1
LUCKY
The defense attorney’s annoying, nasally voice rings out pompously for what seems like an eternity before the district attorney finally jumps to his feet with a disgusted “Objection, Your Honor. Badgering the witness.” Took him long enough. The look of distress on Indigo’s face has my stomach clenching. Knight looks ready to commit murder. Fuck.
The courtroom is packed with people. Billed as the most newsworthy story of the year, people have flocked to the bail hearing of William Armatrout III – so many people, in fact, they’ve had to turn a number of them away.
Yesterday, the guys and I gave evidence against the bastard being granted bail. Today is Indigo’s turn, and we’re all here to support her. After being blackmailed and terrorized by this psychopath for years, the last thing we want is for him to be back out on the streets and risk him coming for her again.
The woman seated next to me moves restlessly on the wooden bench, probably trying to get comfortable. Can’t say I blame her; the damn things get harder as the day wears on. She lifts her head at the same time I turn to look at her, our eyes connecting, and I feel the impact as if it were a physical blow.
They say it’s clichéd to describe someone as having doe eyes, but in this instance it’s too accurate to describe them any other way. Large and luminous, her brown eyes invite you to come on in and get lost in them. I’m hard-pressed to decline the invitation.
A cough from somewhere behind us breaks the spell. She smiles shyly before looking away. Shaken by my reaction to this stranger, I turn to face forward again but see nothing as my mind churns to process what the hell just happened. I get so lost in my thoughts I miss the judge calling a recess. It’s only as people around me start getting to their feet that Dutch leans over and whispers, “Recess, dude.”
“Thanks. I missed that.”
His snort of laughter precedes his words. “Yeah, I kinda got that when you didn’t move.”
The guys are on their feet waiting for me when I feel a soft touch on my arm. Turning, I find it’s Doe Eyes. “I’m sorry to trouble you, but I was wondering if I could have a word with you outside?”
Weird. What could she possibly want to talk to me, a complete stranger, about? “What about?” The words come out far more abruptly than I intended. “Sorry, that was rude. It’s just, I don’t know you and have no idea what you could possibly want to talk to me about.”
“Sure, I can understand that. It’s not anything terrible, perhaps a little out of left field, but it would be easier to talk outside where there’s less noise, and it’s not so crowded.”
“Fair enough.” I consider for a moment and decide, what the hell? It can’t hurt. “Give me a second.”
I turn back to Dutch and the others. “You guys go on ahead. I’ll catch up in a bit.”
With a frown, he asks, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, all good. Just gonna have a quick chat with …” I wait for the woman to give her name.
It takes a minute, and then she realizes we’re waiting for her. “Agatha. Agatha Traeger.”
Dutch gives her a thorough study before grinning. “Pleasure, Agatha. We’ll be out in the hall over by the water fountain when you’re done.”
Nodding, I turn my attention back to Agatha. It’s my chance to study her, taking her in from head to toe. Not the biggest human in the nation, but we’ve learned never to underestimate anyone based on size.
“Lead the way.”
I follow her out into the hall and almost run her over as she stops suddenly. She scans the crowded hallway before taking off again, headed for the exterior doors. Out front is far less crowded and noisy; I can actually hear myself think out here.
Picking out a spot to stand out of the flow of foot traffic, Agatha’s silent. Finally, I ask, “So, what did you want to speak to me about?”
Clearly not expecting it, she jerks, clapping a hand over her heart. “Oh. Sorry. I kind of got lost in thought there for a minute.”
“I noticed,” I reply, snorting at her words.
“Sorry about that. Um, so … see, here’s the thing. I heard your testimony yesterday. You mentioned you’re a sniper–”
Everything goes on alert at her words. The conversation has barely begun, and I’m already uncomfortable with the direction its going. I don’t know this woman, what could me being a sniper have to do with anything relating to her?
“What’s that got to do with–”
“Just give me a moment to finish, and it’ll all become clear. It’s nothing nefarious, I promise.” Neither happy nor appeased by her words, I gesture for her to continue.
“Like I said inside, my name is Agatha Traeger. I’m an author – romantic suspense – and the current story I’m researching and outlining is about a sniper. I was wondering if you’d be willing to do an interview with me?”
