Two Years Later Page 4

  The drive to the courthouse would be short, as we live only two blocks away, but we’re picking up Dana, Reese’s client. “Have you talked to her today?”

  “Not yet,” Reese says, “but I’m about to call her now and let her know we’re on the way.”

  “Tell her one of our men is about to be at her door,” Luke orders.

  He pulls out his phone and makes the call. I listen to the short exchange and Reese disconnects. “Done,” he tells Luke before he glances at me. “She’s cold and removed. I’d rather her cry.”

  “Because cold and removed comes off as rich, arrogant, and indifferent.”

  “Exactly,” he says.

  “It’s an expectation,” I reply.

  He glances over at me. “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning address that head-on. She lived under an iron fist of expectations that meant no emotions. That call was an explosion of everything bottled inside.”

  He studies me a few beats and kisses me. “You really need to be practicing law, Cat.”

  I warm with the compliment he gives freely. That’s the thing about Reese. He’s the only person in my life that has lifted me up, not torn me down, my brothers included. That’s how he will be with our child.

  “I do.” I say, lacing my fingers with his. “With you and then I write about it which is the definition of an inside source.”

  “I love your column, Cat,” Luke says. “My wife is an attorney and she gobbles it up. She got me hooked.”

  “Thank you,” I say. “It’s very flattering to have people enjoy my random thoughts about cases.” My phone buzzes with a text.

  I grab it and glance at the number to find a message from Lauren: Any change?

  Sick this morning, I type.

  Oh good, she replies.

  I laugh and Reese glances over at me. “Lauren. Girl talk.” My phone buzzes again with another message from Lauren: How are you going to the doctor with the trial going on?

  I reply back with: I got a seven am appointment. I’ll call you later.

  We pull past Dana’s high-rise apartment and the press is everywhere. “We’re picking her up two blocks down,” Luke says, glancing over at us.

  A few minutes later, Dana, who I’ve met once before, is in the backseat next to me, her navy blue dress prim and proper, her blonde hair tied at her nape. “Hi,” she says to me and then in general to everyone. And that’s it. She says nothing else. Reese was right. She’s cold and removed.

  “How are you?” I ask.

  “Sick,” she replies, suddenly showing her human side. “I threw up three times this morning.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “I can’t eat,” she says. “How can I eat? I’m being accused of killing my father.”

  I reach in my purse and offer her crackers. “They might help.”

  “Do you carry crackers for all of his clients?”

  I can feel Reese’s attention and I quickly add, “I have food poisoning. I thought they might help me, so maybe that was lucky and they can help you. Try one. You need to be strong in court.”

  She grabs a cracker and munches and Royce offers her a bottle of water that she takes. I settle back into my seat and Reese squeezes my leg, willing me to look at him. I inhale and glance over at him, meeting his penetrating blue stare and while he says nothing, there’s a question in his eyes. Maybe he’s even wondering if I could be pregnant. Or I’m paranoid. I’m paranoid. How can I not be?

  We pull up to a side door of the courthouse where the police have blocked off an entrance. Dana inhales. “This is it.”

  Luke leans around the seat. “I’m coming to get you, Dana.”

  Reese leans forward and looks at Dana across my lap. “This is it. This is where we end this. There’s no evidence to convict you. You shouldn’t have been charged. We will win.”

  I squeeze her arm. “Deep breath. He’s the best of the best. You will win.”

  “I didn’t do it,” she whispers. “I swear to you. I didn’t do it.” She tears up and the door opens.

  She swipes at her eyes and exits the vehicle. I start to follow and Reese catches my arm, turning me around to face him. “How sick are you?”

  “I’m presently thinking about how good you look naked and about the benefits of waking up to you between my legs,” I say. “I’m pretty sure that means not very sick.” I kiss him. “Time to win. I’ll see you at the food truck for your lucky hot dog.”

  His eyes warm and he kisses me before thankfully releasing me.

  I scoot out of the backseat and we’re rushed inside the courthouse where Richard and Elsa are waiting. Reese, his client, and his team are ushered forward with Royce and Luke on their heels. I am now alone, only I’m really not alone. My hand presses to my belly. I’m not alone. And I love it. A security guard motions me forward, and I’m given a badge that I’d normally have to get in another area of the courthouse. Ready for the courtroom, I hurry forward when suddenly my new little passenger decides to stir up the sickness again. I can’t do this now. Reese needs to see me in that courtroom. I glance at the time on my phone and I have about ten minutes to spare. I cut right to a bathroom that is usually missed by all but me, and enter.

  The sickness seems to have passed and I look in the mirror. Do I look different? Apparently, my baby doesn’t like this question. My stomach rolls and I hurry into a stall, shut the door, and heave up nothing. My stomach is empty and maybe that’s the problem. Whatever the case, it’s over and I walk out of the stall to find Lori, standing in front of me. Lori, who knows about the secret bathroom because of me.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks and as silly as it sounds, the floral pattern of the blouse under her jacket seems to make me sick again.

  “Bad olives, I think,” I manage to explain, “but I need to be in that courtroom now. Reese will look for me. He’ll worry if he doesn’t find me there.”

  “Do you have anything with you to take?”

  “Nothing,” I say darting for the door.

  She follows and catches me in the hallway. “I’ll grab you something.”

  “No,” I say quickly, not sure what is safe. “No. Reese will be distracted if you come in late. Let’s just go sit. I have crackers.”

  She looks like she wants to argue but she doesn’t. We enter the courtroom and we’re escorted to a row right behind the defense table. I sit down and stuff a cracker down that I’m not supposed to eat in here and do so as quickly as possible. “Is it helping?”

  “I think so,” I say, “except I’m about to choke with no water.”

  She opens her purse and points to a bottle of water. I discreetly grab it, take a drink and stuff it back in her purse, deciding that for now, I’m stable. The doors to our left open and the courtroom goes nuts as Dana, Richard, and Elsa walk in and take their seats. Dana is back to stone. She’s cold. She’s hard on the surface when I know she’s falling apart inside. Next comes Reese and he’s barely stepped to the table before he finds me. I love how he does this at the start of every trial. I love that we’re this connected. I had to be here today. I will always be here when he starts a trial.

  The prosecution enters the courtroom and a few minutes later, we’re standing for the judge. We sit and that’s when Lori leans close and whispers, “Are you pregnant?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Cat

  I love Lori to pieces, but I really want to throttle her for asking if I’m pregnant when a) I’m not telling her before Reese, therefore I now have to try to make her forget this topic without lying to her and b) Reese is about to begin one of the biggest cases of his career in a few seconds.

  “Forget I asked that,” she whispers, pulling out a notepad as I ready my own. “That was silly,” she adds. “You two have a plan and it doesn’t include getting pregnant right now during this trial.” Reese walks to the center of the courtroom and she squeezes my arm. “I can’t wait to watch Reese in action. I’m so g
lad I’m between cases.”

  Relief washes over me at her backtrack, but we’re also working on a book together that I think I need to push back our efforts until after I tell Reese. Lori knows me too well. If we spend time together, she’ll figure out what’s going on. For now though, I focus on the prosecutor, a man named Milton Wicker, who Reese has gone head-to-head with before and beat. Milton, like everyone, wanted to dethrone Reese and break his winning record, and save his pride from losing once before, and lost. So we can all bet he has vengeance in his sight this time around. Tall and good looking enough, I guess, he’s mid-thirties, with dark-rimmed glasses and sandy brown hair. He begins his opening statement:

  “Today we are here because, in the defendant’s own words, she wished her father was dead and she followed through to make that wish come true. The defense will tell you that dreams don’t always come true, but for the defendant they did. Facts are facts. Dana Warren wished her father dead and now he’s dead. Do you know what that means for her? Five hundred million dollars. She is set to inherit five hundred million dollars. That’s an astounding sum of money, isn’t it? And what did it take for Dana Warren to inherit that money? One bullet. Who else benefited from Nelson Warren’s murder? No one. No one else inherits. No wife, girlfriend, non-existent sibling. No one. Not even a charity. I’m not going to feed you a laundry list of reasons she did this when you already have five hundred million reasons and a phone call where she wished her father dead.”

  His opening is that fast and over, leaving me certain that he doesn’t have evidence to prove his case that we don’t yet know about. He’s grandstanding. “He’s putting on a show,” Lori whispers, as if reading my thoughts, “and not a good one.”

  We hope, I think, despite my more confident thought a moment before. We never know how a jury will respond in a trial, but then Reese stands up, and my nerves fade. This is Reese’s wheelhouse. He’s a master. He will win over the jury and I can’t wait to watch him work. I poise my pen over my notepad, ready to take notes, irritated that I haven’t yet evaluated the jury. In all cases I follow, I like to see them in all phases of the trial from beginning to end. I like to read their state of minds before and after each opening. I quickly take as many notes as possible and then Reese begins:

  “First I want to thank each and every member of the jury, and of course our honorable judge, for taking the journey to justice with me. I’m proud of being a part of a court system that ensures innocence until you are proven guilty. I, for one, find comfort in knowing that I’m protected. No one, not even the press, can convict me of a crime. They can demonize me. They can humiliate me. But they cannot take my freedom. Or can they? Those things in today’s media outlets become prisons in ways that you cannot escape. No matter what your ruling, the press will say it’s wrong. No matter what your ruling, the press will assume they know what you do not even though you are right here in this courtroom. No matter what your ruling, my client is already guilty because the press says so and the prosecution has made it clear by charging that they believe she is guilty. It’s a scary thing to sit in a chair and hear a guilty plea be read with no evidence. It makes you fear that you could be next. It makes you fear that if the wrong people were against you, you could go down for something you didn’t do. That’s where a jury comes in, where you come in. No matter how much you like or dislike the person being charged, you rule based on facts. If you have any doubt that the person is guilty you legally must rule them not guilty. That’s reasonable doubt. If I give you reason to doubt guilt, the ruling is not guilty. If the prosecutor tells you the defendant is guilty, they must prove that guilt with evidence, not words.”

  “That comes back to me. I don’t defend guilty people. Ever. We’ve all heard the phone call that was leaked. My client sounded angry and that anger had people asking me if I regretted my choice to represent her. My answer was and is no. Her father was a brutal man with many enemies. She was angry, hurt, scared. She was human. She wanted to walk away from everything just to escape. This is not an escape. My client didn’t think she could shoot her father and inherit. Her father was vicious to her and everyone around him. He destroyed people and laughed about it. She might have wished him dead but you’ll learn during this trial, that so did a long list of other people.”

  “I’m asking you today to remember your responsibility to assume innocence and make the prosecution prove guilt. My client inheriting her father’s fortune does not make her his killer. The list of suspects, of those people I just mentioned that wanted her father, the victim, dead, is excessively long and completely ignored by the prosecutor. The prosecutor’s office wanted an easy win, not justice. Therefore, they decided you, the jury, would be so small minded, so ignorant, that you would put someone in jail for no reason other than she inherited money. They picked the person the public would prosecute rather than doing their job, finding the real killer, and coming to court with evidence. Why? Because if the press and public prosecute my client, then it puts pressure on you to follow. But the press and the public won’t see the facts and evidence. That’s your honor and responsibility. To see the evidence and rule on the evidence. Your responsibility is to rule not guilty if you have reasonable doubt. Your responsibility is to rule guilty if the prosecution proves without a shadow of a doubt that my client killed her father. That means they must provide evidence, not assumption. None of us want to live in a country where we can be accused and convicted without proof. Make the prosecution live in America with us. I have confidence in you to make the right decision. The prosecutor brought this case because he has confidence that you don’t care about our country, our laws, and real evidence.”

  Reese closes his opening statement, and I breathe out. He did well. The jury responded well. They didn’t like the idea that they were being looked at as stupid by the prosecutor. “That was brilliant,” Lori whispers.

  Reese walks back to his table and his eyes find mine the way they always do, and I give him a tiny nod of approval. I let him know that he was received well. He sits down, and the prosecutor calls for a recess. At this point, it manages to get to eleven o’clock and court is adjourned until one o’clock. “I need to go to the office,” Lori says. “I have a case I may end up taking that just had activity.” She turns to face me as the crowd begins to disperse. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

  “I’m good,” I say. “It’s passing.”

  She hugs me. “Love you. I’ll be back this afternoon if I can. Tell Reese, aside from Cole, he’s my idol.”

  “Says the brilliant attorney herself,” I comment.

  “Not as brilliant as your husband, or mine, but I’ll get there. Walk out with me?”

  I nod and the two of us make our way out of the courtroom, and the crush of the crowd that normally doesn’t bother me, bothers me now. I feel like I’m suffocating. It’s with relief that I exit the courthouse, through the safe side door, and Lori hurries away. With my computer in my backpack and the crowd focused on the front of the courthouse, I dart down the sidewalk that leads to the park where Reese always escapes for his lucky hot dog during trials. I assume he will decompress with his team for a few minutes before joining me, so I decide to write in today’s baby journal.

  I pass the food truck that provides those lucky hot dogs, and sit on a park bench, powering up my MacBook to begin typing, this time to Reese: Every moment I’m with you, I want to tell you that I’m pregnant. I wonder if I look different, if I feel different, and yes, I even wondered if I tasted different this morning. I know that is silly, but I really did have that thought and I’ll let you use your imagination to determine when I had that thought. When I was throwing up, I smiled. I know that sounds crazy, but I read that sickness means the baby is healthy. My God, Reese, this is killing me. I want to tell you so badly, but you have so much on you and what if you were worried about me when you had to give that opening statement today? I don’t know when to tell you. I love you so much and I want to support
you and I see how much pressure you feel to win. I see how much your client needs you to win. What if you worry about picketers, and press, and a million other things that might make me miscarry and it changes how you try this case? I don’t know what to do but to keep writing what I feel and praying that you feel I made these decisions for the right reasons: love.

  I love you.

  It’s right then that a wave of sickness overtakes me. I shut my computer and my eyes, and will it away. “Cat.”

  I blink and Reese is on his knee in front of me. I lean forward and press my hands to his cheeks. “You were brilliant.”

  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  “I’m good. I’ve been good since the minute some asshole cut in line in a coffee shop and changed my life.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cat

  What aren’t you telling me?

  I hate this question from Reese and with him on his knee in front of me, those blue eyes looking at me with concern, I decide to be as honest as possible. I also decide when to spill the news. “I have a birthday surprise I’m working on for you. I hate I’m telling you this because that makes it less of a surprise, but you’re obviously sensing something.” I kiss him. “So you were right. There’s something I’m not telling you.”

  His brow furrow and he moves to sit on the bench next to me. “Now you have me curious.”