The Prosecutor
Page 1
“You’re going to have to jump to me,” Jonah said.
He was absurd. “I can’t hold on any longer.”
“Maddi, look at me.” The compulsion in his voice dived deep past skin and muscle, straight into her bones to where she had no choice but to do as he asked. “You didn’t come this far to throw it all away now. I know you’re tired. I know you’re hurting, but you are the strongest, most intelligent and most stubborn woman I’ve ever known. I want our son to grow up knowing his mother doesn’t just put bad guys behind bars but that she stares fear in the face and tells it to go to hell. I want you to be the one he looks up to when he gets older, but to do that, you’re going to have to jump to me.”
“Okay.” She nodded, trying to convince herself more than agreeing to his plan, but she didn’t have any other choice. Not if she wanted to get out of here alive.
THE PROSECUTOR
Nichole Severn
Nichole Severn writes explosive romantic suspense with strong heroines, heroes who dare challenge them and a hell of a lot of guns. She resides with her very supportive and patient husband, as well as her demon spawn, in Utah. When she’s not writing, she’s constantly injuring herself running, rock climbing, practicing yoga and snowboarding. She loves hearing from readers through her website, www.nicholesevern.com, and on Twitter, @nicholesevern.
Books by Nichole Severn
Harlequin Intrigue
A Marshal Law Novel
The Fugitive
The Witness
The Prosecutor
Blackhawk Security
Rules in Blackmail
Rules in Rescue
Rules in Deceit
Rules in Defiance
Caught in the Crossfire
The Line of Duty
Midnight Abduction
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Jonah Watson—The former FBI bomb technician is forced to put the past behind him to keep the family he’s always wanted safe. After already grieving the loss of one child, he’s not about to let it happen again despite Madison’s best efforts of keeping him at arm’s length.
Madison Gray—The deputy district attorney is one of the best prosecutors in Oregon, but with a record like hers, she’s made some enemies along the way. Prosecuting the Rip City Bomber case is guaranteed to promote her to district attorney, but she quickly realizes one of those enemies has targeted her and her unborn child.
The Rip City Bomber—Rosalind Eyler is responsible for the detonation of four bombings all over the Portland area and the murder of thirty-two innocent lives. Currently awaiting trial.
Dylan Cove—Fellow deputy US marshal assigned out of Jonah’s district office. As a former private investigator, Cove is more than capable of uncovering the truth, but his past mistakes aren’t far behind.
Remington “Remi” Barton—Chief deputy US marshal of the Oregon division, and Jonah’s superior.
To my husband:
for managing to keep me from going insane during quarantine so I could write this book.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Excerpt from SVU Surveillance by Julie Anne Lindsey
Chapter One
Jury benches had the potential to hide a lot of things.
Old wood protested under his knee as Deputy United States Marshal Jonah Watson crouched to slide his hand under the first bench before the judge and court personnel would take their seats in as little as fifteen minutes. The courthouse was made up of over thirty-nine courtrooms, and he and the other four marshals on his team would search and clear every single one of them.
After seven years of new construction due to age and seismic instability of the old courthouse, the new Multnomah County Central Courthouse had become the nerve center for the Rip City Bomber to meet justice. After triggering four bombs set throughout Portland and murdering thirty-two innocent civilians over the course of the past year, Rosalind Eyler was scheduled to face a jury of her peers to answer for the blood she’d spilled. For the lives she’d destroyed. The sick frenzy of the largest case Oregon District Court had ever seen had already begun. Protestors lined the courthouse perimeter calling for their idol to be found innocent, the media digging for details police had yet to release for the next big story in time for the six o’clock news. There were too many variables in a case like this, too many potential threats.
“I didn’t realize you’d be part of the team assigned to clear the courtroom today.” And in the center of it all, the all-too-enticing—and all-too-frustrating—senior deputy district attorney prosecuting the case, Madison Gray. Sleek black hair waved down around her shoulders as Jonah pushed to his feet. Her dark green blazer and knee-length skirt accentuated the darker undertones in her skin and highlighted the caramel swirls in her eyes. Sharp features and even sharper heels contributed to her controlling nature and bluntness, but it was the large, soft roundness of her midsection that’d claimed his attention now. Six months pregnant. With his baby. “I specifically requested a special assignment of the east Washington district US marshals to lend us deputies for judicial security.”
“Now, why would the district attorney agree to that when he has a former FBI bomb squad technician right here in Portland at his disposal?” He hadn’t worked as a unit chief in the hazardous devices school for the Bureau for more than half a decade, but the two years of hands-on training in the middle of a combat zone in Afghanistan had given him all the experience he’d need for the rest of his career. Military ordnance, hand grenades, homemade bombs, thermite. He had the knowledge and the attention to detail required to analyze, investigate and re-create any explosive—improvised or not—he’d come into contact with before joining the marshals service.
The only one he hadn’t known how to deal with was the explosion of fire in Madison’s gaze when he’d suggested they raise their baby together after she’d told him she was pregnant.
At the time, he’d brushed off her rejection and distance as their one night together all those months ago had turned into something neither of them could walk away from, but five months had gone by, and here she stood, just as adamant. No matter how many times he’d reached out, she’d declined his calls, avoided him in the courthouse hallways and ignored his effort to do the right thing. She wanted to raise this baby on her own and expected him to sign away any rights that came with his role as sperm donor when their baby was born.
She lowered her voice. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
Jonah crouched to search the next section of the jury bench. The preliminary hearing would start in less than ten minutes, and he hadn’t gotten a chance to clear the tables where the deputy prosecutor and the defendant with her counsel would be seated. “What’s the matter, Maddi? Afraid the media will see us in the same room together and magically figure out I’m the one who got you pregnant?”
“Why don’t you say that a little louder? I wasn’t sure the judge heard you in his chambers.” Manicured fingernails with a metallic gold polish dug into the freshly stained wood edge of the jury box. “This is the biggest case of my career, Jonah. I can’t make any more mistakes. Do you understan
d?”
A mistake. So that was what she was calling that night they’d been together. Well, it beat not knowing anything at all, he supposed. This conversation had already beaten the record for their longest by two full minutes in the past five months. Jonah couldn’t help but revel in the fact that despite all the self-confidence and control she kept in place when she prosecuted a case, he was still able to get a rise out of her. He swept his hand under the last section of the bench and climbed to his feet before dropping out of the jury box. At six foot three, he towered over her small frame, but she held her ground as he closed the distance between them. “Don’t worry, Counselor. You just do your job, and I’ll do mine. Speaking of which, I need to make sure nothing except my good looks are going to put you and the rest of the people in this courtroom at risk.”
Her attention broke as a door off to the left of the judge’s bench swung open. Fury slipped from Madison’s expression, stiffness entering her neck and jaw, and Jonah turned to face the woman at the center of the Rip City Bomber trial. The defendant herself: Rosalind Eyler. Two sheriff’s deputies flanked her on either side, the brightness of her red Multnomah County Corrections uniform stark against their dark green. Equally red hair blended into the fabric around her collar and draped down her back as the steel links between her wrist and ankle restraints rattled with each step toward the defendant’s table.
Battle-ready tension thickened the muscles down his spine as Rosalind and her escort shuffled closer. Madison had made it clear the night they’d spent together—the night that’d resulted in new life forged between them—was nothing more than a mistake she’d happily avoid if given a second chance, but that wouldn’t stop him from keeping a psychopath out of her orbit.
A sly smile tugged at Rosalind’s thin lips, accentuating the heavy-handed spread of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Green eyes, almost the same color as Madison’s blazer, brightened. Deep smile lines forged a path from the middle of her face outward. If it weren’t for the fact the woman had been caught dead to rights with the components used to build her devices, Rosalind Eyler would’ve been just another pretty face.
“Madison, how lovely to see you again. I see you’ve been busy since the last time we spoke.” That destructively humorous gaze dipped to Madison’s baby bump, and every cell in Jonah’s body caught fire with protective fury. Rosalind turned those deceptive eyes on him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He’d met plenty of mass killers—terrorists—in his line of work, but none of them could compare to the woman sizing him up right then. No remorse. No guilt. Only pure pleasure. “Congratulations.”
Jonah fought the urge to look at Madison for confirmation. There was no way in hell the Rip City Bomber knew he was the father of Madison’s child. “Excuse me?”
“Thank you.” The deputy district attorney smoothed her hands over the bump, cradling the underside of where their child rested as another man strolled through the door Rosalind had entered the courtroom through and took position at her side.
Pristine suit, lean muscle, slicked hair with a predatory expression cemented in place. Defense attorney. “Ms. Gray, I do hope you’re not speaking with my client before today’s proceedings. You know as well as I do any communication between the district attorney’s office and my client needs to come straight through me.”
“Relax, Harvey.” Rosalind’s attention threatened to burn a hole straight through Jonah’s head, refusing to let up before she redirected her half smile toward Madison. “I was congratulating Madison on her pregnancy and giving her my best. I’ve heard the delivery can be one of the most traumatic events of a woman’s life. I do hope she makes it to the finish line in one piece.”
Jonah curled his hands into the center of his palms to counter the pressure building in his chest. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
A wave of growing voices echoed throughout the room as bailiffs led families, media and law enforcement personnel through the large wooden doors at the back of the courtroom and into the gallery.
“That’s my cue.” Rosalind stepped carefully in the direction her police escort led her. “Nice to finally meet you, Marshal Watson.”
Sheriff’s deputies led the bomber to her chair behind the defendant’s table and helped her sit down. Rosalind’s attorney took the seat beside his client as Madison straightened her shoulders, gave Jonah nothing more than an irritated glance and headed for the prosecution’s table.
Court was about to proceed.
Rosalind watched him every step of the way as Jonah headed for the gallery. That casual smile of hers worked to pierce through the wall he’d built to ignore any distraction that’d keep him from his duty, but the Rip City Bomber couldn’t get inside his head. Madison was already taking up too much space in that regard. Taking his seat directly behind the prosecution’s table, Jonah automatically stood as the judge entered the courtroom, eyes forward. He’d cleared the courtroom in time for Rosalind Eyler to answer for her crimes, but the fact Madison had taken the case—putting herself and their baby on the front line of defense against a mass murderer—sent a warning straight to his gut.
“You may be seated,” the judge said from the raised bench. Four large television screens installed above the grilled sections of wall where air and heat entered came to life as he took his own seat. “The People versus Rosalind Eyler on charges of bombing of public spaces, thirty-two counts of first-degree murder, use of explosives and malicious destruction of property resulting in—”
A cell phone rang off to Jonah’s left, near the two television screens taking up the east wall of the courtroom. Slightly muted, probably stuffed down at the bottom of the purse of one of the women toward the end of the pew. Someone hadn’t gotten the message to silence their device.
“Whoever brought a phone into my courtroom had better have a damn good reason.” The judge stared out over the gallery in expectation.
Seconds passed, the ringing continued, but no one in the gallery moved to silence the device. Low murmurs swept through the gallery. Three hard strikes of the judge’s gavel against solid wood echoed through the spacious room. Jonah craned his head back to get a better sense of where the ringing originated and stood, instincts on high alert. He’d cleared every inch of this courtroom, but something told him nobody in the gallery was moving because the owner of the cell phone wasn’t present.
The ringing wasn’t coming from someone’s bag.
“Order!” The judge struck wood with the gavel again, but Jonah could focus only on the sound seemingly bleeding through the wall.
No. The slight electric echo placed it behind the grilled section of a new HVAC unit crews had installed during the new construction. Understanding hit, and Jonah twisted around. He lunged over the partition of wood separating him from Madison. “Everybody get down!”
A burst of fire and debris thrust him straight into the prosecution’s table and knocked the oxygen from his lungs. Blazing heat and pain licked across his neck, the back of his skull and arms as the explosion spread fast and took down anyone in its path. Screams echoed throughout the courtroom. Jonah hit the floor beside the table where Madison had been seconds before.
Then it was quiet.
* * *
NOBODY SHOULD’VE KNOWN.
The ringing in her ears momentarily drowned out the panicked rush of movement all around her. A groan escaped her lips as she lifted her head. Senior Deputy District Attorney Madison Gray pressed her palms into the hardwood floor. Fragments of concrete and splintered wood bit into the overheated skin of her hands as time seemed to stretch in a distorted, hazy fluid.
The pristine courtroom where she’d been prepared to present evidence against Rosalind Eyler, the Rip City Bomber, had been replaced by fire, pain and blood. She forced herself to focus on the defendant’s table as bystanders struggled to escape the massive space. The sheriff’s deputies who’d escorted Rosalind
into court hauled their charge from the floor and headed for the holding cells in the room adjacent to the judge’s bench. Protocol. They couldn’t risk the defendant escaping, but even through the haze of trauma, Madison caught the recognizable smile deepening the bomber’s laugh lines on either side of her mouth as Rosalind looked back.
Madison collapsed back to the floor as the strength in her arms gave out. She rolled onto her back, her legs twisted one way, her upper body another. The fire alarm screeched louder each time the back doors swung open into the main corridor of the eighth floor. Frantic movements in her lower abdominals kept her conscious. Her baby. She had to check her baby. The explosion—the bomb—had detonated close enough there was a chance she’d sustained internal bleeding without realizing it. The assignment for this courtroom hadn’t been released until this morning. Nobody should’ve known this would be the location of the Rip City Bomber’s preliminary hearing. Nobody should’ve been able to place an explosive device without the US marshals knowing.
“Jonah.” His name strained in her throat. He’d been the closest to the blast. The deputy had lunged over the bar in an attempt to protect her from injury. Only he hadn’t been fast enough. He had to be here. He had to be alive. Madison battled to get to all fours. The ringing in her ears ceded, but in its place came a wash of terror and panic. The gallery had been demolished, sobs echoing off the paneled walls. Black scorch marks and flames climbed the bench where the judge had been sitting mere seconds ago. She swiped at a line of warm liquid running down the side of her face, hand shaking. Blood.
And there on the other side of the table, the father of her child. Unconscious.
Madison licked dust-covered lips as she stretched one hand forward, then brought her knee up to follow. On hands and knees, she crawled around the prosecution’s table until she could slide her fingers into his palm. “Jonah, get up.”