by John Foxjohn
Kayla had never in her life hesitated to go to him when she needed help—even after his death. However, when she needed to talk to someone, really talk—she sought her mother.
Her parents had dual roles in her life. Father the advisor, but his inflexibility did not make someone she could pour out her soul to.
Her father had a black/white—right or wrong complex—never any shades.
Her mother had always taken the opposite role, and it just occurred to Kayla why. Her mother and father had opposite personalities. Her mother lived her life in shades, not the dogma her father projected.
She had never seen that before. Never thought of why her mother listened and talked to her instead of advising. In many ways, her mother had advised her without doing so. Her ability to listen, communicate, but more than that, her ability to show compassion had affected Kayla all her life.
Kayla had always believed she took after her father. She hadn’t. She now believed that her mother had had more influence on her life than her father had. Kayla had some of his inflexibility. She’d never forgiven her ex or Loren for their error, as her father wouldn’t have.
She had no trouble finding people around her willing to advise her.
What she needed more than anything was someone to talk to, and listen to her. She shook her head. Her life had evolved to a sad state. As she always did, she placed the diary back in the trunk with care. Intending to read it, her revelation of herself made her change her mind.
Downstairs, her hand shook as she picked up the phone.
Thirty minutes later, the only person she believed would listen to her, rang the doorbell. She looked out the peephole, opened the door, and stepped aside to let Darren in.
* * * *
Neither spoke for a long time while the tension mounted between them.
At last, he set his drink down and half-turned to face her. “Would you mind telling me why you had me followed?”
Kayla’s eyes widened. Of all the things he could have said, or asked, she’d never thought he’d ask that. She tried to meet his gaze, but couldn’t. In a weak voice, she said, “I thought Estes hired you to scare me away. I thought you killed Princess.”
When she told him this, she expected him to explode—not his hurt expression.
She reached out and caught his hands. “When I did that, I didn’t know you well.”
He nodded. “Uh-huh, I know.” He let out an audible breath. “Actually, I can understand how and why you’d come to those conclusions.”
“Darren—”
He held up his hand to stop her. “I can understand it, and also, why you didn’t bother to talk to me about it.”
Tears trickled down her cheeks. As the weeks passed, feelings for Darren had increased well beyond anything she had intended or thought she wanted. Now, her thoughts never strayed far from him. She released his hands and swiped at her face.
He scooted closer, took her in his arms, and all her reserves melted. She hadn’t known him long, but with his arms cradling her, she belonged.
She snuggled closer. A sexual aura like she had never experienced invaded her body. She raised her face and their lips met, hungry, inviting. It had been a long time since she thought about giving herself to a man.
At that moment, she wanted him to have her.
She groaned when he broke off the kiss. They stared into each other’s eyes. His expression said not here—not now.
That set Darren apart from other men and was one of the reasons she fell for him. She believed he cared more about her than a moment of lust. They held each other for a long time before she disengaged to refresh their drinks. With one important question she had to ask, needed to, she delayed. There was no way she could like the answer.
She sipped her drink still delaying, but resolved to get it over with. “Darren, I need to know who hired you to protect me.”
Long moments passed without him speaking. When she believed he wouldn’t answer, he did.
“Actually, I still don’t know. I have tried to find out. I haven’t spoken with him in person in a long time. He has called me twice, but the number he used is untraceable.”
As he stared at his drink, she reached over and lifted his chin with a finger. “You don’t know for sure, but you have a guess, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh, all I have is a guess, but it is one you don’t want to hear.”
She sat back, rigid. She didn’t want to, but had to. “I need to know.”
He rubbed his face with both hands. “Kayla…”
She closed her eyes. “Please go ahead.”
“I believe the man who hired me is your father.”
She jerked, eyes flashing. “That’s not possible. My father is dead.”
She jumped up, hands on hips. “Why would you say something stupid like that?”
Her mind flashed to the double coffins at the funeral. She’d laid her head on her father’s chest hoping, praying to hear his heart beat.
She blinked away tears. Why did she take what he said out on him? She’d asked and he gave her a guess—an incorrect one, but a guess.
* * * *
The next day, a sticky August morning, the murder trial of Loren Estes commenced.
Kayla woke at five, despite the fact that she had trouble getting to sleep. She needed to talk to Darren, but couldn’t. Why did he think the man who hired him was her father?
She shook her thoughts away and practiced her opening statement for a few minutes. Her father had always said the first words the jury heard, the first impressions of the attorneys counted in their mind—to go in with a bang and leave with one, too.
A quick glance in the mirror revealed sleep bags and worry lines, but she rubbed her face, attempting to force her appearance out of her mind. She did twenty minutes on the exercise bike while coffee dripped—sending an enticing aroma through the house.
She missed her morning runs, but she couldn’t protect herself out on the street and had to use the bike. After a hot shower, she gulped down two cups of coffee, and slipped out.
With her nerves on edge, she stopped, glancing all around.
No one seemed out of place. No one appeared to follow her. She kept her window down to listen for starting engines around her, but at this time of morning, the streets were empty and she didn’t believe anyone followed her.
Jury voir dire started at nine, but she reached the courthouse at seven, long before anyone else arrived. Carrying her briefcase in her left hand, with her laptop case draped over her left shoulder, she encountered a guard. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Could you let me in the courtroom, please?”
The older black male smiled and nodded. “Yes’m, Ms. Kayla. Would you like me to carry something for you?”
She patted him on the arm. “Thank you, Elmer, but I can manage,” she said as calmly as she could.
When she stepped into the empty courtroom, chills burst up her spine. Kayla stood for long moments, trembling. Like her father, she always arrived at the courtroom several hours before trial. Now, she believed her father stood next to her. His presence seemed to invade every pore of her body. Hairs bristled on her neck—prickly tremors encased her.
Her lips trembled. “Daddy.” She needed to talk to him, feel him. She reached out with her eyes closed, expecting to touch flesh. Her hand encountered only air.
Minutes passed as she remained where she’d stopped. No sounds interrupted her. She opened her eyes and slogged forward. With the courtroom set up for voir dire, she sagged behind the long oak table, aware of wood polish scent and silence.
She’d hoped to feel the room, its ambiance, odors, sounds, history, but her father had left her, and the room held no mystique that could strengthen her.
Finally, she rose and approached the podium. She spent fifteen minutes practicing her opening to a jury that didn’t exist, yet. A person’s life, and her career and reputation rested on how well she did her job the next two weeks and she wasn’t ready. One mistake on her part
could send Loren Estes to prison for the rest of her life.
She faced a politically motivated district attorney who didn’t make mistakes—didn’t lose. To change that, she had to do something these next two weeks—take him out of his comfort level—rid him of his arrogance and sense of invincibility.
The court stenographer entered, and they exchanged smiles and busied themselves setting up computer equipment. As prospective jurors began to troop into the courtroom, Kayla left and headed to the library where Loren and Marvin waited.
Loren continued to stare at the carpet, but Marvin forced a smile, reached out and caught Kayla’s hand. “We’re ready.”
Trembling on the inside, she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She had to present a confident appearance not only to Loren, but also to the jurors. She patted his hand. “We’re going to win this one. Their case has too many holes in it.”
Loren glanced up, eyes sparkling with tears. “Their case has to. I didn’t murder Michelle. Someone has framed me for this.”
Kayla sat, pen in hand, twirling it. At last, the consequences had dawned on Loren. She could go to prison. The way she said it, though, made Kayla pause. Loren had not stopped professing her innocence, but Kayla hadn’t wanted her to be innocent. As the evidence piled up, it became easier to affirm Loren’s guilt in her mind, but until this moment, hadn’t believed her.
She jumped from her seat. “Marvin, have you seen Darren?”
Frown lines creased his forehead. “Not this morning. He is never far from you and I bet he is here.”
Kayla spun away and strode out the door. She met Darren in the hallway. Guilt surged through her at his appearance. He didn’t look like he had slept at all. “Would you follow me, please?”
She had an idea. It might come to nothing, but they had to try. In the attorney’s conference room, she told him what she needed.
He looked at her for a long moment, and then nodded. Her heart went out to him as he strode away.
* * * *
The Harris County Courthouse had undergone a renovation with new technology as well as a face-lift. New carpet and pew covers, polished oak paneling and track lighting gave the room a less gloomy appearance.
Kayla sat on the left of the long attorney’s table with Loren sandwiched between her and Marvin. On the right, another table housed Howard Proctor and his assistant. The district attorney stretched out with ankles crossed—the perfect picture of a confident man.
Kayla glanced over at him for a moment, but turned her gaze away when he looked toward her. The way he lounged, she didn’t believe he could possibly be as nervous as she was. Some way, she had to get him out of that—make him make a mistake. If she let him have his way—present the case to the jury the way he wanted to, it was over for Loren.
She glanced at the potential jurors crowding into the church pew seats facing the attorneys. Her father always said one good juror that believed the defense attorney was worth more than a hundred witnesses.
Amanda Rex, the jury consultant, sat with all the jurors’ information in her lap in the media-crowded jury box. She glanced at Kayla and smiled. Kayla forced a smile. Could she find one good juror in this pool? It would be difficult. In a system where a person faced a jury of their peers, none of Loren’s peers sat in the courtroom.
White flight of the early sixties and seventies had turned into economic flight from inner city Houston. From the polling data, they found that the vast majority of potential jurors thought that the rich would get away with crimes if they had good attorneys. These people believed that people with money didn’t endure the same justice system as they did. They also welcomed the opportunity to rectify that on a jury.
The bailiff entered, interrupting Kayla’s thoughts. “All rise. The honorable Simon Ballard, District Judge, presiding.”
Dressed in a crisp black robe, Judge Ballard entered, sat, and said, “You may be seated.” He turned his head to the attorney’s table. “Mr. Proctor, is the state ready to proceed?
Proctor stood, straightening his pants and adjusting his tie. “The state is ready, Your Honor.”
Ballard nodded. “Ms. Nugent?”
Kayla rose with her throat constricted, chest tight. “Your Honor, the defense is ready to proceed.”
When Kayla sat, the judge had the prospective jurors rise and administered their oath, and indicated for the prosecution to begin. Proctor rose, strolled toward the podium as if addressing his colleagues at a convention. He began his instructions required by law in a silky voice.
As Kayla listened, she found it no wonder that the man won elections. He had a way about him in front of people. Even the ones who knew him and hated him had a tendency to vote for him because he appeared confident and proficient. That image wasn’t Kayla’s biggest problem—not only did he appear competent—he was.
While Proctor talked and asked the prospective jurors questions, Kayla watched them as Amanda did. When one of them began to argue with Proctor, she turned and glanced at Amanda in the jury box.
Amanda nodded, and Loren leaned close. “What was that about?”
Kayla leaned close, hand cupped. “That’s one we want.”
Hope crossed Loren’s face. “Will we get her?”
Kayla shook her head. “No way. Proctor will strike her.”
When both attorneys had talked and asked questions, the judge gave everyone a break. Kayla left Marvin to sit with Loren while she and Amanda huddled in the library. “What do you think?” Amanda asked.
Kayla tapped on the table a moment, and then took a deep breath. “No matter which way we go, this will end up a prosecutor’s jury.”
Amanda nodded and pushed her papers across the table. “I see four of them I’d recommend. I don’t believe you will get any of them.” She pointed at the four highlighted names. “Two of them are men. One is an engineer and the other a teacher. With his ten challenges, he’ll try to get rid of the men, but these two especially.”
Kayla pointed to a woman’s name that Amanda had placed a star by. “What about this one?”
“I’d stay away from her. She is a prison guard and it has been my experience that they make poor defense jurors.”
Kayla had no argument on that point. “If you were Proctor, who would you use your challenges on?”
Amanda began to put checks by ten names, all of them Kayla wanted. Kayla leaned forward. “Put a star by the ones you recommend that remain after his and my challenges.”
Amanda put the stars by their names, then glanced up. “There are eleven. The best that remain, but these are not good for the defense in my opinion.”
Kayla had feared that all along, and only eleven. She’d need to gamble right off the bat. She twirled her pen as she looked at the remaining two—a housewife with a husband who had spent a lot of time in law enforcement, or a female prison guard.
A coin toss, her decision on the final juror would come down to that.
She rose, took a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”
When they approached the bench where Proctor waited, she thought she saw compassion in Judge Ballard’s expression. He knew and Proctor knew she was in trouble with the jury pool.
NINETEEN
Tuesday morning, Kayla found Darren, Loren, and Marvin in the attorney conference room. She’d spent over an hour in another room practicing her opening. They had ten minutes before the trial began. She turned to Marvin and Loren. “Can I speak to Darren in private for a couple of minutes?”
Without speaking, Loren and Marvin rose, and he closed the door when they left. Kayla reached up, caught the back of Darren’s neck and pulled him to her. Their lips met, soft and gentle, and lingered, shooting electrically charged sensations throughout her body. His aftershave lingered when the kiss ended—the spicy fresh aroma surfed her to a deserted beach with him, Loren Estes and the trial far away.
She snuggled next to him, burying her face in his chest as he stroked her back. She glanced up with tears pooling in her eyes.
“I love you.”
He smiled and his lips trembled. “I love you, too.”
His words rippled through her. She didn’t believe she could ever tire of hearing them. “Uh-huh, would you do something for me?” he asked.
She forced a smile. “Anything within my power.”
“Would you please go into that court room and beat that arrogant jackass?”
She stroked his cheek. “Darling, I’m going to give it everything I have.”
His eyes twinkled. “Not everything, I hope.”
They both laughed. Kayla kissed him again. “I’m going to give it a shot.”
She entered the courtroom with everyone in tow, including Sarah Jane, who had waited for them outside the courtroom. Sarah handed Kayla a note. It was from McMasters, wishing her luck. That had never happened before, but indicated the magnitude of this case.
Cameras set in the back followed the entourage as they made their way to the defense table with the chairs now facing the bench instead of the packed pew seats.
It didn’t surprise Kayla that Proctor had beaten them into the courtroom. With the cameras, she’d have been surprised if he didn’t. Instead of sitting, he leaned over the back rail talking to his assistant. Kayla doubted if he said anything important, but postured for the cameras.
She sat and glanced at Proctor. He glared at her, but she gave him her most brilliant smile. She had him in a lather. The courtroom crowd had changed his nickname from Mr. P to Mr. Q because of Kayla’s queen joke. To say he didn’t like it would be an understatement. She needed him even more upset and she’d pull the string on that one right from the start.
As if reading her thoughts, Marvin leaned in, “Are you still going to do it?”
The two of them had talked it through several times. Marvin didn’t think she should. She’d asked him if he’d do it, and he said no way. “I’m going to take him on from the beginning.”
He grimaced. “It’ll take guts.
The bailiff interrupted them, announcing the judge. Ballard strode in wearing a black robe, his shiny bald head sprouting tufts of hair on the sides. When he sat, he frowned at the cameras and packed court.
