by Liz Crowe
But she had her nice suit on today, even though it hung off her frame as if she was playing dress up with her mama’s clothes. The various holes in her skin remained that way, and they hurt more than anything. She sat at the front table this time, next to lawyer Jack, who, to his credit, never once blamed her for anything. Which was fine because she blamed herself plenty. And her punishment was even worse—cutting herself off from her beloved, her hero, her man, her Viking—Ross Hoffman.
She could hear the room filling behind her but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around. She was more afraid she’d not see familiar faces—one in particular—than of seeing them. The commotion at the back of the room, accompanied by clicking cameras and yammering reporters, indicated that the famous, wounded, Nolan Blanchard had arrived. She sighed and tightened her fingers together.
If her life had been hell before, this had to be the seventh level of it. The final level, she hoped. She was so tired. She wished she could sleep—preferably curled up within the protective circle of Ross’ arm. She blinked slowly, feeling drugged, and knowing she was killing herself slowly not eating, but unable to do anything about it.
The judge took a seat and gaveled the proceeding to order. Timothy Harris’ so-called lawyer called his witness. Nolan took the stand, sneered at her for a half second, then told his false story again—the one where she had a wild, uncontrollable temper. That, during their two years together in Chicago, he feared for his very life at the end, as she was prone to threatening him with sharp knives and, the gun she’d supposedly obtained while living with him, the one she’d used to kill the poor, hapless Tim.
He was still bruised-looking and had his arm in sling, which was window-dressing. Jack the lawyer told her that Ross had broken Nolan’s nose and his jaw but not his arm, for heaven’s sake. She kept her gaze pinned to him, studying him, wondering how in the world she could have ever found him sexy or alluring or wonderful as she had those months spent in Paris as he taught her how to be his submissive. Or more precisely, as he programmed her to be his victim.
She didn’t realize she was trembling until Jack put a warm hand on her clenched fists that were out on the table, encouraging her to put them in her lap. The next witness was Tim’s weeping mother, who called him a ‘good boy’ who would ‘never hurt anyone’ much less his boss lady.
The final witness against her was one of Tim’s friends who claimed that Elle had ‘waggled her wares’ whatever the hell that meant, in front of the whole staff. “She hardly ever wore a T-shirt that wasn’t cut halfway to her navel,” he claimed, fiddling with his necktie. “She was flat out slutty. I mean, she wanted it but when Tim offered it she called him names and made him feel bad.”
When asked why Tim had tried to attack Mrs. Fitzgerald and not Miss Nagel, the rat-faced man had shrugged. “Guess he knew they were friends and figured he’d hurt her,” he said, pointing to Elle, “by going after that—uh, after Mrs. Fitzgerald.”
The crowd behind her murmured. Elle sucked in a breath. Jack patted her hands.
When it was his turn, Jack called the same witnesses—Evelyn, who had to tell the terrible story again. Bryan, who looked exhausted. Melody, who was positively green around the gills.
She’s pregnant, Elle thought, with a brief thrill of happiness for her friend, followed by a poisonous cloud of despair. A tear dropped onto her hands. Melody walked past her and patted her shoulder, then headed for her seat. Elle had not turned but she sensed him right behind her, staring at the back of her head.
Ross was here for her, but she couldn’t let him know she cared. She had to let him go. It was only fair to him and to Austin and Evelyn whose business was getting dragged through this horror show, thanks to her. She closed her eyes against a bout of dizziness. Her stomach rumbled. She glanced over at Jack.
“My turn,” she mouthed. He smiled and shook his head. Confused, as this was the order of things they’d practiced, she watched as he rose and addressed the judge.
“If it please the court, we would like to call the following character witnesses for the defendant, Elisa Henriette Nagel.” She blinked up at him, still dizzy, but now anxious. What character witnesses? Why hadn’t he told her?
“I’ll allow it,” the judge said. “Make it snappy, though, Galyan.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jack turned and motioned behind him. Elle heard a loud rustling of clothes as what sounded like a huge crowd of people stood and made their way down the center aisle to the front. They filed into the empty jury box. Elle stared at them, her confusion lifting at the sight of familiar faces. So many familiar faces from so long ago.
When she spotted her brothers, a sob broke through before she could stop it. They both smiled at her, then checked with her lawyer for instruction. She saw her first professor from the nursing school in Berlin. And the owner of the first, second and third breweries she’d worked at—one of them was huge now, way bigger than Fitzgerald, so big they bought ads at things like football Super Bowls or FIFA World Cups. They all meet her gaze with huge, supportive smiles. The owner of the gigantic brewery winked at her.
She pressed her hands to the table and stared at Jack, questioning him without words. He jerked his chin behind her. She turned, hearing every creak and pop in the ligaments in her neck, and came face to face with Ross. He was, indeed, sitting right behind her, next to the most stunningly beautiful woman Elle had ever seen. He smiled and blew her a kiss. She frowned but didn’t have time to react as Jack began calling her friends to the stand to speak on her behalf.
The long line of people who either knew her well, or had worked with her in the past, all testified to her stability, her trustworthiness, her work ethic, and her general willingness to help anyone who needed it. The next-to-last witness was the original manager of the restaurant where she and Nolan had worked, first side-by-side as chef and sous then after he’d demoted her to pastries, then to dishwasher as part of his campaign to demoralize and degrade her in public.
At one point during the man’s slow, careful description of Nolan’s treatment of her, Nolan leaped to his feet. “Lies! This man is a liar! I demand another hearing!”
“Sit down, Mr. Blanchard,” the judge bellowed. Elle looked around, surprised to see that the judge was an older woman, her long gray hair pulled up into a bun and reading glasses halfway down her nose. She’d been so out of it, she hadn’t noticed that detail.
Mr. Blanchard sat down. The manager finished his litany of observations, including the ones about bruised wrists, bloody noses and black eyes. Then he stepped down. Jack sat, as if he were finished. A warm, familiar hand landed on her shoulder. She squeezed her eyes shut and put her palm over it. “Elle,” Jack whispered. “I need you to know that the final witness is going to be hard for you. But it’s necessary. It will free you and likely put Blanchard behind bars where he belongs. Okay?”
Elle nodded, keeping her hand on Ross’.
Jack stood again. “Your honor, the final character witness is Doctor Bernard Joseph.”
Elle blinked, not recalling the name and wondering how in the world this would help her. An old man rose from the group in the jury box and limped slowly to the witness stand. He was sworn in, sat, then stared straight at her. She sucked in a breath, hand to her throat. Ross tightened his grip on her shoulder as if to hold her in place.
Once, a million years ago, when she’d been in labor and terrified at the pain and how long it was taking, faint from nonstop contractions and ready to give up, she’d seen this man’s kind face over hers. He’d urged her to sit up, to push one more time, told her that her baby was ready to meet her and she could not stop trying. His eyes were hazel-colored, his already old face benign and non-judgmental. “Hold my hand, dear,” he’d insisted. “I will help you.”
She had latched on to his hand and pushed for another thirty, brutal minutes before her son had made it into the world.
“Dr. Joseph,” Jack said. “How do you know the defendant?” It was the only question he a
sked of all the people in the jury box.
The man cleared his throat, straightened his glasses and said, “Eleven years ago this month, I helped deliver her baby. She was so small, her hips barely bigger than a pre-adolescent’s. We were worried and ready to do an emergency C-section. But I didn’t want to subject her to that, so I helped her, encouraged her and she delivered the child, a boy, naturally. Then he,” the doctor raised a shaking finger and pointed it at Nolan. “He burst in and yanked the child off her chest as we were delivering the placenta and took him away. She cried and begged and pleaded, but that man only let the nurses have enough time to clear the child’s airway and cut the umbilicus before he walked out of the delivery room, leaving us with the weeping girl. That girl,” he said, pointing to Elle who was weeping again, although silently this time.
Ross leaned forward, both hands on her shoulders now. “It’s all right, my love. I’m sorry but when we found him I knew he had to speak for you.”
“That man,” the doctor said, his long, bony finger pointed at Nolan. “Also tried to coerce me into sterilizing the poor, helpless girl.” He smiled at Elle again, both hands on the edge of the witness box. “But I am not easily intimidated. I would never tie any adult woman’s tubes without her express permission. This is not the dark ages. I let him think otherwise, of course.”
Elle stared at the doctor, her pulse racing, as a wall of dizziness hit her again, making her sway in her seat. The warmth of Ross’ palms permeated the fabric on her shoulders. She reached up and touched one of them for strength.
“Counsel, please approach the bench.” The lady judge’s voice was tight. Elle met her gaze, which was soft and sympathetic. The lawyers spent fifteen minutes that felt more like fifteen hours, talking in low voices. Elle was immobile, weak from shock and hunger. Ross’ hands never left her shoulders.
Jack resumed his seat, patted her hands, then kept his face neutral as he made some fake notes on his pad, pretending to be busy when he was nervous—something he’d revealed to her during one of their prep sessions. Elle sat ramrod straight while the judge made some notes, consulted with the bailiff, then banged her gavel to stop all the muttering in the courtroom.
“It is the opinion of the court, that there is insufficient evidence to justify a manslaughter trial for Elisa Henriette Nagel.”
The courtroom behind her broke into cheers. Cameras flashed. She closed her eyes and slumped down in her chair.
“Quiet! One more outburst and I clear the courtroom.”
The crowd settled.
“Watch this,” Ross whispered, making her eyes fly open.
“It is the further decision of the court that Mr. Nolan Blanchard should be taken into custody immediately and held without bail on the following charges—assault, domestic abuse, and the kidnapping of an underage child.”
The crowd behind her went nuts but Elle barely heard it. She stared up at the judge who met her gaze with a wink before banging the gavel and telling the bailiff to take Mr. Blanchard into custody.
“Your honor! I object!” Timothy Harris’s lawyer squealed.
“Last I checked, you are not Mr. Blanchard’s attorney of record. Unless, of course you are, in which case I will disbar you so fast your head will spin.” She smiled serenely down at the spluttering man.
Elle sat, unable to move as the judge called the court back to order after Nolan had been taken away. “Miss Nagel,” she said, staring over her granny glasses at Elle. “You have lived through more hells than any one person ever should. I wish you the very best in your future endeavors. This court is adjourned.”
She rose as the judge exited, then watched as the jury box emptied and a crowd formed around her. It blocked her from seeing Ross, who was the only person she wanted at that moment.
When her brothers materialized in front of her, she fell into their arms. “I really could kill you for not telling us,” Hans said in German, before peeling her off him and staring at her until she looked away. “Elisa, seriously. You should have told us. We would have handled that frog for you.”
She shook her head, unable to speak. Her other brother hugged her again and whispered, “Your new man is wonderful. He found us, all of us. And put this whole thing together. Go home, eat some good food and be with him.” He held her tighter. “And yes, I could kill you too, but please know we are here for you. And we always will be.”
“Okay, thank you. I love you. I’m sorry.”
“We will see you in September, Ross tells us.”
She nodded, swiping at her streaming eyes and turning to greet her old teachers, employers, and friends. Finally, she made it over to Doctor Joseph. He was leaning on the witness stand, observing all the hullabaloo with a bemused smile on his face.
“Thank you, Doctor,” she said, taking his hand and shaking it. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Don’t thank me, child. Thank him.” He pointed his cane to her left. “But you’re welcome, anyway. I always knew that horrible man would be punished, or at least, I hoped he would. I’m so happy for you.” He touched her cheek.
She turned. As she was opening her mouth to thank him, to beg him to take her home and hold her tight all night long, he smiled and stepped to one side, revealing a well-dressed couple with a young boy standing in front of them, looking nervous and antsy.
“Miss Nagel? Elisa?” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Allison Franklin. This is my husband Rick. And our son, Eric.”
Elle stepped back, hand to her neck.
“We are…we adopted your baby, but we had no idea he’d been taken from you against your will.” The pretty woman’s eyes filled with tears. “We would never have…taken him from you like that, I swear it.”
The man put an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Eric,” he said, his low voice gravelly and calm. “This is your biological mother, Elisa.”
“Pleased to meet you,” the boy said, holding out his hand. His blue-gray eyes were wary but his smile was wide and genuine. His thick blond hair was cut close, like a little man’s and he wore a small version of his father’s suit, complete with tie and shiny dress shoes.
Elle dropped to one knee and took the boy’s hand in wonder. “I am pleased to meet you too, Eric. I’m so glad you have a nice home and parents who love you.”
He glanced up at his father, who nodded, then at his mother, who smiled at him and pushed him forward a little. The boy pulled something out of his pocket and held it out to her.
“What is this?” She took the small box from him.
“Ross says to ask you if you still want to marry him.” The boy glanced at Ross who gave him a thumbs-up.
Elle took the box, opened it and found the dazzling ring she’d been so proud to wear a month ago. Her hands shook as she pulled it out and slipped it on her finger. She stood and turned to Ross.
“You did this. All of this,” she stated, sweeping her arm around, indicating the room full of people who’d helped her, loved her, supported her.
“Well, he had some help.” The scarily gorgeous woman who’d been sitting next to him appeared at his side, gave him a hip bump, then held out her hand. “I’m Holly Grant.”
“Hello,” Elle said, her jealous female hackles rising.
“Holly is a reporter. We met in Colorado. When I figured I needed help finding people, I called her. She did just as much of this as I did.” Ross and Holly stood side by side. Elle swallowed the lump of anxiety and smiled.
“Thank you, Holly. I owe a lot to you.”
“Don’t mention it. I loved this guy for a hot second, once upon a time,” she said, patting Ross on the head like a little kid. “I figure he deserves to be happy. And you make him happy. And I’m all about putting an asshole away, trust me.” Her grin widened at something over Elle’s shoulder.
Jack the lawyer stood next to Rick Franklin and his son—her son—Eric. Jack’s eyes were fixed on Holly in a way that was so unlike his usual, super professional self, it made Elle giggle. Ross gav
e Holly a little shove, sending her over to Jack, who blushed, and looked at Elle. “Shall we celebrate? I know a place where the beer is great and the burgers even better,” Jack declared.
“Hey, watch it, mouthpiece,” Ross warned, as he pulled Elle close and put his arm around her. She slumped against him, exhausted, dizzy, and more than a little starving.
“We closed the place down so we could celebrate,” Melody said as she approached Elle and gave her a tight hug.
“Congrats,” Elle whispered. Melody pulled away and blushed.
“We haven’t told the teenager yet. I’m leaving that to her father. The wedding’s in three weeks so you’re just in time to help me plan the menus.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here, I mean…sorry,” Ross said, glancing at Allison and Rick and the beaming little boy Eric.
“Can I ride with you?” Eric latched on to Ross’ hand.
“Um, sure. If it’s okay with your mom and dad.”
The boy glanced at them. They nodded. Allison wiped her eyes. “We’ll meet you there,” she said, hooking her arm through her husband’s.
Elle’s ears were hot and buzzy. The room wavered in front of her. Voices seemed to boom then retreat like a wonky recording. She clutched Ross’ arm.
“I’m not feeling very well.”
His blue eyes were sharp with worry. Her knees buckled, but he caught her, as she knew he would, hollering for help as the room blipped to a pinpoint, then went out.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Three years later
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.
“A hundred percent?”
“A hundred and fifty.”
“Last chance to back out…”
Evelyn stepped between them. “Would you please go away? I have bridal prep to do here.” She shooed Ross from the room, breaking up the banter, then turned to Elle, who perched on a chair in front of the mirror, trying not to hyperventilate.
