Somebody’s Perfect

by Kallypso Masters

  What if Gentry realized he had nothing left to lose after the district attorney threw the book at him with so many counts of murder, attempted murder, kidnapping, and more? Would he go after Damián or Dad in retribution?

  Savannah squeezed his arm. “You okay?”

  Hell, he was supposed to be here to support her, not the other way around. Fuck that shit, as Dad would say. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m fine, bebé. How’re you holding up?”

  “Nervous. Exhausted. But also anxious to get up there and tell my story.”

  His hand moved to the small of her back. She visibly relaxed as the courtroom cleared out. “You’re going to do great. That sick bastard won’t know what hit him.”

  “I just…”—she nibbled her lower lip—“wish I didn’t have to face him.”

  “Me, too, but you’re ready for this, querida. Remember your breathing. And ground yourself by touching your wedding ring or your collar whenever you need to calm yourself while on the stand.”

  She nodded.

  “Let’s go grab some grub while we can,” Dad said from behind Savannah. He must have come inside after seeing court had adjourned. “My treat.”

  “Sounds good,” Damián said. “Thanks, Dad.” He needed to get Savannah away from the courthouse for a while. To breathe and eat in order to keep up her strength.

  After a quick lunch at a nearby café, they returned to the courtroom a few minutes early and waited in the hall with Dad for the courtroom doors to reopen. Savannah had gone quiet again at lunch, picking at her fingers until one was bloodied, an old habit he thought he’d cured her of doing.

  Moving to stand behind her, he massaged her shoulders, digging his thumbs into two knots on either side that were as big as golf balls. She moaned, her head lolling backward.

  He couldn’t help but worry about the effect her testifying would have on her and the baby. Stress was a killer. He needed to keep her relaxed, strong, and healthy the next few days.

  Savannah had said she only wanted to spend quiet time with him this weekend. So he’d already made some plans that would help take her mind off the trial however briefly.

  Just before one-thirty, they said goodbye to Dad, who would wait in the hallway, and returned to their seats. He was fucking pissed that Savannah had to sit this close to that cabrón all this time to only watch and listen to a shitload of fucking nothing.

  Patience, Damo.

  When the judge called the district attorney forward late in the afternoon to begin her opening statement, Savannah tensed and began picking at her fingers again. He placed his hand at the nape of her neck and tapped the clasp of the collar. She stopped the nervous behavior instantly and leaned back against his hand but kept her gaze riveted to the DA, who turned to face the jury.

  Had he prepared her enough for this? Surely he had. She was a fierce warrior woman about to meet her most brutal foe on a level playing field for the first time ever. Savannah would no longer be the victim. This time, she would walk away the victor. Damián had helped her visualize that moment over and over. Feeling her settle into his touch and regain her focus a few moments ago told him she was ready. If he stayed zeroed in on her and her needs, he could help her get through this ordeal relatively unscathed.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, and thank you for your attention to the evidence you will hear during this trial. My name is Elizabeth Sullivan, and I represent the People in the case before you.” Standing in front of the jury and between the two counsel tables and the judge’s bench, she directed everyone’s attention to a screen on the wall opposite the jury box. Images of Savannah’s mother and the man he’d seen in newspaper reports identified as John Grainger were projected.

  “This is Elise Pannier Gentry. Loving mother. Active in her church and community.” She paused as a photo of Savannah and her mother replaced the first one. Dios, Savannah looked so young, so innocent. “After a day at the beach with her young daughter twenty years ago, Elise went home to find a violently jealous husband. He savagely strangled her in her bed. Her body was then unceremoniously buried under her rose garden at the home the defendant lived in until her remains were found this past March.” She gave them a few moments to reflect on her image before continuing.

  A good-looking man’s photo came up next. “And this is John Grainger. Businessman. Community leader. Beloved son and brother. And Elise’s hero, who planned to help Elise and little Savannah escape from their abusive home.” Another dramatic pause. The photos were a good touch, putting faces to the victims who couldn’t be here. “Mr. Grainger was killed execution style by a gunshot to the back of the head.”

  Without warning, John Grainger’s photo changed to one showing forensic teams exhuming bones from a rose garden. Savannah gasped, and he whispered as forcefully as he could without disrupting court, “Eyes.” When she didn’t follow through, he added, “Not a suggestion, savita.”

  Slowly, she dragged her gaze away from the photo and met his gaze. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. They didn’t speak further, so as not to let the DA or judge overhear them, but he mouthed the words, “I am…” He hoped his words would set off in Savannah’s head the mantra they had worked on for weeks now.

  She gave him a wavering smile as a single tear tracked down her cheek. He could almost hear her speaking the words:

  I am strong.

  I can’t be beaten.

  I will tell my story.

  Savannah drew a deep breath, let it out, and returned her attention to what was unfolding at the front of the room. The internalized mantra seemed to give her renewed strength. On the screen, the previous image had been replaced by a close-up of a human skull, the back of it shattered as if by a gunshot wound. It disappeared in a flash as the DA clicked a remote and once again faced the jury. At least it hadn’t been her mother’s skull.

  “And this is Savannah Orlando, daughter of the defendant.” A photo of Savannah in the hospital bed last March showed her face bruised and bloodied with dark circles under her eyes. “Kidnapped from her residence in Denver under orders from the defendant and brought back to the defendant’s home in San Diego County, she was then taken against her will by the defendant to his remote cabin in San Bernardino County where she was brutally assaulted and battered by him for nearly twenty-four hours last March.”

  Savannah had almost lost her life at the hands of that sadistic bastard.

  After another dramatic pause, she continued. “During the course of this trial, the People will present evidence showing beyond a reasonable doubt that the man you see seated here, George Albert Gentry,”—she pointed at the defense table—“is guilty of viciously ending the lives of two people—his wife, Elise, and her friend Mr. Grainger. Savannah is the only surviving witness to her mother’s murder and will tell you her story shortly.”

  The eyes of the jury scanned the room, each of them eventually settling on Savannah after recognizing her from the police photo. She tilted her chin up in proud defiance. While Damián admired the hell out of Savannah’s courage, the DA’s scowl said she wasn’t happy. Apparently, victims are supposed to be meek and cowering. Well, not his Savannah.

  Soon enough, Sullivan drew the jury’s attention back to her.

  Damián stroked Savannah’s forearm, and she relaxed a little. Dios, he’d be glad when her testimony was behind her, although she’d insisted on being here as all of the evidence was presented, before and after she took the witness stand.

  The DA continued. “In the coming days, the People also will present the medical examiner’s expert testimony along with that of a forensic anthropologist. Together, their testimony will establish how and approximately when the victims died.”

  Again, Savannah’s body stiffened. The DA had made the right call to have her in the courtroom today, desensitizing her to the massive amount of gruesome, detailed evidence that would be presented during the trial. He almost thought the opening statement was as much intended to prepare
Savannah as it was to begin to sway jurors to vote Gentry guilty of every crime he’d been accused of.

  Savannah’s strong resolve would be no match for Gentry. She’d have her day in court—literally—and would grab the bastard by the throat, figuratively, and take him down at last. Savannah would finish exacting the justice he and Dad began, making certain the bastard never breathed free air the rest of his life.

  Damián became lost in his own thoughts and missed the DA’s final words, but when the judge asked if Mr. Abbott, the defense attorney, was ready, Damián’s attention turned to Gentry. Abbott stood to begin his opening statement. Seizing his opportunity, Gentry boldly faced Savannah and mouthed the words, “I will win.” Savannah squeezed his hand tighter than a pair of locking pliers. Apparently, he’d gotten her attention, too.

  “Where are your eyes supposed to be, savita?” he whispered. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, only slightly loosening her grip. “I will keep an eye on Gentry for you.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  The defense attorney’s voice droned on far too long as he attempted to paint a picture of George Gentry as an upstanding citizen who contributed greatly to his community and society in general. No resemblance whatsoever to the creature Damián knew and detested. Gentry seemed to have a savvy lawyer. Did he have cash reserves after the court awarded Savannah the monies from her mother’s will and trust? Or did Gentry have rich friends he duped into paying for his defense?

  Damián’s gaze shifted to the jury once again. The guy on the far end seemed to be nodding off. What the…? It was fucking day one of the trial. Didn’t he know what an important job he’d been called upon to do here? Or was he merely bored, too, by the defense attorney’s attempts to sway their opinion and had already made up his mind? Maybe he’d perk up when actual evidence was presented and the witnesses gave their testimony.

  Would that begin today? Tomorrow? The defense attorney continued to tout Gentry’s supposed virtues. At this rate, the experts might not be heard until tomorrow.

  Would the jury see through all this bullshit and give the bastard the verdict and sentence he deserved? Why the hell hadn’t he finished him off when he’d had the chance?

  Savannah placed her cool hand over his fist and squeezed, calming him instantly. Damián gave her a reassuring smile before remembering back to that cabin, Gentry blubbering and cowering from him and Dad while they wired his junk for the branding that had been long overdue. He and Dad had talked about it over the summer, and neither of them regretted what they’d done. Both Gentry and Lyle deserved that and much worse.

  Still, Damián worried more about Dad testifying and Gentry recognizing him from what they’d done. He held no illusions that Gentry already knew Damián was there. He hadn’t hidden that fact at all. While Dad had remained masked at that point, he’d definitely spoken to Gentry at the beginning of the rescue. What if Gentry recognized his voice and noted his size, putting two and two together? The last thing Damián had wanted was to involve Dad, but he’d been overruled.

  When he noticed Savannah clenching her own fist at her side, he tucked her cold hand inside his until her skin grew warm again. Her body became less rigid. Good thing he was here. She needed him, and like most Doms, he welcomed being needed.

  He hoped the outcome of the trial would be what they’d been dreaming of for months. Then they could get on with their lives, go back to Denver, and focus on the baby and Marisol.

  How long before they called on her to testify? In some ways, Damián wanted to get her testimony over with so Savannah wouldn’t have to lose another night’s sleep. In others, he wanted more time with her to work on her grounding techniques. Tonight, they’d find more ways to help her hold up under the strain of being on the stand. He wouldn’t be able to convey grounding reminders to her in the moment, or they might taint the jury as to whether she was being coached.

  Would that be enough to get her through this?

  Hell, yeah, it would. She was the strongest, most courageous person he knew. All Savannah had to do was believe in herself and tell her story.

  Chapter Twenty

  Savannah fought back the tears on Friday as she was bombarded with piece after piece of gut-wrenching evidence. Her stomach knotted at times as she listened to the testimony of the medical examiner and forensic expert and saw the graphic photos shown to the jury. When juxtaposed with the images in her head from that night, tears streamed down her cheeks. Her breathing grew shallow.

  Damián rested his hand over hers, drawing her back to the present. She looked down and saw he’d been trying to keep her from picking at her fingers again. The ones on her right hand were practically raw. She’d put some Band-Aids on them for Monday’s session to keep from doing further damage.

  He squeezed her hand reassuringly, and she flipped hers over to take hold of his as if he were her lifeline. Because he was.

  Savannah had hoped to begin her own testimony after lunch, but the DA still questioned the forensics expert at two o’clock.

  Based on the physical remains, the expert had no doubt that her mother had been strangled because the hyoid bone had been broken. Unfortunately, they couldn’t say who strangled her. Savannah hoped that her account of that night would lead jurors to conclude that it had been Gentry, though.

  On cross-examination, the defense tried to discredit the experts, but he couldn’t refute any of the evidence.

  Once she’d laid the foundation for the murder charges, the DA turned her attention to Savannah’s kidnapping at Gentry’s and Lyle’s hands.

  With a deputy from San Bernardino County on the stand, the DA showed photos on the screen of Savannah’s wounds sustained during the aftermath of the kidnapping while at Gentry’s cabin. Because she’d survived this attack with very little memory, the images seemed disconnected from what she remembered. She shivered, and Damián made a fist. He’d seen what had been done to her before, and it was no easier for him to see the images, either. Savannah placed her chilled hand over his fist, lightly stroking his warmer skin with her thumb. Damián had nearly lost her again to Gentry’s cruelty, but he didn’t have the blessing of being unconscious for much of it. Most likely, he hadn’t blocked out any of it the way she had.

  She sighed. Today had proven to be a long day for them both.

  The defense stood to ask some procedural questions of the deputy during cross-examination, and then the deputy was dismissed from the stand. With barely a pause, the DA stood and said, “The People call Adam Montague to the stand.”

  The door at the back of the courtroom opened and closed, and Adam marched up the center aisle to the swinging gate, his back ramrod straight and head held high. After he was quickly sworn in, he proceeded to walk in front of the jury to the witness stand. Several female jurors smiled as he passed. There was something about that panty-dropping uniform. Savannah loved seeing Damián in his, although it was a rare occasion.

  Adam was asked by the DA to state his rank. “U.S. Marine Corps Master Sergeant, Retired, ma’am.”

  They were playing his military service to the hilt. Adam told her the other day that the DA had asked him to wear his uniform. Anything that gave him instantaneous credibility with the jury was fine with Savannah.

  “Where did you serve and for how long?”

  “Camp Pendleton after boot camp and for just over twenty-five years.”

  All too quickly, her mind was brought back to the matter at hand when Adam was asked questions about how he knew Savannah Orlando and what he’d found when a group of retired Marines rescued her from Gentry’s cabin.

  “What did you observe when you and your team found her?”

  “Savannah was stretched out naked over an ottoman where her arms and legs had been restrained. Gentry stood over her holding a flogger with metal studs. Her back was covered with raw, bleeding stripes. Blood dripped from the studs on the flogger in the defendant’s hand.”

  Once again, one of the photos taken at the hospital of
her injuries was projected and the DA directed Adam’s attention to it. Looking more closely this time, she saw that the photo displayed Savannah’s bloodied back from shoulders to just above the crack of her ass. Bruises had begun to show over her kidneys where she’d been kicked by Lyle during the kidnapping.

  “Does this photo fairly and accurately represent the injuries you saw on Savannah’s body that day, Master Sergeant?”

  “Yes, although by the point those were taken, she’d been cleaned up at the hospital in San Bernardino. We didn’t take any pictures of her right after the rescue mission.”

  “Master Sergeant Montague, how did you know where to look for Mrs. Orlando?”

  “We knew there was threat against her and had placed a tracking device in a necklace she wore.”

  “And was she wearing that necklace when you found her?”

  “No. It had been removed at the defendant’s home in Rancho Santa Fe.”

  “How did you know to go from there to the cabin?”

  “Lyle Gibson told us where he’d taken her.”

  “Objection. Hearsay,” Abbott said.

  “Your Honor, Mr. Gibson will be an upcoming witness and can corroborate this at that time.”

  “Sustained. You can ask Mr. Gibson about his direct involvement.”

  “Please tell the court how you located Savannah in such a remote location.”

  “Mr. Gibson’s phone had the coordinates for the cabin, and he provided them to us.”

  “After you located Mr. Gentry and the now Mrs. Orlando at the cabin, what did you do?”

  “My team and I took charge and got her away from him as quickly as possible.”