Milt wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. In a half daze he heard Kerra’s crying and Rogelio’s garbled moaning about what to do now. Milt’s jaw throbbed; his clothes were a mess. The two rage-filled lunatics here wanted to kill him. Brett was preoccupied, but any minute now Rogelio could snap out of his whining and come gunning for him again.Milt’s laptop was probably cracked in two in his briefcase.Which was …Milt searched the ground. He spotted it near the open doorway and shuffled over to pick it up. The movement racked his arm with pain.
Most of all, he was running out of time.
He checked his watch. Twelve twenty. He stared mindlessly at a piece of litter on the dusty floor, trying to get his mind into gear.Why had he even come in here?
Laptop. Car.
Milt breathed deep enough to hurt his lungs. Then dragged himself to his car. The cell phone! The thought jolted him into clarity. What if it was broken? Oh, please, please, no.With scrabbling fingers he pulled it from his briefcase. The lights were still on. Relief flooded him. He punched a few buttons, automatically dialing Ron’s direct line. As the phone rang,Milt kept his eyes on Rogelio. The kid was pacing, hands gripping his head.
“Where have you been?”Ron demanded.“I’ve been trying to call you.”
Milt looked down at his suit.He wondered if blood had dripped on his white shirt collar. “Indisposed.”
“Well, this is a fine time to be indisposed.We checked again ten minutes ago. It’s going to be early.”
“Early!”Milt sagged against his car, frustration and fear welling up in his throat. “What are you trying to do to me?”
“Hey, I don’t schedule these things!”Ron exhaled loudly.“What’s going on with you? Is something wrong?”
Milt almost laughed. “Are you kidding? I’m having the best day of my life.”He glared at his right hand, flexing the fingers. They hurt like crazy. Brett Welk had a hard head.
Kerra’s sobs were dying down. Brett still held her as if she were going to fly away.
Focus,Milt, focus!
He pushed away from the car, straightening. “Okay,” he said tersely. “What time?”
“Twelve thirty.”
His chin dropped.He looked a wreck.He felt a wreck.How could he ever pull this off? And that’s if he was right to begin with.
“You there?”
“Yeah.”
Rogelio yelled Milt’s name, his arm raised, finger pointing.Angst and fright and the need to blame pulsed across his face.
“Gotta go; call me.”Milt snapped off the phone and slid it into his shirt pocket, which was amazingly intact.He threw his briefcase into the car and locked the doors. Then collected his wits. Suddenly he knew what to do.
“Rogelio, you have to listen to me.”He moved forward slowly, as if he were approaching a bomb about to explode. “You don’t need that paper. I promised you I’d help you get your baby.And you will. If you and Brett and Kerra will do exactly what I tell you.”
THE URGENCY DISAPPEARED. Chelsea felt it lift from her shoulders as if she’d sloughed off a heavy blanket. Weakly she leaned against the bathroom door and waited. Opened her eyes, fixed her gaze on the tile floor. She searched within herself, trying to feel the fear, the oppression. She couldn’t allow herself to be wrong.
Lord, what’s happened? Has the danger passed?
She waited, her unseeing gaze traveling the floor.
Nothing.
She breathed out slowly, bringing a shaking hand to her forehead. Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you. She lacked the strength to pray any more than that.
Chelsea could stand no longer. She sank down upon the closed toilet lid, feeling her ankles tremble.Her muscles felt soft, like cooling melted wax. Minutes ticked by as she rubbed her temples, allowed herself to breath, collected the scattered marbles of her emotions. She flexed her back and her spine cracked.
She knew she would have to go back out into the jury room. It wasn’t fair for her to be occupying one of only two bathrooms. Besides, she’d need to face the jurors. The trial wasn’t over yet.
Chelsea pulled to her feet and surveyed herself blearily in the mirror. She looked as if she’d been hit by a truck.Well, she had.
Lord, help me. Please.
Five minutes later she emerged from the bathroom. All conversation stopped, every eye warily upon her as if she were schizophrenic. Hesta raised her chin, her expression screaming disdain. Tak sat with arms folded, and Latonia openly sneered. Clay broke the silence with a foreman’s bristling resolve.
“Are you going to be able to continue? Or is all our work going to end in a mistrial?”
She locked eyes with him. Only then did she realize her utter calm. After what she’d just been through, what could these people possibly do to her?
“I am fine,” she replied levelly. “No mistrial here. Sylvia, please forgive me.”
She walked to the table and reached for an unclaimed water bottle near Antonio. “May I?”
He picked it up with reluctance and handed it to her, making sure their fingers didn’t touch.
TWELVE FORTY. MILT DRUMMED nervous fingers against Brett’s car.He felt like a fast-talking salesman after the spiel that had gushed from him in the last ten minutes. At least nobody had hit him again. Brett’s tanned face had faded to a pasty mud, save for his purpling left temple. He’d hardly been able to absorb Milt’s words. Understandable, thought Milt, given the events crammed into the last half hour. Kerra seemed equally stunned. Her tears had dried, leaving tracks through her makeup.Mascara smeared under her eyes. Only Rogelio looked the better for wear.With Milt’s explanations,wild as they sounded, the kid’s hope had returned.He nearly trembled with anticipation.
Milt gazed at each of them, then felt his jaw.What a motley foursome they made. This was too bizarre.
“It may not work,” he said for the third time. “I’ve done my best. I’ve done everything to make it happen. But the next part’s out of my control.”
“It’s not out of God’s,” Kerra blurted.
Milt gave her a look.Oh no, not another one.Wouldn’t Aunty be proud.
Brett nodded sagely. So did Rogelio. Milt turned his head from one to the other, mouth twisting with surprise.What was this, a conspiracy?
“Yeah, well, if God doesn’t come through, don’t kill me, all right?” He ran a hand down his tie, then puffed out air. “Trust me, you won’t have to.”
“If this doesn’t work,”Brett retorted, “if my father’s found guilty and has to wait months for another trial because you wanted your exclusive story”—he sneered the words—“you’d better watch your back.”
Milt tensed. For a minute he thought Brett would take another swing. Kerra wrapped both hands around Brett’s upper arm and tugged gently until he calmed down.
The cell phone rang. All four of them jumped.
“Answer it, answer it!” Rogelio’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Milt yanked it from his pocket and punched a button, heart turning over. “Yeah.”
“I think we got a hit.” Ron sounded breathless.
His eyes closed, relief washing over him once again.
“What, what?” Rogelio cried.
Milt turned away, cramming the phone against his ear.“Tell me.” He listened, envisioning Ron’s description. “How long does Gary think the line will take?”
“Not long.Maybe twenty minutes.”
Calculations ran through his mind. Twenty minutes there, plus another twenty …
“Everything all right there?” Ron asked.
Milt swung back to his trio of cohorts and gave them a thumbs-up. Kerra gasped. “The jury’s going to be in the courtroom, listening to testimony,” he told Ron. “And you wouldn’t believe the folks I’ve recruited to help me.”