Final Verdict. Jessica R. Patch

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      She fisted her hands as blinding headlights shone on her house.

      One more step forward, a high-pitched clang reverberated through her home and something crashed through her living room window.

      Aurora shrieked, threw her hands up in defense and squeezed her eyes closed as the object careened into her shoulder and bounced off, landing on the floor and rolling across the hardwood.

      The wind whipped relentlessly through the broken window, adding to the chill in her bones. Aurora stood stunned as she massaged the throbbing area.

      Shards of glass covered her couch and a few specks skittered across the floor.

      The blinding lights disappeared, leaving her yard draped in darkness.

      She inched toward the object rolling on her hardwood floor. An empty bottle.

      Old Crow whiskey.

      Same brand Austin Bledsoe had been drinking when he sped through a stop sign and hit Bethany Russell.

      Her hands trembled as she tucked them inside her sweatshirt sleeves, using them as gloves to pick up the bottle, a question rattling her brain and sending a thump of fear into her chest. She’d been threatened earlier. Was this the end or only the beginning?

      * * *

      “Counselor!” Beckett Marsh poked his nose through Aurora Daniels’s broken windowpane when she wouldn’t answer the front door. It had taken him ten minutes to get here after she’d called. While her words had come out clear, the speed at which she’d spoken told the tale.

      She’d been shaken up.

      Now she stood in the middle of her living room with one hand cupping her left shoulder. He did a double take. This wasn’t the confident professional in her typical attire of power suits and heels. Bare feet anchored to the hardwood, baggy gray sweatpants and an equally baggy Ole Miss Rebels sweatshirt masking her slender figure. And still something about the look, even with her signature tight knot at the base of her neck, rattled something loose in his chest. He refocused, uncomfortable with the powerful response to seeing her like this. Not like he hadn’t been attracted the first time he’d laid eyes on her a little over a year ago when he came back home. Anyone would be an idiot not to find her attractive. But her line of work put the kibosh on anything beyond admiring a beautiful woman. Ain’t no way he could follow that trail. “You hurt?”

      She hurried to the front door, unlocking it and letting him inside. “Just my shoulder. Probably going to bruise, is all.” She gave it a haphazard rub. Nice attempt at the brave front.

      That bottle could have hit her head, knocked her out, cut her up or worse. He fisted his hand to keep from touching her. “I got here as fast as I could.”

      “I appreciate it. Guess you were correct about the threats.” She tossed out a weak laugh.

      This was nothing to make light of, and he hated that he’d been right. He ignored the hint of chocolate and the faint scent of something flowery drifting from her skin or clothing. A bottle on the kitchen table snagged his attention. “Old Crow.”

      “Like I said when I called, they threw a whiskey bottle. Drove a big truck, big engine. Could be a Hemi V8. Maybe even a Detroit Diesel 550 horsepower. Heard it when it turned on my street.”

      Beckett inclined his head and studied her, unsure of what impressed him more. The fact Aurora Daniels had a handle on big engines or that she’d called him first—or at all. They butted heads often and he wouldn’t deny he was pretty tough on her. But for every five people he tossed behind bars, she’d cut three loose with her slick litigation skills. How was he supposed to keep his county safe when the shrewd counselor put criminals right back out on the street?

      He’d seen what monsters free to prey the streets could do. Seen evil get away with murder when one had claimed his fiancée’s life the night before their wedding. Meghan’s lifeless body had been seared into Beckett’s mind forever. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forgive himself for not coming to her rescue in time.

      “Sheriff?” Aurora drew him from the nightmare that plagued him. “I asked how many people on your end know that Austin Bledsoe was drinking Old Crow whiskey.”

      Good question. Same one that had popped into his mind. That brain of hers was incredible. Sharp. Too bad it wasn’t being used for a better cause. “Officers on the scene the night Bethany Russell was killed. Whoever was working evidence. I can’t think of anyone else. The judge.”

      Aurora quirked her lips to the side. “The Russell family and anyone they told.”

      Beckett’s gut clenched. He couldn’t rule out Trevor Russell or his teenage boy. But he hated to have to question them. They’d been through enough already with Bethany’s death and funeral only four short months ago. They’d been clinging to the hope of justice today, but it had miscarried. However, he knew firsthand what time soaked in grief could do, and it wasn’t pretty. He’d been on that end of the stick. “I’ll talk to Trevor.”

      Aurora sighed and tapped her nail against the tip of her nose. He’d noticed that before. In the courtroom. Her thinking habit. “I guess I need to get some plastic over that. I can call Mitch in the morning. Have the glass replaced.” She bounded for the door leading to the garage. Beckett followed.

      “Plastic isn’t safe. Anyone could cut through it.”

      Aurora paused. “I think that guy’s threat at the courthouse today was meant to scare me. Mission accomplished. If he’d wanted to hurt me, he’d have already gotten into the house. If this was him.”

      Fire pulsed in his chest. “What threat?” Aurora had said she was used to unkind words, and he could easily imagine. She’d worked in a high-profile law firm that repped some shady clients. But a bottle had made direct impact on her body. This wasn’t idle threats and unkind verbiage.

      “A guy in the crowd today. I didn’t recognize the voice and couldn’t match a face to the words, but he told me to be careful or I could end up in a car accident like Bethany Russell. Just words.” She shrugged, but Beckett wasn’t born yesterday. Aurora was trying to talk herself out of being afraid. Fear wasn’t always a bad thing. Fear had kept him alive and alert on all his tours and missions as a SEAL.

      “Well, I’d feel better if we didn’t use plastic. Besides, it’s gonna get down in the twenties tonight. Plastic won’t keep the nip out.”

      She pointed to the far side of the sparse garage. “I have some plywood. That work?”

      “Yup. And you need to put some shoes on. Protect your feet while we get the glass cleaned up.”

      She pursed her lips but said nothing.

      Beckett grabbed several boards in the corner and Aurora retrieved a hammer and nails and followed him inside. “Got a broom?”

      “The one I use for sweeping or the one I ride on?” Aurora tilted her head and pierced him with a maybe sort of accusing glare.

      So that’s what she assumed he thought of her. Hardly. He wasn’t sure what to think. This СКАЧАТЬ