Justice For Abby

by Cate Beauman

  “Just one more second.” She closed her eyes, resting her cheek against his chest, savoring the comfort of being in his arms. “Okay.” She stepped back, bolstered by the embrace. “I’m ready.”

  “I’ll be right there with you.” He took her hand, giving a gentle squeeze. “Right in the front seat of that courtroom. You don’t have to look at him while you testify.”

  “Yes, I do.” This was her chance to finally put this chapter of her life away. “I’m going to look him right in the eyes while I twist the lock on his cell door.”

  He smiled. “Have I mentioned how much I love you?”

  He’d told her at least a dozen times a day while they were home in California. The feds as well as Ethan and Jackson had assured them both that risks were minimal now that all of the major known players in the ring were dead or behind bars, but neither she nor Jerrod had let the other out of their sight since he carried her out of the warehouse. “I think I remember you saying that.”

  “Let’s go toss away that key.”

  She nodded. “The sooner the better.” Despite the flutters of apprehension for the day ahead, she was craving the small slice of normal she’d sampled while they stayed at the farm. Eventually she and Jerrod would be comfortable with her being out on her own. Finally they would have their chance to move on. “Wait.” She pulled on his hand.

  “What?”

  She cupped his face in her hands, pressing her lips to his, then the healing wounds on his temple, taking the comfort he was always willing to give and giving her fare share in return. Her testimony wouldn’t be easy on either of them. “I love you too.”

  “Quinn.” Shane stopped in the doorway, decked out in a dark suit and tie similar to Jerrod’s. “We should go.”

  “We’re ready.” He took her hand, holding it while they walked downstairs to the kitchen.

  “There you are, honey.” Carol stood in her jeans and sweater, pulling Abby into a hug.

  Abby returned her warm embrace. “Here I am.” Jackson’s mother—Mom to everyone who knew her—had always been so kind. She’d loved coming to the island when Lex and Jackson brought her during their college breaks all those years ago. The house was as beautiful and soothing as Carol and George Matthews were themselves.

  “Did you have any luck with your breakfast?”

  Abby eased away, shaking her head guiltily. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m just not hungry.”

  “Of course you’re not, sweetheart,” she cooed as she pressed a kiss to Abby’s injured cheek and stepped back to grab the small thermos and paper sack. “Here’s some honeyed tea and a few graham crackers for the road. I want you to nibble and sip. A little bit of sweet will help settle your stomach.”

  Abby took the items handed to her. “Thank you.”

  “Promise you’ll try.”

  “I will.”

  “Today will be difficult, but you’ll do just fine. You’re my spitfire, Abby Harris. You remember that.”

  “I will.”

  “All right. Go on now, and kick some butt the way I know you can.”

  Abby smiled, loving Carol even more.

  Carol hugged her again quickly. “George and Stone are waiting in the garage. Here you go, Jerrod.” She handed over another bag. “Rolls and lots of napkins for you boys for the ride.”

  He smiled. “Thanks, Car—Mom.”

  She winked. “You’re welcome.”

  Shane opened the door leading to the garage. Abby walked out to the Escalade with Jerrod at her side, sliding into the backseat next to Stone. Shane took the passenger’s seat while George pulled out of the garage—her team for the last three days, minus George—men she and Jerrod both trusted, men Jerrod would be working with on a regular basis now that her security would lessen and Shane would join Ethan Cooke Security.

  She pulled her sunglasses from her purse, putting them on as the mid-morning sun shone bright, glistening on the choppy waters of the bay too brackish to freeze in the cool February temperatures.

  “Looks like a good day to get this done,” Jerrod said, squeezing her hand.

  She smiled and opened the bag Carol had given her, nibbling at the cracker as she’d promised she would.

  The SUV remained quiet while they drove over the Bay Bridge and several more miles to the United States District Courthouse in Baltimore. Abby leaned against Jerrod, staring out at the city she called home during her not-so-long-ago college days. It felt like years since she’d been carefree and on her own, but really it had only been months. The Escalade passed the fabric store she’d practically lived in and the café she’d stopped at regularly for tea, then she spotted the restaurant she and Renzo had eaten at on more than one occasion and sat up, looking away, understanding that she could never live here again.

  Los Angeles was where she wanted to be. Jerrod would be there with her, and Alexa and her career. Despite the complications of the past several weeks, the Escape line was still ready to roll. She and Lily had gone over the designs she’d drawn while in Manhattan, picking and choosing what they would use for Fashion Week, tirelessly sewing, fitting, and resewing into the wee hours of the morning for much of the eight days she and Jerrod had been home. There was too much to look forward to to dwell on the now. Today would officially mark the first day of her new beginning.

  She came to attention, swallowing as George slowed and pulled up to the curb by the courthouse. Dozens of reporters waited with their microphones and news cameras.

  “Great,” she murmured, remembering the similar swarms as she and Jerrod made their jaunt through Regan International back in July.

  “Just look down and walk,” Jerrod said. “We’ll take care of the rest.”

  Stone got out first, wasting little time, then Shane, who opened Jerrod’s door. Jerrod stepped out, giving her a nod to come forward as Shane stepped closer in front of her. Jerrod wrapped an arm around her waist and Stone flanked them from the back, touching a quick hand to both their shoulders, signaling for them to move through the pandemonium as the press swooped in.

  “Ms. Harris, is this the first time you’ve seen your kidnapper since your rescue?”

  “What do you plan to say to the man who held you captive?”

  “Back up,” Shane said as they pushed their way up the steps into the courthouse, leaving the reporters and their questions behind.

  “Whew,” Abby said, loosening her death grip around Jerrod’s waist as she pulled off her sunglasses, trying to relax her shoulders.

  “How are you holding up?” Jerrod asked.

  “I’m okay.” But, as she stepped through the metal detector and the inevitable drew near, she worried what her reaction to Renzo would be.

  “Come on.” He took her hand as they started up the stairs.

  Her heart began to hammer, and the cold sweat started with each step closer to the courtroom and her captor. “Jerrod.” She jerked on his hand as they reached the second floor and moved into the small room where they would wait for her to be called.

  He stopped. “I’m right here with you.”

  “I know.” She stepped closer to him, leaning against his solid body. “What if—what if I can’t do this?” she asked on a trembling whisper. “What if we’ve come all this way and I can’t?”

  He slid a lock of hair behind her ear. “I have no doubt that you can. You’re tossing away those keys, remember?”

  And that’s what she needed to remember. If she didn’t do this, Lorenzo might go free. I just want to go home, Abby. She couldn’t let down Margret, herself, or the hundreds of others deserving justice. Licking her dry lips, she nodded. “I remember.”

  Someone knocked on the door to the small room.

  Stone stepped forward, his hand on his weapon, opening an inch. “Yeah.”

  “We’re ready for Ms. Harris.”

  “Thank you.”

  She held Jerrod’s gaze as her hands grew clammy. “God. Okay. God,” she repeated, smoothing down her skirt as her pulse throbbed in her throat
. “I need to go. Right now. I need to do this while I can.”

  “Let’s go.” Jerrod walked out by her side, with Stone following. Shane stayed behind, keeping an eye on who entered the room after them. They made their way through the next door, and Lorenzo turned in his chair at the defense’s table, his eyes locking with hers.

  She paused mid-step, burying her repulsion, studying him as he did the same with a smirk on his face. He seemed different. His smooth good looks had turned chubby. He appeared older, as if his time locked away had been a strain. Good.

  She moved further into the room as Blondie stepped down from the stand to the bailiff waiting with handcuffs, ready to lead her away. She too looked awful in her ill-fitting skirt and gray roots showing. She glanced Abby’s way, glared, and looked away. Blondie would get out of prison eventually with her last-minute plea bargain, but she would spend the next fifteen to twenty in the penitentiary, which wasn’t long enough.

  She glanced up, meeting Renzo’s stare for the second time. Even with the distance between them and his not-so-fit appearance, he evoked a primal fear that made her want to run.

  “Abigail,” Jerrod whispered next to her ear.

  She turned her head, looking into Jerrod’s calm, steady eyes.

  “He can’t hurt you anymore. Never again.”

  She nodded.

  “The prosecution calls Abigail Harris to the stand.”

  She swallowed as her crackers threatened to make a second appearance and focused on the silent support of Jerrod’s squeeze against her fingers, ready to do what needed to be done.

  Prosecutor Bitner gave her a nod as she walked to the stand.

  “Place your hand on the Bible,” the bailiff said.

  She did as she was told, glancing at Jerrod.

  “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  She looked into Renzo’s eyes. “Yes I do.”

  ~~~~

  “What happened next, Ms. Harris?” Prosecutor Bitner asked.

  “He threw me to the bed.”

  Jerrod fisted his hands at his side as Abby’s voice trembled. She’d been to hell and back over the last two and a half hours, answering question after question, reliving her worst moments in the stash house and strip clubs for dozens of strangers packed into the courtroom to hear. She’d shared—in minute detail—the horrors of her ‘bookkeeping’ requirements, strip routines in seedy bars, and lap dances in filthy backrooms, holding herself together through it all.

  Over the months they’d lived together, he thought Abby had confided the majority of her ordeal, but as he sat on the uncomfortable wooden bench, listening, waiting for the grilling to end, he realized there was so much more to her horrible story. The fact that she woke everyday determined to not only function but thrive was a testament to her admirable inner strength.

  He reached up to rub at the back of his aching neck, stopping as she looked in his direction. The last thing she needed was to sense his tension; right now she needed his strength. He gave her a barely perceptible nod, and she continued with her explanation for the jury. His gaze traveled to the bastard sitting smugly in the defendant’s chair. Even though bailiffs stood within arm’s reach and Stone sat inches behind Lorenzo on the opposite bench, the slime bag was still too close to Abby. The fucker deserved to rot in his cell for the rest of his life. After Abby’s testimony, he would. She was kicking ass.

  Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, ready for all of this to be over. He and Abby were officially in the clear now that the Task Force had closed their files on The Mid-Atlantic Sex Ring, deeming the organization dismantled with the key players dead or behind bars. Even Adam sat in a cell waiting for his day in court. Dimitri’s computer had been chock full of information the feds used to raid dozens more brothels over the last several days.

  Bringing Abby back to Maryland had been a necessary evil, but this would finally be the end. After this, he and Abby were free to move on. During their eight days in LA they’d given it their best try, settling back into their condo with his clothing and bathroom supplies making their way to her bedroom and bath instead of his. They’d both worked, him in his old room via e-mail and conference call and Abby in the dining area, frantically sewing and fitting her models, with Lily at her side. For the first time in almost seven months, he’d been able to leave her home alone or let her walk the streets on her own, but neither of them had been ready for that.

  “Did Lorenzo Cruz then rape you, Ms. Harris?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just to clarify, Ms. Harris, in no way was your sexual encounter consensual.”

  “Mr. Cruz strangled me while he forced me to open a condom. He then violated me while the fifteen-year old girl he’d just beaten sat huddled on the floor. Neither me nor Margret Stowers consented to being assaulted that day—physically or sexually.”

  “Mr. Cruz raped you, then went after Margret Stowers?”

  “Objection.” Lorenzo’s Defense attorney stood. “This is hearsay.”

  Judge Marris adjusted her horn-rims resting on her nose as she looked at Abby. “I’ll allow it.”

  “Your Honor,” the defense attorney started in, “I—”

  “Attorney Stronger, I’ll allow it.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” He took his seat.

  “I’ll repeat the question,” Prosecutor Bitner said. “Mr. Cruz then raped Ms. Stowers after raping you?”

  Abby nodded. “Yes. Lorenzo beat her for a second time after he raped me, then he raped Margret.”

  “No further questions.”

  Defense Attorney Stronger stood, adjusting his black tie as he walked toward the witness stand. “Ms. Harris, how many times did you say you were sexually assaulted while at the DC residence?”

  “You mean brothel? I was held against my will in a stash house, Attorney Stronger. I was raped once.”

  “Once?” Attorney stronger raised his brows as he looked at the jury then back at Abby.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m confused then, Ms. Harris. In your statement you shared that other victims were raped continuously.”

  “Yes. That’s right—daily, hourly.”

  “Were you attracted to Mr. Cruz?”

  She shook her head. “Lorenzo and I were friends—or I thought we were.”

  “Didn’t you and Mr. Cruz have dinner on occasion?”

  “Yes. We ate out a few times and met for coffee once or twice after fashion shows. As I said, I thought we were friends.”

  “Were you in charge of keeping track of the ‘rapes’?

  “Yes.”

  “And you were responsible for the rotation of each girl?”

  “Unfortunately yes. I was forced to keep documentation of how many times young women were prostituted and how much money was made by the day, weeks, and months for all brothels in the Baltimore and DC area.”

  “Your Honor.” Prosecutor Bitner stood, “where is this questioning going?”

  “Attorney Stronger,” Judge Marris said, “move this along.”

  “Your Honor, I’m trying to establish Ms. Harris’s roll in The Mid-Atlantic Sex Ring.”

  “Proceed.”

  Attorney Stronger nodded. “Ms. Harris, you’re a fashion designer, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Didn’t you make clothes to showcase the allegedly prostituted women for their clients?”

  “By force.”

  “But you did make them outfits and then dole the girls out to paying customers.”

  “By force,” she repeated.

  “So isn’t it safe to say that you prostituted these ‘victims’ as much as the accused man sitting here on trial, the man you had dinner with on several occasions, whom you claim was your friend? I’m wondering why you’re not facing charges similar to my client’s.”

  Murmurs filled the courtroom while Jerrod gritted his teeth, struggling to remain seated instead of rush forward and punch the shit out of the asshole
for his implications as the prosecution stood to object.

  “That’ll be enough, Attorney Stronger,” the judge warned. “Strike that from the record.”

  Abby looked at Jerrod, then the judge. “Your Honor, if I may, I’d like to respond.”

  Judge Marris looked from Lorenzo to Attorney Stronger, then at Abby. “Go ahead, Ms. Harris, but this will be off the record.”

  She nodded. “Could I please have a tissue and a glass of water?”

  “Do you need a break, Ms. Harris?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  The bailiff brought over the requested items.

  “Thank you.” Abby dipped her tissue into the water and wiped at her battered cheek and jaw with an unsteady hand, exposing the purple and yellow mess she’d hidden with makeup. “Attorney Stronger, these are bruises I received a week and a half ago while I sat in a cold, rundown warehouse waiting to die at the hands of Mr. Cruz’s colleagues.

  “Their plan was to murder me before I could testify today. I was beaten and knocked unconscious with the handle of a gun, but my injuries aren’t nearly as bad as what many of the other young women faced on a daily basis. I did not choose what happened to me. I never asked for my friend to organize my abduction. I did not ask to be shoved into the back of a van. I never once gave off some sort of signal that suggested I wanted to be raped, intimidated, and abused, nor did the other survivors. When everywhere you turn there’s a man blocking the door to freedom, reminding you you’re not allowed to leave, there are no choices. So no, Attorney Stronger, I did not prostitute the young women held against their will, but your client certainly did.”

  Silence filled the courtroom as several jurors wiped at their eyes. Abby swallowed, fighting back tears.

  “No further questions,” Attorney Stronger muttered as he took his seat.

  “You may step down, Ms. Harris,” the judge said.

  Abby stood and walked from the stand, moving toward the door as Jerrod followed her into the hall.

  “Abigail.”

  She dashed to the women’s room down the hall.

  “Abby.” Jerrod picked up his pace, pushing his way into the bathroom, caring little that he didn’t belong. He steamed out a breath as Abby vomited into the sink, trembling, tears tracking down her cheeks as she gripped the counter, heaving.