CHAPTER TWO

Ninety minutes of deliberation later, Ella Dark was back in the courtroom, back beside the twitching blonde woman who was clearly still hungry for a last-minute twist. Ella shifted, trying to coax some life back into her dead limbs. Every time she sat longer than a few minutes, her backside went numb thanks to the sadist who'd designed the chairs in this place.

Up ahead, the jury shuffled in, faces as blank as fresh paper. Everyone took their seats, then Judge Hawthorn dropped his gavel.

‘Welcome back. Final deliberations have concluded. Has the jury reached a verdict?'

The foreman stood up. A balding man who looked like he'd rather be in a dentist's waiting room. ‘Yes, Your Honor.' He made his way up to the judge's booth and handed him the paper.

Judge Hawthorn adjusted his glasses and read aloud.

‘ On the charge of first-degree murder in the death of Julia Reynolds, we find the defendant, Austin Creed – guilty.'

A collective exhale; the room deflated like a punctured balloon. Ella didn't move a muscle. One down, who knew how many more charges to go?

‘On the charge of first-degree murder in the death of Winnie Barker, we find the defendant - guilty.'

Creed didn't so much as twitch. The scumbag probably thought this was his grand finale.

Judge Hawthorn continued, ‘On the charge of first-degree murder in the death of Christine Hartwell, we find the defendant – guilty.'

With each ‘guilty,' the judge's voice grew that little bit stronger. Like he was getting used to the taste of justice on his tongue. Ella wondered if the people in this room knew the weight of those words, how they'd echo through the lives of the victims' families for years to come. How they'd haunt Creed in his six-by-eight concrete box until the day he died.

‘On the charge of first-degree murder in the death of Marcus Davenport, we find the defendant – guilty.'

Four for four. There weren't as many cheers in the courtroom as Ella expected. All she could hear was the woman beside her, sobbing.

‘On the charge of aggravated assault on a federal agent, we find the defendant – guilty.'

That last one was personal. Ella absently rubbed her shoulder, feeling the raised scar tissue hidden beneath her blazer. A souvenir from her dance with the devil.

‘Mr. Creed, please rise for sentencing,' the judge said.

Creed stood up slowly. His attorneys remained seated. Ella was staring at the back of his head from her angle, but what she wouldn't give to see his face right now.

‘Mr. Austin Creed, it is the judgment of this court that you be remanded to the custody of the Louisiana Department of Corrections, to be held at Louisiana State Penitentiary. There, on a date to be determined, you are to be executed by lethal injection.' The gavel fell with a crack like thunder. ‘May God have mercy on your soul.'

Ella let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

It was over.

That's when the whispers and stirring began. People in suits stood up, shook hands, clapped each other on the back.

Her first killer, the one that had busted her special agent virginity, now banished to the execution chamber.

This was justice in its most primitive form, so why did it feel so bittersweet?

Austin Creed, still standing like a misbehaving student, waited calmly for the bailiffs to arrive. With one on either side, they escorted him away from the table, down the aisleway. Halfway down, he looked up and caught Ella's eye.

For a split second, time seemed to freeze. In that moment, she saw something in Creed's stare that made her question everything. Not fear, not anger, but a sick sort of satisfaction. Like he'd won some twisted game only he knew the rules to.

Ella remained seated. This was what she'd fought for, what she'd nearly died for. So why did victory taste like dog crap?

The moment passed, and Creed was gone, shuffled out of the courtroom to begin his long wait for death.

Was this justice? Or was it just more violence, more bloodshed in an endless cycle of retribution? Killing was the punishment for killing. It was a price as old as time, and something about it had never sat right in Ella's gut.

She was a cog in the machine, she reminded herself. The midwife. What happened after that – the trial, the sentencing, the long walk to the gallows – that was out of her hands.

A choked sob from beside her snapped Ella out of her haze. The blonde woman who'd been sitting next to her all day trial had collapsed into tears. Ella turned to look at her properly for the first time.

The woman was in her mid-forties, with the kind of bone structure that spoke of good genes and better living. A family member of one of the victims, Ella guessed. Maybe a sister? She tried to imagine what must be going through the woman's mind. Relief? Vindication? Or just a fresh wave of grief as the finality of her loss hit home?

Without thinking, Ella reached out, placing a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. The gesture seemed to break something loose in the blonde, and suddenly Ella found herself with an armful of sobbing stranger.

‘It's okay,' Ella murmured, feeling woefully inadequate in the face of such raw emotion.

The woman's tears soaked into Ella's jacket, but she didn't mind. This was the true cost of people like Creed. Not just the lives they took, but the ones they shattered. Creed's sentence might bring some closure, but it wouldn't erase the empty chair at the dinner table.

It was strange, this human contact. Ella spent so much of her life in the realm of the inhuman that she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to comfort.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, the woman's sobs began to subside. She pulled back slightly and planted her tear-stained face inches from Ella's. Their eyes locked, and Ella felt an odd jolt of – something. Connection? Understanding?

‘Thank you,' the woman whispered.

Ella nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Then, to her shock, she felt the woman's hand on her thigh, squeezing in a way that was decidedly not platonic. The touch sent a shiver through her that was equal parts confusion and unexpected heat.

The woman held her gaze for a moment longer. Then, as suddenly as she'd broken down, she composed herself.

‘You're so young,' the woman said with a smile.

The words were oddly intimate. Then, the woman stood and made her way out of the now-emptying courtroom.

Ella sat there for a long moment, trying to process everything that had just happened. The verdict, the sentence, the breakdown, whatever that last part was. She needed to breathe the air of a place where a man hadn't just been condemned. Perhaps the air on an airplane heading back home where Luca awaited, probably still glued to the NASCAR finals. It was a thirteen-hour flight from Louisiana to D.C., but it was the final gauntlet between her and her new man.

Austin Creed was going to the penitentiary, and Ella Dark was going home.