My palms were sweating. My heart was hammering inside of my chest. Every inch of my body trembled violently as I strived to keep my emotions in check and breathe slowly. I kept my eyes focused straight ahead, unmoving. I knew whose eyes I would meet if I even so much as twitched my chin sideways. I could feel her gaze on me. My face was burning from the heat of her stare.

Oh god . . .

“Tell us about the first time you met the defendant, Miss Bennett,” Rachel’s defense lawyer, Mr. Bale asked, his beady blue eyes narrowed and focused on me.

I’d been on the stand for over an hour, had answered all of the prosecution’s questions, but there was something about Rachel’s defense lawyer that frightened me . . . I opened my mouth to answer his question, but nothing came out. I opened my mouth again and this time a small whimpering noise tore from my throat.

“Anytime today would be good, Miss Bennett,” he drawled in a condescending tone and for an instant David Henderson’s face popped into my mind.

Guiltily, I shook the image of Kyle’s dad from my mind and focused on the question I’d been asked. “It was at a house party,” I said finally, my voice barely audible. “I met her at a house party two summers ago.”

“In her boyfriend’s house?” he asked me, his eyes gleaming with superiority. “Her fiancés house?”

“In my fiancés house,” I countered and immediately got the feeling I had walked myself into a trap with that statement. “My fiancé,” I affirmed quietly. My husband in a few short hours . . .

I could feel Kyle’s eyes on me. Boring into my skull. I longed to look at him—to feel his hand in mine—but I couldn’t. If I saw him I would lose it. And If I lost it he would snap. Our future depended on this moment. I needed to keep it together. Too much was riding on me staying calm and telling the truth to fall apart on the final hurdle . . .

“Ah yes, that’s right,” Mr. Bale mused. “Your fiancé. Kyle Carter.” I nodded and the lawyer’s eyes gleamed. “Tell me a little about your relationship with your fiancé.” He smiled darkly, glanced back at the jury and said, “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? Tell us how you came to be Mr. Carter’s fiancée.”

I was prepared for this question. I’d known for months what Rachel’s defense team were going to try to do, try to make me look like. From the glares of the jury I guessed their tactics were working. He was condemning me. I was being judged.

“I met Kyle . . . Mr. Carter,” I quickly amended. “When I moved to Boulder two years ago.” I folded and unfolded my arms in a bid to distract myself from the weighty stares. “I needed somewhere to live and Mr. Carter rented me a room in his house.”

“For how much?”

“Excuse me?” I blinked rapidly, unprepared for the change of course in his questioning. “I don’t understand your question.”

“For. How. Much. Money. Did. Mr. Carter. Allow. You. To. Live. In. His. Home?” he asked slowly, enunciating each word clearly.

“Fifty dollars every paycheck,” I mumbled, thoroughly mortified. I wondered why I was being asked this of all things when a woman had been murdered. What the hell did my rent have to do with guns, bullets and criminal agendas?

“Was that fifty dollars all inclusive?” Mr. Bale asked. I nodded immediately. “Fifty dollars,” he whistled, rudely interrupting me from answering his freaking question. “That was a very modest amount of money, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Bennett?”

I opened my mouth to answer him, but he spoke over me. “Very modest indeed,” he mused. “Especially when you take into account your portion of light, water, cable and heating bills . . . not to mention the fact that every house on that street and in the local vicinity has a letting value of between three and four and half thousand dollars per calendar month.”

I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to answer him, or if he was just trying to belittle me and make me out to be a whore. I suspected the latter so I kept my mouth shut and waited for him to speak. I didn’t have to wait long . . .

“Could you please clarify to the members of the jury the name of your employer during this period, and how many shared Mr. Carter’s home with you?”

“I worked at the Henderson Hotel in Boulder and Mr. Carter was my employer.” I knew where he was going with his question. I was being stoned. Hung, dried and quartered. Branded a prostitute. “And I lived with Derek Porter, Camryn Frey and my . . . Kyle Carter.”

“Mr. Carter was your employer as well as your landlord?” His brow rose in feigned surprise and I wanted to cry. “How . . . convenient for you.” Shrugging slightly, he looked around the courtroom. “Forgive me for being candid, Miss Bennett, but you made quite the catch—with the property that is.”

“It wasn’t anything like you’re implying.” I could feel my cheeks burning and I willed myself to remain calm and stay focused.

“And what exactly do you think I’m implying, Miss Bennett?” he asked innocently.

“You’re insinuating I went with Kyle for the money,” I said stiffly. “I used him for his money.”

“And did you?” he asked dryly.

“No,” I spat. “Of course I didn’t.”

“Where, may I ask, do you work now?” Mr. Bale asked me, catching me unaware.

“I . . .” I froze, knowing what I said next made me look exactly as he intended to make me look.

“Answer the question, Miss Bennett,” Mr. Bale scorned.

“I don’t work anymore.” Raising my chin in subtle defiance I added, “My health hasn’t allowed for it, Mr. Bale. Being shot twice has a tendency to immobilize a person. I’ve had surgery twice on my organs, and my kidney transplant was a delicate procedure that I have yet to fully recover from. Of course, the fact that I was also shot in the stomach has caused other physical ailments for me.”

Exhaling heavily I added, “However I am very grateful to be able to walk again. Three months confined to a bed was an unpleasant experience, especially when I was away from and unable to nurse my newborn baby. It does sadden me that I lost my right as a mother to breastfeed my only child. I won’t have another chance to,” I added. “Considering I’ve been left infertile from the whole ordeal.” Take that, creepy shark man . . .

There was a rush of gasps and quiet murmurs from the crowd, but I didn’t dare look. My eyes flickered briefly to Ms. Manson, who was beaming with pride. She nodded ever so subtly, letting me know I’d done well.

Red-faced Mr. Bale asked, “Who supports your financial needs?” Seeing me blanch, he smirked in triumph and added, “Without an income how do you pay for your medical expenses? Your day to day living costs?”

Ducking my face, I clenched my eyes shut and steadied my breathing before I dared to speak. “Kyle does,” I mumbled as shame engulfed me

“I’m sorry? I’m a little hard of hearing . . .”

“I said Mr. Carter does.” I snapped my head up and met the defense lawyer’s sneer head on. “Kyle pays for everything.” Sighing wearily I added, “Every stitch of clothes on my body has been paid for by Mr. Carter. Is that clear enough for you?”

“He sounds like a very generous man,” Mr. Bale mused. “Quite a catch.”

“Objection,” Lorrie Manson, lawyer for the prosecution, objected. “Your honor, I fail to see how the witness’s personal finance has any relevance to the case in hand. And may I also remind Mr. Bale that Miss Bennett is an innocent witness in this case and not the defendant.”

“Sustained, Ms. Manson,” Judge Alissa Panterra, a middle-aged woman with a no-nonsense attitude and severe looking features, agreed. “Mr. Bale, is there a point to this interrogation and if so then please make it quickly.”

“Miss Bennett,” he drawled. “Tell us about your relationship with Mr. Carter.”

I inhaled a shaky breath before speaking. “At first we were just roommates . . .”

“Let me just stop you there,” Mr. Bale said with a smirk. “You two were never just roommates, Miss Bennett, were you?” He leaned closer to me. “Your very first encounter with Mr. Carter was of a sexual nature, am I wrong?”

“Objection.”

“Overruled.”

“Yes,” I forced myself to admit. “But I didn’t know . . .”

“You didn’t know Mr. Carter was in a long term relationship with the defendant,” Mr. Bale filled in, his tone arrogant–aggressive. “You didn’t know that you were indeed stepping over a line when you conducted a sexual affair with Mr. Carter? Is that what you were going to say?” He shook his head and pointed his finger at me. “You did know my client was involved with Mr. Carter.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“But you continued without a regard in the world for the feelings of my client. You purposefully pursued a man who was engaged to be married.”

“I wasn’t fucking engaged to her,” I heard Kyle shout out and I sighed. “You’re twisting this whole thing up to suit you,” he snarled. “Rachel, you need to tell the goddamn truth.” He exhaled sharply. “Please, Rachel, please, for once in your life, do the right thing,” Kyle pleaded in a gruff tone. “Lee didn’t hurt you. You know this. Don’t make her suffer because of me . . .”

“Order in my courtroom,” Judge Panterra demanded. “This is your final warning, Mr. Carter.”

Inhaling a deep steadying breath, I turned my head towards the crowd and my eyes locked on his intense blue stare. “Don’t,” I mouthed, feeling terrified for him. “I’m okay.” The pain in his eyes cut through my heart. He had no control in here and it was killing him. He looked so helpless . . . so torn. Flashbacks of how Kyle had been when Linda died penetrated my mind and I flinched, reminding me that he wasn’t impenetrable. Kyle was very much human . . .

Mr. Bale smirked at me and it was clear this was what he was hoping for. He wanted to rile Kyle up. And now he knew exactly how to do it. Through me.

“And then you fell pregnant with Mr. Carter’s baby,” he sneered. “Ending all hopes of reconciliation between the defendant and her fiancé. Was that your intention?” he demanded in an aggressive tone. “Did you plan to entrap your fiancé with a child? Did you feel any remorse for the broken hearted woman who had, before you embarked on your sordid affair, been in love with Mr. Carter?”

“I . . .” I blinked away the tears that were pooling in my eyes and pressed my hand to my chest, willing my heart to keep beating. “I love him.” I inhaled a deep breath and focused my gaze on the defense lawyer.

“People have affairs every day, Mr. Bale,” I said softly, amazed that my voice didn’t break. “That is not what happened in this instance, but even if it was . . .” I paused to wipe my eyes. “If an affair was how Kyle and I came together, did that give Rachel the right to aim a gun at my chest and pull the trigger?” I closed my eyes, felt the tears trickling down my cheeks. “Did her anger, her feelings of rejection, give her the right to take the life of Camryn Frey?”

“I’ll ask the questions in this instance, Miss Bennett,” Mr. Bale warned, the vein in his temple bulging.

“Only because you don’t have an answer to my question,” I replied steadily. “Or maybe you do, but can’t answer because you would reveal the truth behind the title of your job as a criminal defender.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Mr. Bale demanded. “Are you proud that your actions led a young woman—who had her whole life ahead of herself—deep into a downward spiral of depression, paranoia and drug use?” His voice rose with every word he spoke. “Do you feel any responsibility at all for your heartless actions?” He shook his head in disgust. “A young girl is dead, Miss Bennett,” he scorned, before pointing a finger to where Rachel was sitting. “And this young woman faces a lifetime of despondency because you and Mr. Carter couldn’t keep a handle of your fickle teenage hormones.

“You can’t blame us for her actions,” I shot back, trembling. “I had no part in her thought process.” I steeled myself and pointed at Rachel. Exhaling a ragged breath, I blinked back the tears that were pooling in my eyes. “Rachel Grayson threatened me for months, made threats about my baby, poisoned my dog, and murdered my best friend.”

“Miss Bennett, you are responsible for all of this,” Mr. Bale roared, clearly having lost his temper. “Maybe not directly,” he sneered. “But you played an enormous role in this unfortunate series of events.” Pointing his finger at me, he snarled, “You are, without doubt, the equation of this blood-soaked sum, and you most certainly are not without fault . . .”

“She is not responsible,” Kyle roared, jerking out of his seat. “All she did was fall in love with me—fall into a world full of bullshit and pain.”

“Sit down, Mr. Carter, or I will have you removed from my courtroom,” I heard the judge admonish.

“Sit back and watch this fucking injustice?” Kyle shook his head in outrage. “This is a joke. A goddamn joke.”

“I’m guilty,” a voice shouted out, stunning the courtroom into silence. Everyone turned in the direction of the defendant’s box, expressions of shock clear on their faces.

I didn’t look at her—didn’t acknowledge her words.

I kept my eyes locked on Kyle’s.

His eyes burned into mine.

“I shot her,” Rachel’s voice rang out, shrill and clear. “I shot both of them. I intended to do it. I meant to kill her.”

All faces rested on mine and I squirmed under their scrutiny.

“And I knew exactly what I was doing,” Rachel screamed. “I planned to do it . . . I’m sorry, Kyle . . . I love you, Kyle,” she wailed. “I love you so much. Please forgive me . . . Kyle . . . Wait, wait, Kyle . . . I need to talk to you. Please . . . it’s so vital . . . he has a plan . . . You need to listen to me . . .”

All hell broke loose after that, some people were shouting, more were crying. The room was bustling with noise and activity, but I couldn’t see any of that—not even if I wanted to—because my whole attention was riveted on Kyle Carter and the raw feeling of bittersweet victory that was coursing through my veins.

Kyle placed his palm against his rapidly rising chest. “I love you,” he mouthed, chest heaving, his attention focused solely on me, his eyes wide with disbelief.

I raised my own palm to my chest, allowing my tears to flow freely down my cheeks. “I love you, too.”