

  Word was, Blackburn was angling to move into politics himself at some point in the near future. He was building himself a reputation for being tough on crime and willing to do what it took to get the job done. Each case he won was another brick on the road to power. If she'd been hoping for an easy trial, she wasn't going to get it from him.

  The doors at the far end of the room swung open and the bailiff's voice rang out. “All rise, for the honorable Judge Holden Weaver, presiding!”

  There was a hurried scraping of chair legs on stone as everyone got to their feet.

  An overweight man with an angry red face and thinning wisps of gray hair came storming out through the heavy doors, grumbling and waving the bailiff out of his way as he climbed up into his seat. He picked up his gavel and gave it a ferocious whack, seemingly just to show that he could.

  He glowed down from on high, seeming to reserve most of his ire for the defense side of the courtroom. His lip curled slightly when his eyes raked over Natalie and Tasha.

  Natalie felt her stomach turn over. This already didn't look good. She'd never argued in front of Holden Weaver before, but she'd heard about him. The impression she'd gotten was that he wasn't especially fond of female lawyers, nor of women or minorities in general.

  It was going to be an uphill battle, facing off against Blackburn in Holden's court, she could already sense that. Whatever hope she'd had for the case potentially working out in their favor vanished. If they didn't get Melvin to testify and shut down the case against Tasha, there was no chance of winning.

  Still, she had to try.

  “Well now,” Judge Weaver growled, “what kind of bullshit do we have here, huh? Mr. Blackburn, good to have you back with us. And who's this?” he asked, glaring down at her.

  Oh boy.

  Natalie cleared her throat. “Natalie Kendall, your honor.”

  “Hm, I see. Well then, well then. Let's get started, shall we? Haven't got all day. I want to dismiss by lunch, so don't go on and on, understand?”

  “Of course, your honor,” Grant said, “We're grateful for you being able to fit us in, sir.”

  “Uh, yes,” Natalie said, hurrying to agree when Judge Weaver turned a sharp look in her direction, “thank you.”

  Things went downhill from there. Grant Blackburn gave a stirring political oration about streets overflowing with gang violence, and the rampant scourge of drugs ripping apart the lives of good and innocent citizens. He painted a grim picture of society hanging on by a thread, as if the only thing standing in the way of total breakdown where this specific trial.

  The judge let him go on and on; Blackburn seemed to have no intention of keeping himself brief in consideration of the judge's impending lunch, and the judge was in no rush to stop him. Natalie supposed the time was coming out of her statement instead. It was a cheap shot, but an effective one. She'd have to cut her own statement short, or risk pissing off a judge who already seemed ill-disposed towards her.

  Tasha got more and more nervous as Blackburn went on. At one point she actually reached over and grabbed Natalie's arm, squeezing it as if holding on to keep from being pulled away by a strong current. Natalie squeezed it back. “We'll be alright,” she whispered.

  “I don't know about that...” Tasha murmured, her eyes wide with fear.

 
“And that is why, your honor,” Blackburn said, seeming to be at last approaching the close of his soliloquy, “that State is recommending that this... woman... this criminal who has been hiding behind a guise of respectability while secretly engaging in the most heinous of acts, be given the sternest of punishments. This person is a cancer in our great city, selling poison to our innocent children and funding the monsters who want to destroy everything we stand for. It absolutely cannot be tolerated. We will prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she is guilty of this crime. Thank you.”

  And, with that, Grant Blackburn made his way back to the prosecutor's desk and sat down, unable to keep the tight grin from spreading across his lips.

  Natalie heard Jordan's voice from just behind her, a low growl not entirely under his breath. “Goddamn bastard...”

  Tasha swallowed nervously. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  Natalie reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “It's alright. That was their turn. Now it's ours.”

  She stood up, trying to center herself, trying to clear her mind, already frantically mentally editing her statement to trim it down short enough not to annoy the irate judge. She took a deep breath.

  Here went nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Natalie slumped onto the bench just outside the courtroom and let out a heavy sigh.

  She shut her eyes and ground her palms against the sides of her head. Some days, getting up in front of a judge or a jury was a kind of magic. You stood there and you spoke, and it was like you were weaving a spell. You could just feel it all coming together, everybody's thoughts being turned around by what you were saying. You literally remade reality.

  Sometimes, however, it was about as much fun as trying to get through a brick wall by bashing it with your head.

  Jordan walked silently up, and sat down beside her. He was wearing that gorgeous suit of his, though the tie was loosened and the top button undone. He rubbed his hands over his head, not saying a word.

  “Well...” she said, “Any word from Skulls?”

  Jordan shook his head slightly. “Nope.”

  “How'd I look in there?”

  “You looked good.” He smiled slightly, a reassuring sort of smile. Unfortunately, and ironically, the fact that he was trying to reassure her only convinced her more than ever that she'd done badly, and therefore he'd thought she needed reassurance.

  “Jesus Christ,” she breathed. “This bastard's got a real hard-on for us, that's all I'm gonna say.”

  Judge Weaver had been absolutely merciless on them. He'd interrupted her opening statement half a dozen times, sneering and looking cruelly amused. He seemed to be toying with her and, after she'd been speaking for perhaps half the time Blackburn had been speaking, he'd started cutting her off to hurry her along.

  It was absolutely infuriating, but not the sort of thing you could try and get a mistrial on, so calling it out or fighting back would have only put them deeper into his ill graces. There was nothing to do but suffer it in silence, and try her best.

  Jury selection started in two days, and she was just going to have to hope she'd have better luck when she got up in front of them. They were what really mattered, of course, but juries tended to take their lead from judges, and if a judge was against you the jury would feel it, and they'd turn on you.

  It didn't help that she really didn't have much of a case, and Holden Weaver had known it. He had sneered coldly at her, practically dripping with contempt, in sharp contrast to the warmth he showed towards Blackburn.

  Her request for bail had been flatly turned down after the District Attorney's prosecutor had gone into a whole bit about Tasha's gang-member confederates would either kill or abduct her in order to protect themselves, and that to let her out on bail would be a risk both to herself and to justice.

  The judge had eaten it up, of course.

  “You did good up there. Sounded good. Really.” Jordan's deep voice couldn't wholly disguise the fact that he was troubled.

  “Thanks. I appreciate the vote of confidence. It's not going to be an easy one, though. Like having a second prosecutor on the bench. He's going to hit us hard... I'm sorry.”

  Jordan touched her arm, and she felt a strange sort of thrill rush through her. The last time he'd touched her they had been making love in the backseat of his car like a couple of teenagers. Now here they were, all dressed up in the courthouse no more than a handful of hours later. Life could be strange, sometimes.

  “Trust me,” he said, “we're used to having the system rigged against us. You just gotta keep fighting. Only way to stay alive. You just don't stop.”

  She slipped her fingers beneath his and gave his hand a little squeeze. “I know. We're going to win this, I promise you.”

  Then, suddenly, Jordan pulled his hand away. She looked up, surprised, and saw that he was looking across the room, brow furrowed. He nodded, and she followed his gaze.

  Grant Blackburn was striding confidently and purposely towards them, one hand in the pocket of his crisp suit and the other holding the handle of his briefcase as it swayed against his leg. His eyes were focused on her. He looked about as friendly as a charging bull.

  She got to her feet, smoothing out her blazer and clearing her throat. “Grant,” she said, holding a hand out to him.

  He pointedly ignored it. “What the hell are you doing in my police station, Mrs. Kendall? I don't need you bothering officers of the law without a good reason for it. Keep to your own turf.”

  She frowned deeply. “Tom's a friend of mine. I was going to him for advice. Nothing wrong with that.”

  Grant sneered. “Friend, my ass. I know how you sharks are. Always looking for a cheap advantage. He told me you've got some kind of bullshit scheme you're cooking up. Looking for a pie in the sky deal of some kind?”

  Well, that certainly didn't sound promising.

  “That's right.”

  He crossed his arms. “What do you have for me?”

  Natalie's mind raced. Tipping their hand to Grant now clearly wasn't going to help them any. If anything, it would only give him more ammunition to use against them in the courtroom. And he wasn't likely to accept a deal before they had anything to give him. Hopefully Tom hadn't spilled the beans, but she didn't think he would have. For now, she'd just play with the cards close to her chest.

  “Just an idea I was looking for advice on. I'll let you know if we've got something to discuss, Mr. Blackburn. Until then, I'll thank you to keep your advice to yourself.”

  Grant's sneer only widened. “What are you doing here, anyway? Since when did SSM stoop to defending lowly drug mules? Don't you have some big business to get off for tax evasion or discrimination or something?”

  Jordan started to rise behind her, but she held a hand out and subtly gestured for him to sit back down. This was no time for a scuffle. She looked right back at Blackburn instead. “I don't know,” she replied, “since when did the DA's number two guy prosecute 'lowly drug mules?' What's your interest in this, Grant? Looking to puff up those numbers before the election?”

  His lip curled and he shook his head. “You should give it up, Kendall. The only deal you're getting is a plea bargain, and even then she's getting twenty years, at best. This one's a slam dunk. You've got nothing.”

  “We'll see,” she said.

  He just shook his head and stalked away.

  Natalie sat back down. For a long moment she and Jordan just sat next to one another, not saying a word. Then she turned to look at him. “So,” she said, “we track down Skulls?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice dark and icy with rage, “I think that'd be a damn good idea.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Holden's going to kill you, you know that, right?” Roberta Harring, couldn't help but disguise her glee at the notion.

  Andrew Applegate, a contract lawyer from the fourth floor, chimed in with his agreement. “He's got it in for us, always has. Hates the whole firm. He's a p
rosecutor's judge.”

  “And he really doesn't like strong women, believe me. I've been there, sweetheart.” Roberta shook her head ruefully.

  “I heard he once had a female lawyer sent home when she showed up in a skirt. Just a normal skirt, you understand. Business attire, nothing out of the ordinary. He told her he wasn't going to sit there and listen to 'some schoolgirl pretending to practice law' and that if she wanted to make a case in his courtroom, she'd have to come dressed like a proper lawyer.”

  “Unbelievable. I mean, it's one thing to be a hard ass, or even a misogynist. It's another thing to play favorites that blatantly. I can't wait for the bastard to retire,” Roberta hissed.

  “Amen. We should throw a party when it happens.”

  “Assuming he doesn't drop dead of a heart attack first, the shriveled old goblin.”

  “In that case,” Andrew snorted, “we should definitely throw a party.”

  Roberta threw back her head and laughed uproariously, holding the table for support, her black lacquered nails clacking on the hardwood as she clutched it.

  Natalie glowered at them. “Thanks so much for all your support,” she said coldly.

  Andrew shook his head. “Oh, come on, Kendall, you're not really serious about this, are you?”

  Roberta interrupted before she could answer. “Oh, she is! She really is. You should have heard her, Andy. So full of passion and vigor, all fired up to right the wrongs of the world. It was adorable, honestly.”

  Andrew snickered. “Are you being straight with me? You're for real here?”

  Natalie took a moment to collect herself. She could feel her jaw tightening with anger. Had her colleges always been so venal and fatuous? Perhaps they had been and she'd not noticed it before. Perhaps she herself had been like them not so long ago. “I am defending my client to the best of my abilities, just like I would for anyone else.”