I didn’t know what to say, but I smiled at her. She turned and grabbed her borrowed bicycle, which had been laying in the dirt, and rolled it along after Wallace.
I stayed rooted in place. Tom was being marched by, and he glared at me, his hands cuffed behind him, a state trooper on either side of him. Police were everywhere, literally crawling in and out of the compound below, bringing the Mighty is His Word members to the surface. Between Jack arranging for backup and my texts to Dad and the rest of the free world, law enforcement had shown up in droves. There were officers here from the sheriff’s department, Amarillo, Borger, Pampa, Fritch, and God knew where else, as well as federal agents, and still barely enough handcuffs to go around.
A gurney rolled by with Paige on it, only recognizable because her long gray braid hung off its side under the sheet over her face. With a jolt, I realized that she was dead because of me, that I’d killed her to save Jack. I looked up and my father caught my gaze, and held it. He nodded at me, and I flung myself into his arms. More EMTs rolled Trevon Hodges behind Paige, his eyes wide open and his mouth releasing a stream of invectives at Satan, Jack, me, and the world in general. Two officers escorted Lawrence, who was straining to catch up to his wife.
Jack’s voice called. “Emily?”
My heart soared with hope. Dad released me, and I turned to Jack, open wide.
“Thank you. For what you did in there. You saved my life. You’re something else.”
And just like that, my heart plummeted to the earth like a rock. “Of course.” I paused, giving him one more chance.
“Go get ’em, Tiger,” he said.
I locked my jaw into place, propping up a quivering lip. “John, wait up,” I called and whirled.
John waved to me. I broke into a trot, then a jog, and finally a furious run until I was safely ensconced in the front seat of his cruiser. We pulled away from the compound without speaking, but I felt John’s eyes on me, the way they cared just a little too much. I looked over my right shoulder and into the face of a red fox standing by the gate. Thank you for the wisdom, spirit animal. I could use some more now. I waited, but the fox didn’t channel me any epiphanies. John’s eyes still flitted from the road to me, so intense I could feel his heart. Well, the day might come when I could return John’s affection but for right now, my heart belonged to the one who didn’t love me back.
By the time we’d passed through Sanford, I’d regained some equilibrium and filled John in on everything I knew to be true and most of what I’d guessed or was slowly pulling together. John got on the radio and set his cohorts at the Amarillo Police Department in motion vis–à–vis the Mighty is His Word flock’s foster kids and their leadership. Melinda Stafford was a sticky issue, though, since she was on the side of law enforcement and my obstruction suspicions weren’t corroborated. The most I really had on her was conflict of interest, which was just an issue with the state bar association. But finally, I remembered I had a lead: the guy who’d confronted Nadine and me at the storage unit, the same one who’d admitted he was a felon recently sprung by Melinda when I’d drunkenly encountered him at Hummers. APD had been able to pull records on someone named Ogletree, which matched the name on the shirt I’d seen him wearing at Hummers. Ten minutes later they’d rounded him up and threatened him with breaking and entering, burglary, destruction of property, and obstruction of justice. He’d handed over Melinda without blinking a lash, and APD had responded quickly to John with a plan for her arrest.
With all the activity on the radio about Mighty is His Word going down across the road from her Sanford property, Melinda and the rest of the ADA staff had to be working hard assisting the smaller Hutchinson and Moore county DA’s offices with what was an unprecedented area law enforcement emergency. Just the same, officers moved into place around her home while John sped downtown to meet the rest of them for the trip up to the DA’s offices.
We parked, and John handed me a windbreaker that said APD on the back. “Here.”
“I’m going up with you?”
He nodded once, crisply. “Just stay out of the way.”
“Thank you!” I slipped the jacket on as I got out and slammed my door.
Three officers stood waiting for us. Four APD for one ADA was quite a show of force, a strong message. They put their heads together, excluding me, then broke and marched inside with me in their wake. The security officer waved us by, thanks to a call-ahead from headquarters. We rode up the elevator in silence, and entered the DA’s office the same way.
“Does the DA know we’re coming?” I whispered to John.
He waggled his eyebrows. “Since about thirty seconds ago.”
I grinned. We were moving like a well-oiled machine.
John walked to the receptionist, a horse-loving woman I felt an affinity for although we’d never had more conversation than hello and good-bye. “The DA should be expecting us. I’m John Burrows, APD.”
She stared at him. I felt pretty sure this wasn’t normal protocol. She picked up the phone and pressed a button. I heard someone speaking on the other end before she got out a word.
“Yes, sir,” she said, and hung up. To John, she said, “He’ll be right out.”
We stood in a silent huddle, waiting, but not for long. The DA, a tall Hispanic man who I’d seen only in pictures, opened the door for Melinda. She saw the four officers, then me, and her face tightened.
John said, “Ms. Stafford, could you join us out by the elevators please?”
She glanced at her boss who nodded, his face stony. “Of course,” she said.
“Thank you, Ms. Stafford. And you, sir,” John said to the DA.
The DA nodded again, stoic. He whirled, and went back inside. Melinda swallowed hard and followed us into the elevator lobby. John led her out of the line of sight of the DA’s reception area, a courtesy to a fellow law enforcement officer.
“Melinda Stafford, you’re under arrest for obstruction of justice.”
Melinda looked at me, and her eyes narrowed to angry slits. A female officer cuffed Melinda’s hands in front of her. Another courtesy. John read Melinda her rights.
She didn’t utter a single word.
“Any questions?” John asked her.
She shook her head. I had expected her to go down fighting like the woman I’d always known. It was anticlimactic, even disappointing.
Still, as I watched her skinny frame wobbling in her ridiculous shoes down the sidewalk and into the squad car with John’s hand on her head to keep her from bumping it, I did a little fist pump and shouted, “Yes!”
Chapter Thirty-five
Judge Herring rapped his gavel so hard it rattled my head. “I said order, dammit, or I’m going to start picking winners from the gallery for a free night’s room and board on the state.” He pointed his gavel at the big metal door to the right of the defense table. It was a shortcut to an elevator down to the holding cells, and I’d seen him send plenty of people through that same door when they crossed him.
The rumbling, grumbling gallery grew deathly quiet. It was a big group that had gathered for our motion to dismiss the murder charge against Phil. The whole town was buzzing about our evidence, and even CNN was camped outside. Heck, everybody was buzzing about our ordeal the day before. Someone at the compound had snapped pictures and sent them to the news stations and the paper. Pictures of me. Of Jack. Of snakes and fire. And of those truly responsible for murdering Dennis and Abel and Jack’s family, too. I can’t say I was in love with people thinking of me wielding snakes like a Pentecostal serpent handler, but I guess it was in my blood, and a girl has to do what a girl has to do. Besides, my mother was over the moon about me finally pulling from her bag of tricks in going after the bad guys, and Dad and I had re-bonded over it, with no words exchanged.
Phil was still too ill to appear in court, so Jack sat alone at the defense table. His dark hair curling against his neck still needed a trim, and I still itched to touch it as I had in court a week before,
just to confirm he was alive and real and right in front of me. I restrained myself, but my heart leaned toward him until it touched what my hand could and would not.
The last twenty-four hours had been intense. Jack’s parents had driven in with Judith the night before. They’d raced to the hospital—where Jack recovered from his tranquilizer and had his burns treated—and beaten me there. Jack, Judith, and I worked side by side nonstop all morning and early afternoon on Friday, preparing to get Phil’s case tossed. Except for the million times Jack had slipped out to take phone calls, but he was due a break from my suspicion and mistrust. We were so busy I didn’t even have time to contact Wallace to let him know I intended to resume my fight to adopt Betsy, but I would, with a vengeance, come Monday.
While we were in the office, new information continued bombarding us: Clyde’s services would be Saturday, and Jack would give the eulogy. Not only that, but Clyde had left a sizeable sum to me, of all people, although Jack already owned the practice, which he bought outright five years before. I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around it all. Betty had called, as well, to let us know that Clyde’s son had died a few days before. It turned out that he had changed his name to Abel Stone when he joined Mighty is His Word and disowned his father, just before he took a job waiting tables at Abuelo’s. But he hadn’t shed his father completely. Abel had tried to do the right thing for a defendant, and had gotten killed in front of me for trying. Millie Todd was one of the Mighty is His Word folks rounded up, and she’d taken a deal immediately, confessing to being the mole in Phil’s swingers club and to lying about Phil arguing with Dennis to protect Trevon Hodges. Wallace had talked to Laura and Mickey. They were enthusiastic about Greg coming to live with me, and thus remaining in their lives. Wallace almost had state approval secured. I held back from telling him there was a better than even chance I was going to take the job in Dallas, that I had already looked into boarding for Legolas and a house with a yard for Chloe and—I hoped—Betsy someday; a place where I could get over Jack without having to spend every working day tortured by his lopsided smile, sparkling topaz eyes, and perfectly worn-in boots and jeans.
With all that was going on, there’d been no chance to talk with him privately. No chance to tell him what a numskull I’d been, how wrong it was to suspect him of silly things far beneath him. That I understood his need for justice, and respected him for getting it for his family. I needed to say these things to him, to clear the air, to set the stage for us both to move on.
From my right, Judith reached over and took my hand. “It’s going to be okay, Emily. You’ll see.”
A huge lump choked off any words. We hadn’t talked about it, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize she’d been helping Jack track down his family’s killers, and why I wasn’t the one for him to reach out to for it.
A hand patted my shoulder. I turned. Nadine had somehow slid into the crowded front row of seats. I raised my brows at her. She smiled back, her eyes tired but at peace for the first time in a long time.
Judge Herring’s voice boomed. “Mr. Holden, I believe you have a motion to present?”
Jack stood, not as quickly as usual, but just as straight. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“My condolences on the loss of Clyde Williams. A fine attorney, a great human being.”
Jack’s voice cracked. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
Judge Herring turned to an ADA I’d never seen before: a short, slim man dressed on the cutting edge of courtroom fashion—which was considered highly suspect and certainly metrosexual in these parts. He looked Vietnamese. “Is the state ready? I’m sorry, but I can’t remember your name.”
“Willis. Willis Nguyen.” He stood. “We are, Your Honor.”
The judge waved his hand at Jack. “Proceed.”
“Your Honor, in the case of the State versus Phil Escalante, we are presenting evidence in support of our motion to dismiss.”
“Call your first witness.”
“The defense calls Emily Bernal.”
I don’t recall walking to the witness stand, just the out-of-body feeling of standing in the box behind the microphone, peering out at Jack’s golden eyes locked onto me, his head nodding ever so slightly in encouragement. He was close enough that I could smell him, that tantalizing mix of earth, sunshine, and manliness, and it made my heart beat even faster. I’d never testified before, and my voice shook when I gave my oath.
“Emily, did you have occasion to hear a confession about the death of Dennis Welch?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Can you tell the court where and when this occurred, and relate the incident as you recall it?”
“Yes.” I proceeded to lay it out for the judge, my heart hammering and my mouth dry as I described what had happened, what I’d heard, and Jack’s near-death experience. Jack just let me talk, and the attorney for the DA’s office didn’t interrupt at all. Looking back, it seems like it took mere seconds, but at the time, I felt like I rambled on forever. One thing I do remember: there wasn’t another sound in the courtroom the entire time I spoke.
“And you’re absolutely sure about the individuals you’ve identified and the events you’ve described?”
“Yes. One hundred percent, Your Honor.”
Jack inclined his head at the judge. “No more questions, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Nguyen, would you like to cross-examine?”
Willis Nguyen stood. “Ms. Bernal, I wanted to personally thank you for your bravery and express to you and Mr. Holden”—he swung his head for his gaze to include Jack—“how glad we all are that the two of you are with us today.”
Judge Herring raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips, nodding. “Thank you, counselor. Is that all?”
“Yes, sir.” Nguyen sat.
“Are you new here?”
Nguyen scrambled back to his feet. “Yes, sir.”
“Replacing Ms. . . .”
“Uh, yes. Ms. Stafford.”
“Who I hear I should expect to see before me soon.” The judge took off his glasses and mopped his eyes with the back of his hand. He muttered but we could still hear him on the front row. “Pot farm. Obstruction of justice. Tampering with evidence. She’s lucky we don’t still allow hangings.” He took his time replacing the glasses on his face. “Where you from, Nguyen?”
“Formerly with the DA’s office in Austin. Started here last week.”
“Austin? Why ever would you leave Austin?”
Nguyen grinned. “My wife grew up here, sir. You can take the girl out of Amarillo—”
“But you can’t take the Amarillo out of the girl. Yes, son, I know it. That’s what brought me back here, too, a coupla hundred years ago.” Judge Herring lifted his hand toward the defense table. “Ms. Bernal, I echo Mr. Nguyen’s sentiments. Mr. Nguyen, you may take your seat.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
I walked past Jack to my seat behind him and as I passed he whispered, “Great job.” I smiled at him, but all my adrenaline had drained away, and it felt like my cheeks could barely hold up the corners of my mouth. I collapsed into my seat, and Judith reclaimed my hand.
Jack entered a few Mighty is His Word member affidavits into evidence, bolstering my testimony. When he was done, he said, “That’s all we’ve got, sir.”
Herring crossed his arms. “Nguyen?”
“The state withdraws its opposition to the motion.”
Herring released his arms and grabbed his gavel. “Motion granted.” Whap. He banged his gavel onto the surface of his wooden desk.
Cheers echoed in the courtroom. It was a wonderful moment, even if I hadn’t doubted what the outcome would be. Judith got swept into a hug with Nadine and me, and at first she pulled back but then laughed and folded in with us.
Whap. “Did I say I was finished?” Judge Herring bellowed. Whap.
Startled silence descended.
“First of all, since Mr. Escalante is still in the hospital, Mr. Holden, would you ple
ase extend my apologies and wishes for a full and speedy recovery?”
Jack was still behind the defense table, standing at attention. “Absolutely, Your Honor.”
“Now, this is a little unusual for a Friday afternoon, but it’s been a highly unusual day, so why not? Emily Bernal and Jack Holden, can you come forward please?”
I whipped my head to look at Judith. She shrugged. I got up and together Jack and I walked and stood before Judge Herring’s bench, close enough that the heat from Jack’s body warmed my skin, but he didn’t so much as glance my way.
“Mr. Gray, earlier today you asked if I’d read an order in court. Can you bring it to me, please?”
Mr. Gray? As in Wallace Gray, my Wallace? I whirled. Wallace strutted through the swinging door between the gallery and the courtroom proper. He had a sly smile on his face as he swept past us and handed a piece of paper to the judge.
The Judge lowered his glasses farther down his nose and read to himself, his lips moving. He resumed speaking to Wallace. “Judge Matthews. She’s good people.”
“Yes, she is, Your Honor.”
“Okay, it’s late and I’ve got a lot left today, so I’ll just skip to the good part. Emily Bernal and Jack Holden, you are hereby awarded full legal custody in the fostering of the minor child Greg Easley. By order of Judge Matthews and the state of Texas and all that blah blah blah. Oh, and you’re also granted custody as adoptive parents of the minor child Betsy Perez.”
“Emily.” Betsy’s voice pierced the silence following Judge Herring’s pronouncement.
I turned toward it, and Greg led Betsy toward us. She hit the swinging door at full speed and jumped into my arms. Jack put his arms around both of us and pressed his face in to kiss Betsy’s head. I extended mine out to draw in Greg, who was as gawky and nervous as I’d ever seen him. Jack’s arms around us felt so right, and my heart as if it had wings. Betsy was ours. Betsy was mine. And Greg would be with us, too, part of the family, and still able to see his mother. So much good. So, so much good. I laughed and wiped my tears with one hand then leaned back in.
Hell to Pay (What Doesn’t Kill You, #7): An Emily Romantic Mystery Page 29
