Chapter 19

Aaron spent most of the day in a drafty hallway reading transcripts of the first trial. Lunch was brief, and they used one of the side rooms to eat and strategize. According to Cowboy, who was in the courtroom today, jury selection was a blood bath of epic proportions as Hope and Beasley fought it out like Apollo Creed and Rocky Balboa.

It crossed Aaron's mind that Jeff Beasley might have motive to hurt or unsettle Hope, and the perfect way to do so was to have pig's blood thrown on her family's headstone. He could easily have hired someone to do it too.

Aaron had texted Frazer with the suggestion hours ago but hadn't heard back from the guy. He'd since occupied himself with the witness testimonies from Leech's first trial and was right now reading about the detective who'd later killed himself.

Boston police detectives had initially questioned Leech about the crimes because the guy's fancy Maserati was spotted parked near the first two murder locations—proving Leech was not exactly a towering genius. Monroe's partner the first time he'd questioned Leech had been one Brendan Harper.

How had that gone down at family dinners?

By the time of the third double-homicide, Detective Monroe had been paired with a rookie detective named Lewis Janelli.

The used tissue had been the only biological evidence that had directly linked Leech to the crimes, and Hope had gone after them at length in an attempt to pour doubt on the item.

What are the chances of a murderer who'd been careful enough to wear a ski mask, gloves, and a condom suddenly leaves behind a used tissue at the scene? Rather convenient for the cops, don't you think?

She'd pushed both Monroe and Janelli on the stand, and the junior detective had lost his temper on more than one occasion and been reprimanded by the judge for it. But she hadn't shaken the veteran detective Pauly Monroe's story. Not one jot.

According to Monroe, he and Brendan Harper had interviewed Leech in his expensive mansion in Beacon Street. Hope hadn't directly accused the cops of doing anything illegal, but she had established both men had been alone for a short period of time in Leech's house while Paul Monroe had used the bathroom, thus allowing the jury to draw their own conclusions as to the opportunity they had to illegally gather evidence. Another attorney from the firm, not Hope, had cross-examined Brendan Harper, but he'd been unshakeable when it came to that first visit to Leech's house. Brendan had taken every opportunity to remind the jury that Leech had been holding a letter opener for most of the interview—a letter opener that was similar to the weapon used in the murders, a letter opener sharp enough to kill. Brendan claimed he'd been nervous for his own life because Leech gave off such "creepy" vibes.

The defense had objected. The judge had overruled.

On balance Aaron figured the prosecution had found enough circumstantial to go with that one piece of biological evidence to make it likely the jury would convict Leech of the six homicides and three rapes, plus all the other associated crimes. All until the night before closing testimony when Pauly Monroe appeared to have a crisis of conscience and had emailed his boss and Hope to confess he'd lied on the stand and that he'd taken the tissue from the Leech mansion and dropped it at the next murder scene while no one was looking.

Then he'd shot himself.

Which no one had anticipated.

The guy had had a drinking problem which had come to light after his death. His blood alcohol levels had been almost nine times the legal driving limit. Aaron was surprised the guy could type at all when he'd been that drunk.

Hope had moved for a dismissal based on the lack of any physical evidence and the fact BPD had demonstrated clear bias against her client along with willingness to perjure themselves on the stand, which put all the circumstantial evidence in doubt.

The judge had agreed and granted the motion. Leech had walked free.

Six hours later, he'd brutally murdered Danny and Paige Harper in their own home.

Aaron rubbed the back of his neck. Didn't make sense to him, but then he wasn't a vicious sociopath.

While he understood the animosity from Janelli and some of the other local cops toward Hope, the fact was BPD had self-sabotaged and blown the case. Leech walked free because of a crooked police officer and a lawyer who understood her job.

Could Leech have somehow gotten to that detective, hacked into his email, staged his suicide? Leech had plenty of money. Perhaps his assistant—a man who still worked for Leech, apparently—had organized a hit. But there had been no evidence of a struggle. No suggestion of foul play. And Monroe was an armed, veteran cop on his home turf.

Aaron wanted to see those police files too.

His cell buzzed. Cowboy texted they were nearly done. On cue, Beasley's goons arrived, mirror-like shine on the shoes, black suits, visible earpieces. They stood on the other side of the courtroom doors from where Aaron sat, scowling at anyone who got within six feet—because that stopped bullets.

Aaron tucked the file away in the small pack he'd brought with him and stood. Five minutes later the doors swung open, and people streamed out, clearly happy to be done for the day.

Jeff Beasley swept out and away, footsteps ringing out on the tile floor. His color was high, and his eyes glittered with rage. Four assistants scurried in the wake of his bodyguards today.

Aaron headed inside the courtroom and heard Hope's laughter ring out as Ryan Sullivan regaled her with some story. As he got closer, Aaron realized it was about the armed standoff they'd attended last December in Washington State when Payne Novak had stripped naked to retrieve the body of a man who'd been shot.

"Novak figured that if the people inside of the compound knew he was unarmed they wouldn't shoot his skinny white ass."

"A bit of a risk, surely?" Hope sent Aaron a quick glance.

"Bat shit crazy," Ryan agreed. "But it worked. And he got the girl in the end, too, so I guess it wasn't as cold as I remember."

Aaron gave Ryan a quelling glance. Ryan only grinned.

Hope and Ryan had a lot in common, Aaron realized. Both had lost spouses they loved, albeit under wildly different circumstances. They both still grieved deeply, but Ryan managed to find oblivion in the arms of countless women.

Not that he'd seen the guy with anyone except Meghan Donnelly recently. Cowboy and the first ever female Hostage Rescue Team operator had been paired up in Maine last week on an undercover op as fake boyfriend and girlfriend. Meghan had somehow managed not to shoot the guy even though he spent most of his time deliberately provoking the people he liked most. Aaron wondered if Ryan had spoken to their colleague Grady Steel yet, but figured Grady needed at least another week to cool down.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"Great, thanks to my secret weapon here." Hope indicated the woman next to her.

Aaron turned his attention to a shorter woman who had blue-black hair and brown skin and ruby lips that shone with gloss.

"I'd say we are more than holding our own." She stuck out her hand. "Aisha Rashi-Gardner. Hope's paralegal."

He shook her hand, allowing himself to relax slightly. They were in a guarded building after all—another op popped into his head from mid-December, when White Supremacists had stormed another courtroom and HRT had been tasked with taking it back. Livingstone had broken his arm that day.

He watched the bailiff, who clearly wanted to lock up and go home.

Hope packed up her belongings and Colin, the intern, hovered in the background as he waited for his next instruction. He looked tired too. Apparently, no one had gotten any sleep last night.

"Unfortunately, as the defense made such a meal of the process, we are not yet finished with jury selection." Hope shot a quick glance around the nearly empty room. "However, the fact Beasley has to come back tomorrow gives me a certain perverse pleasure."

"Me too. No amount of money could entice me to work for that asshole." Aisha's eyes widened as she realized what she'd said. "I didn't mean?—"

Hope patted her arm. "I agree. At the time, we needed the money, but more importantly I needed job security. Making partner was supposed to enable me to spend more time with my family, but we all know how that turned out." Her voice was understandably rough.

"I am sorry. I sounded like a judgmental bitch." Aisha squeezed Hope's hand.

"Don't be. I feel exactly the same way now." Hope swung her coat around her shoulders, and Aaron held it while she fished for her sleeve.

Cowboy shot him a look.

What?

The other man pulled a knowing expression which Aaron ignored.

It was always something with that guy.

"Can we offer you a ride, Aisha?" Hope offered.

Aaron held onto his patience. Apparently, they were becoming a taxi service, but it stopped them being too predictable—until that too became a habit to be used as a weapon by the wrong person.

"Not today, hon. My man is meeting me for an early anniversary dinner at some fancy restaurant."

"Lucky you. And happy anniversary."

The woman's expression sobered, perhaps remembering that Hope no longer celebrated anniversaries. "See you tomorrow. We're going to get the best jury imaginable."

"I have a great imagination," Hope warned.

"So do I." Aisha grinned. "Along with a mile-wide vindictive streak. See you at nine tomorrow in your office. I'll ride over with you, especially if we get more snow as forecast. I'll see what else I can dig up in the meantime."

Aisha headed out the main door while Aaron led the four of them to a side entrance and out through a winding corridor and down a staircase where armed guards manned the exit. Outside, the SUV waited at the curb. Cas Demarco, one of the snipers, was behind the wheel this time. Seth Hopper held the door.

They climbed inside. Ryan hit the backseat with the intern.

"Back to the office?"

Hope shook her head. "I wish, but my adrenaline is crashing, and I'm suddenly feeling wiped."

Colin peered over from the backseat as Demarco peeled away. "You can let me out. I'll walk."

"We can drop you at the DA's office," Aaron assured him. "It's on the way."

"Okay. Thanks." The young man settled back for the short ride.

Hope opened her mouth to ask a question, but Aaron's cell buzzed. It was Frazer.

"Any news?" asked Aaron.

"Roberts and Somack were spotted trying to break into an outdoor store in Oakham in the early hours of this morning." Frazer sounded tired too.

"Oakham? Where the hell is Oakham?"

Hope stared at him intently.

"Small community about thirty miles west of the crash site," Frazer explained. "They couldn't get inside without setting off the alarm and then got spooked. They stole a truck out of a nearby driveway instead."

"Are the police in close pursuit?"

"No police station in the town—I'm surprised it had a store, to be honest. Sheriff's deputies were busy helping with the manhunt farther east, but the USMS have transferred most of their manpower around Oakham now and have an APB out on the stolen truck."

"Why am I only hearing about this now?" asked Aaron.

"No one informed me until lunchtime. I was driving out this way anyway so continued to Oakham and spoke to the shopkeeper myself."

"No sign of Leech?"

"No sightings of Leech," Frazer confirmed.

Hope met Aaron's stare, and he shook his head. She looked disappointed.

Who wouldn't be?

Demarco pulled up in front of the DA's office that was thankfully devoid of reporters today.

"Hold on for a moment," Aaron told Frazer.

They watched Colin Leighton alight and hurry toward the building. Aaron pulled the door closed, and Demarco immediately drove away.

"What aren't you telling me?" Aaron pushed.

"Let me send you a photograph. I want to know what you think."

Aaron looked down at his cell phone at the image of Reggie Somack and Perry Roberts attempting to pry open a door with a piece of sheet metal.

Hope brushed her hair out of her face and leaned over to peer at his screen.

It took him a second.

"Ah. Shit." They both wore their orange prison jumpsuits and handcuffs. "I was kind of hoping they were the ones to strip the prison guard."

Hope's lips compressed into a thin line.

Frazer continued. "But the marshals didn't think to inform me of this. I obtained that photo directly from the guy whose store Roberts and Somack tried to rob."

"Do you think the marshals understood the implications?"

"They must," Frazer muttered sourly. "Novak is the one who let me know something was up, though they weren't talking to him either to begin with. Charlotte Blood got it out of them."

"She knows how to talk to people. It's her job."

Charlotte was a negotiator and a damned good one.

"If Novak and Blood weren't on the ground with USMS, how long until they'd have told us Leech wasn't drowned but had actually managed to get hold of a guard's uniform, not to mention his sidearm?" Frazer's words were coated in anger.

Aaron wanted to punch someone. "We're prepared for Leech. So is the team on the judge."

"But what about everyone else?"

Aaron didn't have an answer to that. "Did Parker discover anything useful about that other thing we discussed?"

Traffic was heavy this time of day. His gaze scanned the surroundings for potential danger.

"The subject's phone was at his house all night."

Aaron didn't know whether to be glad or sad. The idea of a cop vandalizing a headstone was abhorrent but at least it would be a known enemy. "Thank him for verifying."

"I don't think he's done yet. I'll let you know if he comes up with anything useful. I have to go. I want to check on a forensic psychologist I know who helped us during Leech's trials. She didn't want extra protection. Husband's a former Marine. Said she was safe enough. But she didn't pick up when I called this morning."

Aaron didn't like the sound of that. "Let me arrange backup."

"I'm five minutes away from her house in Lincoln, and it could be as simple as her turning her phone off for work, but if you don't hear from me in thirty minutes call the cops." Frazer hung up.

Aaron looked at Hope in the deepening gloom of the late afternoon. Her eyes were haunted as she stiffly hunched her shoulders.

Aaron fought the urge to wrap his arm around her and give her a comforting squeeze. He didn't want to turn into Brendan Harper with unwanted physical interactions. He needed to remember this wasn't personal. It was professional. HRT didn't spend millions of dollars training operators to hug people. That was what friends were for.

But Hope didn't have any friends…

Fuck.

"Why can't they find him?" she asked quietly.

Aaron shook his head. He didn't know.