Irrevocable Trust (Sasha McCandless Legal Thriller Book 6) Page 15

  “I look just like Elsa! Oh, thank you, thank you! I love you, Sasha!”

  She threw both hands around Sasha’ neck and squeezed her like only a toddler can.

  Sasha rubbed her back.

  “You’re very welcome, Princess Elsa.”

  As soon as she returned Calla to the floor, the girl took over running, legs and arms pumping, as she raced to find her siblings and show off her hair.

  Sasha picked up her coffee and sipped at it. She was so lost in thought, she didn’t really even notice that it was room temperature.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Andy knotted his tie and ran a shaking hand over his hair.

  Courtroom jitters, he told his reflection.

  You’re full of crap, he answered himself.

  It was true, of course. It had been years since he’d gotten nervous before standing up in a courtroom. Big Gun Pulaski has nerves of steel and balls to match.

  But here he was, twenty minutes until show time, hiding in a musty courthouse bathroom trying to get a grip.

  He checked his watch. Twenty minutes until show time.

  Acid swirled in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten a meal or caught more than a cat nap since receiving the call from Bricker on Wednesday. He was agitated and shaky from lack of food and sleep. And fear.

  Bricker had promised he’d be well-compensated if he performed well.

  But Andy had latched on to what his client had left unsaid. What would Bricker to do him if he didn’t shine? What if the judge appointed McCandless despite his objections? Would Bricker kill him?

  Get. A. Grip.

  He washed his hands and lobbed the paper towel toward the trashcan.

  If it goes in, it’s a sign that you’re gonna win.

  The crumpled towel bounced off the rim of the can and landed on the floor.

  Andy closed his eyes for a moment to clear his mind.

  He had to stomp out the fear and blaze into Judge Perry-Brown’s courtroom, no holds barred, with all the fury he could muster.

  His career, and maybe his life, depended on it.

  It was time for his pre-game ritual.

  He did a quick check of the bathroom to confirm that he was alone. Then he leaned close to the mirror and imagined himself as a blue-faced Mel Gibson in “Braveheart.” He took a breath then whispered the lines where William Wallace roused the men before battle. At the end, he threw back his head and roared, “Freedom!”

  His voice echoed off the tile floor and walls. His heart thudded in his chest. The Big Gun was ready.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Sasha nodded and pretended to listen to whatever last-minute advice Will was hurriedly trying to impart as they walked up the wide white courthouse steps. It didn’t matter what he was saying. She already knew how she planned to approach the hearing.

  She found that Krav Maga training principles applied almost as well to her trial preparations as to her self-defense routines. Before a court appearance, she rehearsed her planned moves and responses until they became automatic. She didn’t have to think about them, which allowed her to free up her mental capacity for identifying and readjusting to unplanned moves that her adversary or the court threw at her.

  For her, it worked.

  For a belt-and-suspenders guy like Marsh, who memorized a script and refused to deviate from it, her method would have been disastrous. And for an off-the-cuff blusterer who relied on his quick wit and theatrical delivery like her late mentor, Noah, it would have been suffocating. But for her, the structure was freeing. And calming.

  In fact, considering she was walking into a courtroom to face off against a truly horrible human being, who was representing an even more disgusting person, in a matter that would decide the course of the lives of six children she cared about, she was calmer than she had any right to be. Placid, even.

  A quick glance back at Connelly and Cole as she stepped through the doors into the vestibule sent a wave of worry through all that tranquility, though.

  Cole was pale. And sweating.

  She put a hand out to stop Will and they moved to the side of the lobby to wait.

  Connelly shot her a worried look and jerked his head toward the boy as he stopped next to her.

  “Here, can you hold this for me, please?” she asked, handing him her trial bag.

  “What? Naya’s not here to carry your briefcase, so I have to?” he teased her.

  “Something like that.”

  Cole was staring at the metal detectors with a distant look.

  “Are you okay? You don’t have to go through with this, you know.”

  He kept his eyes pinned over her shoulder and gulped.

  “I dunno.”

  She turned toward Connelly.

  “Okay, why don’t you and Will go ahead. I’ll stay here with Cole for a bit and meet you up there.”

  Connelly glanced from her to Cole then said, “Well at least have him wait on the other side of the security scanners. Just in case.”

  As in, just in case his father decides to storm the lobby in a murderous rage.

  “Uh, I need to just sit down for a minute,” Cole mumbled.

  He half-stumbled toward the nearest bench, but Connelly shook his head.

  “Not here. Sasha, since I’m apparently sneaking your knife through security, can you and Will lend Cole a hand?”

  Connelly shook his head at her attempt to con him and walked over to a bored-looking police officer gabbing with the scanner operator.

  She felt the questions in Will’s eyes about the knife comment and a blush crept up her neck.

  She cleared her throat and focused on Cole.

  “What’s he doing?” Cole croaked, nodding toward Connelly.

  “He’s flexing his federal agent muscle to avoid going through the metal detector with his gun.”

  “Oh.”

  Cole’s entire body seemed to relax in response to the news that Connelly was armed. He let her guide him toward the little cluster formed by Will, Connelly, and the cop.

  Their heads were bent over some official-looking document that Connelly had pulled from his breast pocket.

  The police officer was nodding with enthusiasm and self-importance. Based on the officer’s conduct, she suspected Connelly had managed to convince him that something critical to national security was about to go down in the Allegheny County Courthouse.

  She hid her smile and placed a hand on Connelly’s arm.

  “Are we good here?” she asked.

  The police officer snapped his eyes to her.

  “Is this the attorney and client, sir?” he asked Connelly.

  “Affirmative,” Connelly answered in his best law enforcement voice.

  Behind her, she heard Cole coughing into his hand.

  “You’re all cleared, ma’am. Your party can circumvent the scanner and just shoot up that staircase to your right.”

  “Thank you, officer,” Will interjected, eager to be on his way. “Let’s go.”

  Connelly handed over her trial bag with a knowing smirk.

  Will took off for the stairs at a brisk pace, and she had to trot to keep up with him.

  Connelly and Cole trailed behind. Connelly refolded his paper and returned it to his pocket. Cole took a final backward glance at the lobby area and exhaled. The color was already returning to his face.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Sasha scanned the rows of seats as they entered Judge Perry-Brown’s courtroom. A cadre of senior citizens had already claimed the back row and were settled in. In the middle of the room, two brightly-scrubbed law students sat side-by-side in their brand-new suits, legal pads and pens out and ready on their laps. Interns, no doubt. And way over in the far corner, partially obscured by a wall that jutted out, was an unkempt middle-aged man.

  Sasha squinted, trying to determine if he was the same guy from last time.

  She didn’t realize she’d stopped mid-aisle until Connelly bumped into her back.

  “Sorry.” />
  “It’s my fault,” she whispered over her shoulder.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Not sure.”

  She took a second look at the man, trying to search his face, but he had his head turned to the wall. He seemed to be avoiding her gaze.

  She continued on to the counsel table and dumped her bag beside Will, who was already seated and looking at her with a concerned expression.

  She flashed him a reassuring smile then strolled over to the bar separating the gallery from the well and gestured for Connelly and Cole to meet her there.

  They had just settled into the front row, but they hurried over to see what she wanted.

  Connelly leaned over the railing.

  “What’s up?”

  She directed her comments to Cole. “Don’t look, but there’s a guy sitting in the far corner, way in the back. He’s wearing a green Army jacket. After you sit back down, wait a minute or two and then casually glance over and see if you recognize him as one of your father’s followers.”

  She forced herself not to look in the man’s direction and to keep her tone unconcerned, but worry flashed in Connelly’s eyes. He patted his jacket, where she knew his Glock was holstered.

  Cole gnawed on his lower lip.

  “Here? You think my dad has a plant here?”

  She reached over the bar and patted down his cowlick. His hair popped right back up.

  “Probably not. He’s probably just some down-on-his-luck guy enjoying the air conditioning. But just in case, do me a favor and take a peek, okay?”

  She smiled broadly at him.

  The door swung open, and Pulaski entered the courtroom.

  She kept the smile pasted firmly in place and walked back to counsel’s table.

  As Pulaski claimed the seat next to hers, she twisted her neck and caught Cole’s eye.

  He shook his head no. He didn’t recognize the homeless guy.

  Connelly’s tense face relaxed a fraction.

  Sasha exhaled in relief.

  “Breathless already, McCandless?” Pulaski cracked.

  She turned to him. “You’re looking awfully green, Andy. You feeling okay?”

  She said it mainly to rattle him, but it was true. He looked sickly. And scared.

  For a fleeting moment, something like sympathy swelled in her—after all, he hadn’t chosen to represent a sociopathic criminal.

  Then he winked at her and licked his lips, and any kind feelings evaporated.

  “Just gearing up to take you down. It’s gonna be the highlight of my career.” He bared his teeth in an approximation of a smile.

  Will stiffened and shifted in his chair.

  She turned away from Pulaski and caught Will’s attention.

  “What a putz,” she said loudly enough for Pulaski to hear.

  Will searched her face.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  She removed a legal pad from her briefcase, taking care not to disturb the knife nestled in the bottom of the bag.

  Bev, the judge’s clerk, looked up from her paperwork and checked the time. Then she picked up the telephone to her right and murmured into the receiver.

  Sasha knew she was telling the judge that all parties were present and ready to go.

  Showtime.

  The doors leading from the judge’s chambers opened, and she entered the courtroom with her large handbag dangling over the crook of her elbow.

  Sasha immediately thought of Madeleine Albright, who had an assistant whose job was to carry her purse. If she were a judge, she’d at least press a law clerk into service. It didn’t seem very judicial to be weighted down with a Coach bag, she mused as she stood to greet the judge.

  “All rise. The Honorable Merry Perry-Brown presiding,” Bev intoned.

  Sasha heard the shuffle of feet and the rustle of fabrics, as Connelly, Cole, and the assorted onlookers got to their feet.

  She wondered for an instant if there would be an outburst from the gallery, but no one spoke.

  Judge Perry-Brown deposited her purse on the bench and smiled down at the counsel table.

  “Good morning, counselors.”

  “Good morning, Your Honor,” they parroted in unison.

  They waited until she was situated then folded themselves back into their seats.

  The judge scanned the audience, and her eyes settled first on Connelly and Cole. They stood out by virtue of sitting in the front row and because they were both wearing somber dark suits—Cole’s was brand new. Sasha had snipped the label off the sleeve just that morning.

  “Good morning,” the judge said to Cole and Connelly. The curiosity in her voice was bare.

  “Good morning, Your Honor,” Connelly replied.

  He nudged Cole.

  “Good morning, Your Honor,” the boy mumbled.

  “And you are?”

  “Agent Leo Connelly, Your Honor,” Connelly said.

  Sasha suppressed the urge to turn around and ask him what precisely he was an agent of these days. Agent of change?

  The judge arched a shaped brow and waited for further elucidation.

  “I’m Cole Bennett, Your Honor,” Cole finally said in a halting, strangled voice.

  Will coughed discreetly. “Mr. Connelly and the young man are with us.”

  Recognition lit in the judge’s eyes.

  “Mr. Pulaski, Ms. McCandless, and Mr. Volmer—in my chambers. Now. You, too, Mr. Agent Man. Bring the boy.”

  She grabbed her purse and flounced back to her chambers.

  Pulaski was muttering under his breath while he gathered up his papers.

  Sasha tossed her notepad in her bag and snapped it closed.

  “You folks ready?” Bev asked, pausing in the middle of the well.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Will chirped.

  “Well, follow me, then.”

  She held open the small gate cut into the bar and let the attorneys pass.

  Connelly and Cole met them in the aisle.

  “What’s going on?” Connelly whispered in her ear. His breath tickled her hair.

  She just shrugged. If Connelly understood nothing else about the American justice system, he should know by now that judges could be as mercurial and unpredictable as any self-respecting three year old.

  They tromped down the aisle behind the judge’s clerk.

  As they neared the door, the man in the Army jacket tracked them with his hooded eyes.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Pat half-jogged through the alley. He skidded to a stop in front of Bricker and braced his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

  Bricker jumped to his feet.

  “What happened?”

  Even though he hadn’t been running particularly hard, the homeless man put up a hand and wheezed, red-faced.

  “Chambers,” he panted.

  Bricker balled his hands into fists and forced himself to wait while Pat caught his breath.

  “The judge brought all the lawyers back into her chambers. The agent and the kid, too.”

  “Kid?”

  Pat nodded. He got his breathing back under control and said, “Along with the same lawyers from last time, some serious-looking guy—said his name was Agent Connelly—and a teenaged boy were there. Cole Bennett, that was the kid’s name. They came in with the lady lawyer. I don’t know what the relationship between Connelly and the kid is. They seemed tight.”

  Leo Connelly and Clay? Anger boiled in Bricker’s gut.

  Stay in control. Don’t explode.

  He tamped down the hot rage and said, “Go on.”

  Pat gave him a questioning look. “You okay, man? You’re sweating.”

  “I’m fine,” he said between clenched teeth. “Get on with your story.”

  “Uh, sure. So, I don’t know how long they’ll be back there. I asked some of the old farts—they’re regulars. They said usually a judge has a private conference back in chambers and deals with whatever
the confidential things are and then they all come back out into the courtroom. But not always. They all stuck around, so they must think she’s going to do something in the courtroom. I thought I should let you know, though.”

  “You did the right thing.”

  Pat stared at him.

  “What?” Bricker hissed.

  “What should I do now?”

  “What do you mean, what should you do? Get your ass back in there!”

  Pat snapped to attention instantly.

  Bricker wondered if he was a combat veteran.

  “Yes, sir!”

  He turned around and hauled himself back toward the court.

  Bricker hoped the man didn’t drop dead from exertion. At least not until he reported back on what the devil McCandless was up to and why she’d brought his eldest son into court.

  Now he wished he’d risked creeping closer to the front of the building to see them arrive. At the time, he’d decided to hunker down in the alley so as not to tip off McCandless or whichever of her pathetic male lackeys were tagging along with her.

  But he would have liked to have laid eyes on Clay once more, even from a distance.

  He slumped back against the wall and resumed his seated position, resting his head against the cool bricks as if he were just another hungover vagrant dozing in an alley.

  But his mind raced as he imagined Clay lapping up Connelly’s pro-government propaganda.

  No. Not Clay.

  But the words rang hollow. Clay had deserted him—and the cause—at the compound. He’d piled the younger kids in the car and had fled. Like a coward.

  Bricker reached inside his jacket and stroked the Beretta.

  During his trial, the story had emerged that Connelly and McCandless had been instrumental in helping his children leave the compound.

  He’d never properly conveyed his feelings about that fact.

  Today was his chance.

  Keep a lid on your temper and wait for your shot.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Judge Perry-Brown unzipped her robe and stepped out of it. Then she tossed it over the back of her leather chair and lowered herself into the seat.