This book isa work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirelycoincidental.
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Chapter1
In an effort tokeep her gaze from straying across the courtroom, Abigail picked a piece of imaginary lint off of her suit. As lead prosecutor, she’d spent so much time cross-examining Edward Lee Drake that she could still see the evil in his eyes when she tried to sleep. The month-long murder trial would end today. This victory would solidify her rightful place in the DA’s office. A conviction in such a high-profile case would finally silence the whispers about her father’s role in getting herthisjob.
She glanced over her shoulder. The parents of the murdered child sat two rows behind her. As the young couple clung to each other, Greg, the husband, gave her a slight nod. Instead of instilling confidence, a tremor rippled down her spine. Juries could be unpredictable. Although she’d presented an open and shut case, reasonable doubt was all the defense needed for anacquittal.
The door to the left of the bench opened. A hush fell over theattendees.
The lanky bailiff crossed to the front of the courtroom. He stopped and fixed his scowl on the gallery. “All rise. This court is now in session. The honorable Judge Slate ispresiding.”
Whispers spread through the room as the judge took his position on thebench.
“Be seated,” he said. “Bring inthejury.”
As the twelve jurors filed into their seats, a few people in the gallery coughed. Abigail stacked several pages of trial notes into a pile before shoving them into a manila filefolder.
“Jury, have you reached a verdict?” the judgeasked.
“We have, your Honor,” replied theforewoman.
“Mr. Drake, please rise,” thejudgesaid.
As the defendant stood, he sneered at Abigail. A rush of evil filled the room, as if the devil himself stood before the court. She met his gaze and forced a blank expression. She refused to betray the revulsion in her stomach. Images from the crime scene photographs of the mutilated boy’s body flashed through her mind. Coffee churned in her gut. She regretted skipping lunch, but she’d been too nervoustoeat.
“On the first count, kidnapping in the first degree, how doyoufind?”
“Notguilty.”
A collective gasp blasted through thegallery.
The judge slammed the gavel. “Silence or I will clear thiscourt.”
The roomstilled.
Abigail leaned forward. This couldn’t be happening. This was only the first charge, but it wasn’t agoodsign.
“On the second count, aggravated sexual assault of a minor, how doyoufind?”
“Notguilty.”
Out of the corner of her eye she watched Hailey, the murdered child’s mom, sag against her husband. An inhuman wail escapedherlips.
“On the third count, murder in the first with special circumstances, how doyoufind?”
The forewoman hesitated for a moment beforeresponding.
“Notguilty.”
Pandemonium broke out in the gallery. Screaming, wailing, shouts of horror overrode the few people clapping for thedefense.
Time slowed for Abigail. The judge’s mouth kept moving but she couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of blood through her ears. She turned to watch the boy’s parents sob in each other’s arms. The boy’s father glared at her before pressing his face against his wife’sshoulder.
When Abigail turned back toward the defendant, cold fingers of dread raked down her spine. Edward Lee Drake winked at her before turning to stare at a young boy in the gallery. A glint of pure lust flickered in his eyes and in that moment she knew—without a doubt—that he’d do itagain.
She shoved her files, notepads, and pens into her briefcase and stood. As the judge left the chaos, he shot her a disapproving look, as if she’d been the one to fail. And maybe she had. She’d ripped apart Drake’s alibi, but the defense had discredited the witness. She’d shown the jury a video of the boy being snatched up outside a convenience store, but apparently the grainy image wasn’t veryconvincing.
