 “I
object, Your Honor!” Amelia Farrow passionately announced.
She hadn’t expected the judge’s chamber to become so
silent at her objection, but all activity in the room came to an
abrupt stop as Judge Stants, the court reporter, and Amelia’s
opposing counsel, George Gibson, all stared at her.
Judge Stants glanced around chambers as if he had missed something
incredibly important then he carefully asked Amelia, “On
what grounds?”
“I haven’t said anything yet,” George reminded
the judge, then sent a pointed look in Amelia’s direction.
She sent George one of her most sincere smiles then apologetically
said, “I object to what you’re about to say.”
From Judge Stant’s sour expression, Ameila Farrow knew that
he wasn’t amused by her statement. No one in the judge’s
chamber made a sound except for the court reporter, who suspiciously
coughed while her lips twitched with a hint of laughter, from the
corner of the room. As the silence weighed in the room, Amelia
vowed that she would not apologize. Her statement was on the record,
it was unprofessional, and there was no doubt that her father would
hear about it. The idea of being reprimanded by the most feared
federal circuit court judge in Los Angeles, who happened to be
her father, should have been enough of a reason for her to plead
for the withdrawal of the statement. But, she held her ground.
Amelia refused to even glance at the tall man standing next to
her in front of the judge’s desk. She had been looking at
him for the past four days in the courtroom and dealing with his
snide glances and abrasive questions, not to mention the obvious
flirtatious looks he directed at the women jurors who all flushed
or gave their own looks in return. Besides, she had a feeling that
if she did look at him, she would find him laughing. Whenever she
thought she had finally done something to wipe that insufferable
smirk off Gibson’s face, she would find him smiling even
wider.
“You are out of line, Ms. Farrow,” Judge Stants announced,
with no hint of censure in his voice. He just appeared tired.
“Your Honor—“
“Deirdre, take us off the record,” the judge ordered.
The court reporter immediately stopped typing. Amelia tried to
speak but the judge once more interrupted her. “Frankly,
Ms. Farrow, I don’t want to hear one word that you have to
say.”
George Gibson sent the Judge one of his dazzling smiles then tried
to speak. “Your Honor—“
Judge Stants cut off George. “I don’t want to hear
from you either. Over the last four days – actually, the
last year since I’ve had the displeasure of presiding over
cases with you two as counsel – I’ve dealt with more
than I want to hear from either one of you. You have turned this
court into a mockery.”
“Your Honor, I have not done anything that could be construed
as an insult to this court,” Amelia protested, even as her
face warmed with embarrassment and shame. She worked hard to ensure
her reputation. She didn’t want Judge Stants to feel she
was an incompetent attorney or, worse, an immature one.
“You’ve toed the line, Ms. Farrow. Too often. I expect
that from Mr. Gibson.” The judge actually paused to give
George a look that would have made an average man hang in his head
in shame, but only made George grin. Judge Stants shook his head
in disgust at George’s reaction then turned once more to
Amelia. “I expect more from an assistant district attorney.
You represent the people of California in this courtroom. You are
their eyes, their ears, their only way to achieve justice. You
also have the responsibility to make certain that the defendants
receive a fair shot from the criminal justice system. Normally,
you do a wonderful job. I would point to you if I were District
Attorney Grayson as a shining example of an ADA. But, whenever
you come against Mr. Gibson in court, you sink to his level.”
Amelia held the judge’s confused gaze, then she averted
her eyes. A small part of her knew that he was right and she felt
the guilt that the judge obviously wanted her to feel. She was
supposed to play fair. Not just because she was an ADA, but because
she was a Farrow and that carried certain responsibilities in Los
Angeles. Judges expected certain behavior from her, not to mention
impeccable work because she was a Farrow. And she delivered, no
matter how late she had to work the night before or how many times
she had to turn her cheek to prove she was “better” than
the antics opposing counsel threw at her. She was accustomed to
the expectations and to meeting them. She had been doing it her
whole life. But, not where George Gibson was concerned. Where he
was concerned all bets were off.
She couldn’t place her finger on the exact moment when George
Gibson became her Public Enemy Number One. He didn’t treat
her with any less respect than he treated any other prosecutor
from the DA’s office. He didn’t ignore her any more
than he ignored any other prosecutor from the DA’s office.
And maybe a small part of her admitted that was the problem. She
was often ignored – before people recognized her last name
and what that meant – but she didn’t like being ignored
by a man who haunted her dreams. Or more like her nightmares because
George Gibson was certainly not her type. She had never even thought
she had a type until she ran across George Gibson.
He was arrogant, sarcastic, rude and . . . and loyal to his clients – almost
to his own detriment. He was also the most intelligent defense
attorney she argued against . . . and George Gibson was just plain fine.
More than attractive, he could have posed for his own swimsuit
calendar and sold it in the lobby of the courthouse. His lean figure
easily stretched over six feet, with brown skin the color of warm
Caribbean sand flowing over the muscles emphasized even in the
modest suits he wore. His lips were plump and always either curled
in a seductive smile that drove women wild or a teasing smirk that
drove women wild. His almond-shaped eyes were a fudge chocolate
brown that had the ability to mock Amelia one minute then turn
sympathetic and warm for a client on the stand the next. The black
curls on his head were a tad too long to be respectable for a courtroom
and silky enough to remind Amelia of a baby’s head.
Regardless of his looks and the fact that every woman in the court
house and in her office would have paid for him to smile at her,
Amelia saw his looks as only another aspect about him that irritated
her. Besides, she told herself that she would never date a man
who wore a wrinkled suit and shoes with rubber soles to court.
Shoes with rubber soles. Her father would have banned George from
his court room. And besides the fashion problems, he was a defense
attorney. The Farrow family would have disowned her for even thinking
of dating him.
Amelia also constantly reminded herself that she was twenty-nine
years old. Pretty faces did nothing for her any more. She had spent
her entire life being tricked by pretty faces, who only wanted
her for her money. She, at least, could admit that George knew
who she was, what she represented, and he didn’t care. He
still thought she was a worthless prosecutor. He was scared of
no attorney, no judge, no defendant. When she wasn’t annoyed
by his complete lack of concern for social dictates inside and
outside the courtroom, she probably admired him. Maybe that explained
why she was attracted to him. That and because he had a voice that
could melt ice cream in the Arctic and the sexiest smile she had
ever seen on a man.
When Amelia realized, to her horror, that she had been openly
staring at George, she instantly turned to Judge Stants and tried
to apologize for her statement once more, “Your Honor—“
“As you both are well aware, I feel that courtroom decorum
has absolutely disappeared.”
Amelia barely resisted rolling her eyes in exasperation, although
she noticed that George openly glanced at his watch. Judge Stants’ view
on the lack of courtroom decorum and civility was well known throughout
Los Angeles County. When he wasn’t lecturing the attorneys
in his courtroom, he was holding court at cocktail parties and
boring people at Bar dinners.
“Your Honor, I mean no disrespect but—“
Judge Stants interrupted George and said simply, “I’ve
come to a decision. You two this weekend to hammer out a deal in
the O’Connor case.”
“Your Honor, that’s impossible,” George croaked,
the smile for once disappearing from his face. “My client
has refused to even consider serving one day in jail and Ms. Farrow
wants to bury him under the jailhouse.”
“That is not true,” Amelia protested, feeling like
she was back in elementary school standing in front of the principal
when Billy Collins blamed her for throwing the cherry bomb during
assembly. She would never have done anything like that; although,
she had been tempted.
The judge ignored both of their protests and calmly continued. “Daniel
O’Connor is a first-time offender who arguably was provoked
into the attack on the victim. I believe the only reason this matter
came to trial is because of counsels’ mutual personal animosity
towards each other. If I look up from the bench Monday morning
and see either one of you, I will not be happy. You don’t
want to see me not happy.”
“You can’t force us to settle. Such course of action
plainly violates my client’s constitutional rights,” George
said.
“I’m not forcing you two to settle. I’m just
stating that if I see People v. O’Connor on my trial calendar
Monday morning, if either of you breathe wrong I’ll find
a way to hold you in contempt. Do you both understand? Don’t
speak, just nod.”
Amelia gave a curt nod. She noticed from the corner of her eyes
that George stuffed his hands into his pants pockets and returned
the judge’s expectant gaze.
“Is that all, Your Honor?” Amelia asked through clenched
teeth, feeling the humiliation and anger flush her walnut brown
skin.
In her seven years of practicing law, she had never been reprimanded
by a judge. Not in the courtroom or in chambers. She didn’t
know whether to be angry or embarrassed. She settled on anger.
Directed at George Gibson. If he hadn’t baited her in the
courtroom by winking at her when his back was to the jury and the
judge, she never would have “accidentally” tripped
him by dropping a book in his path when he returned from the lectern
to his seat at the defense table.
Judge Stants nodded then stared down at the papers in front of
him, effectively dismissing them. She grabbed her briefcase out
the chair and hurried out of his chambers as quickly as she could
in a skirt and high heels. Unfortunately, that meant George Gibson
easily could match her stride. The two emerged from the judge’s
chambers directly into the now empty courtroom, where thirty minutes
ago the judge had ordered the two to follow him into his office
in front of the jurors and the court spectators as if they were
children sent to the principal’s office.
“We should report him to the Bar,” Amelia said to
George, although she didn’t care if he responded. Her anger
increased as she thought of the arrogant expression in Stants’ eyes. “He
can’t control our case. He can’t run roughshod over
O’Connor's rights, over the prosecutor’s office. I
had heard that Judge Stants’ was having personal problems,
but I never thought that he would allow it to affect his work like
this. This is absolutely preposterous—“
“Maybe Stants has a point,” George said casually.
Amelia stopped in her tracks in the middle of the now empty, dimly
lit courtroom to glare at George. He took another three steps before
he realized that she stopped, then he turned to her.
He shrugged under her gaze, and then had the nerve to smile. She
ignored the rush of heat that ran throughout her body and fought
the urge to smile back at him. There was something about George’s
grin that made her want to see if there was anything more to him
than arrogance and a dislike for her office.
“We should have settled this case weeks ago,” George
continued. “Maybe we’ve allowed our personal
feelings to affect our work.”
She coughed in disbelief then straightened her headband, mostly
to avoid his gaze. She composed her rampaging emotions then met
his expectant gaze again.
“I have no personal feelings towards you,” she said
clearly and firmly.
“Right,” he said nodding, but openly gave her a look
of disbelief.
Instead of attempting to convince him and herself that there was
nothing between them, Amelia ignored him then stalked across the
room towards the exit. She didn’t bother to hold the swinging
door that separated the public seats from the rest of the court.
She heard his grunt as he ran into the still swinging door behind
her, which made her smile even though she knew it was childish.
She continued through the double doors of the courtroom and into
the empty hallway. It was six o’clock on a Friday evening.
The shadows lengthened across the hall, creating an almost romantic
effect. She abruptly stopped her strange thoughts. Romantic? What
made her think that anything about a courthouse could be romantic?
Then she smelled George’s soapy scent as he came to a stop
next to her at the elevator.
“I have to admit, Farrow, you have some balls. Objecting
before your opposing counsel has a chance to say something worth
objecting to? Saves everyone a lot of time, doesn’t it? You
may want to submit that one to the Judicial Council for review.
Another great contribution by a Farrow to the law.”
She ignored his sarcasm and viciously jabbed the elevator call
button. A long moment of silence followed as she felt his eyes
boring a hole into her. She kept her eyes trained on the numbers
above the elevators doors that told of the nonexistent progress
of the elevator cars that remained ten floors below.
“Let’s not ruin each other’s weekend over this
case. I don’t want to spend next week arguing with you any
more than you want to be arguing with me,” George said, actually
sounding serious enough for her to be either insulted or hurt. “Give
me aggravated assault, probation, and this case is over.”
She laughed in disbelief and looked at him. “Your client
intentionally ran a Ford truck into the Tanner household. Children
could have been inside—“
“Barry Tanner slept with Danny’s wife and told everyone
at their job. He had adequate provocation.”
“And that’s perfect justification for you, isn’t
it?” Amelia snapped, even though she had vowed that she wouldn’t
allow George to make her lose her temper. Again. Farrows did not
lose their tempers because – as her father always told her, “It
just isn’t done.”
Farrows laughed and talked with their colleagues, but never became
too close with them. Farrows went to after-work drinks with their
colleagues, but never had more than one-half of a drink or stayed
for more than an hour. And, most importantly, Farrows did not express
their dislike for people who made it a point to get under their
skin as George Gibson was apparently attempting to do with her.
Farrows were perfect and Amelia was perfect . . . when she wasn’t
around George Gibson.
She told herself that it didn’t matter, especially since
he acted as if spending the weekend around her was a fate worse
than death. She forced a smile. She would be nice to George Gibson
if it killed her.
“Here’s a news flash from the twenty-first century,” she
said through a tight, forced smile that hurt her jaw. “A
woman is not a piece of property. Just because O’Connor's
wife slept with someone else does not give O’Connor the right
to act like an enraged fool. Did it ever occur to you or him that
he’s the problem and not Barry Tanner? If Mrs. O’Connor
felt loved in her own home she wouldn’t have to . . . Why
am I even explaining this to you?”
She once more punched the button. The court house elevators were
notoriously slow. Since no one should have been in the building,
except a few judges working late, Amelia prayed the elevator would
not take the usual eternity to reach the fifth floor.
“If I didn’t know better, I would think that you’re
taking this case personally,” George said in his usual nothing-upsets-me-because-I’m-so-cool
manner that drove Amelia insane.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Gibson,” she snapped. “I
apply the law equally to every case I prosecute.”
“What’s the saying . . . Something about a scorned
woman making a man’s life hell.”
She rolled her eyes in irritation then stopped herself from making
the rude gesture. She smoothed down the front of her suit then
said calmly, “I believe you’re referring to ‘hell
hath no fury like a woman scorned’, which has absolutely
nothing to do with the conversation at hand.”
“Unless you’re the woman scorned.”
“Now, you’re insulting me,” she said, too amazed
by his audacity to be truly angry.
George shrugged. “I call it like I see it.”
She grunted in disbelief then abruptly whirled around and stalked
towards the door that led to the courthouse stairwell. She threw
open the door and proceeded into the dimly-lit, metal staircase.
She suppressed her groan when she heard his footsteps on the stairwell
behind her.
“Are you actually storming out on me?” he asked, sounding
amused. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that happen
to me.”
She ignored his last remark and abruptly turned to face him and
said through clenched teeth, “For the record, the complete
quote is ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but
a scorned woman’s triumph is heaven indeed’.”
“Let’s lay our cards on the table,” George said,
obviously planning to ignore her last statement. “We both
know the reason you can’t settle this case is because Tanner
is a second cousin twice-removed from the mayor.”
Amelia kept her shock off her face. George Gibson’s contacts
went deeper than she imagined. “I told you once before that
I prosecute my cases equally, no matter who the defendant or victim
is related to.”
George actually grinned before he said, “Don’t bullshit
a bullshitter.”
She suppressed her need to laugh at his statement. “I don’t
have time for this.”
“Big plans?” At her silence, he grinned. “Do
you have a date, Farrow?”
She rolled her eyes in indignation then whirled around and continued
down the stairs, the click of her heels on the concrete steps echoing
throughout the stairwell.
“Just when things are getting good, you clam up on me,” he
said, a laugh apparent in his voice. “I would pay money to
see Amelia Farrow on a date.”
Instead of telling him that he would probably be as bored as she
inevitably was, she said, “Another clue that I didn’t
need as to how absolutely sad your life is.”
At his silence, she paused on the step and stared at him. It once
more took him a few steps to realized she stopped. He abruptly
turned then moved to stand front of her. Even though he didn’t
deserve it, she felt silently guilty because she didn’t treat
anyone liked she treated him. Then again, no one treated her like
he did.
She reined in her anger then took a deep breath and tried to be
mature. “I apologize, Mr. Gibson. No matter how horrible
and rude you are to me, it gives me no right to pass superficial
judgments on your life. Even though I’m sure you have a joyless
bitter-filled existence that drives you to represent the people
you do, it does not mean that I have the right to insult that existence.”
He stared at her for a few seconds before he actually smiled and
said, “I wasn’t insulted before, but I think I am now.”
She sighed in disappointment and tried to think of another way
to apologize. Before she could respond, George abruptly grabbed
her arm and drew her to him, pressing her back against his chest
at the same time that he clamped his hand over her mouth. She was
initially too confused by his sudden movements to be angry until
the smell of soap and fresh laundry began to invade her senses.
Electric currents once more flashed through her body and jump started
her heart, forcing her to struggle against his iron hold. She had
never thought of George as muscular until she felt he pressed his
body up against hers. She wondered if there was an ounce of fat
on him. In response, he tightened his arm around her waist and
silently shook his head.
Then Amelia heard the voices. There were two men a few floors
below arguing on the stairwell. Their quiet voices traveled in
the empty, narrow confines of the stairwell. It could have been
two men having a conversation, but it wasn’t. There was more.
There was something that made Amelia’s blood turn cold and
that made George become as still as a statue.
“You aren’t going to do anything . . .” a harsh
voice spat out then abruptly lowered to a whisper that Amelia could
not hear.
A different, more nervous voice, replied, “You can’t
. . . Last month things got out of control . . . too dangerous
. . .”
George’s arms moved from her when he realized that she understood
the situation. Amelia grabbed his arm for balance and peered over
the railing as the voices fell in and out of range.
“I can’t see anything,” George whispered in
her ear, his warm breath fanning her cheek.
One of the voices said, “You’ve been warned . . .
Last time . . . sorry.”
The nervous voice firmly said, “I want out. This is completely
out of control. No one ever said anything to me about killing jurors
and bribing judges and cops. Do you know what would happen to me
if I’m linked to any of this?”
Amelia gasped at the mention of jurors. George sent her a silencing
glare as he squeezed her arm. She waved his arm off and concentrated
on the two voices.
“You won’t be linked to this,” the other man
calmly assured. “We have people in all the right places.
Nothing will ever be linked to you.”
“Whether that’s true or not, I don’t believe
it. I’m getting out and if your boss is smart, he’ll
let me go.”
If possible, the man’s deep voice grew more deadly. “Are
you threatening us?”
The other man sounded close to a heart attack as he breathlessly
answered, “I just want out.”
“You were always too weak,” the other man replied,
sounding almost resigned.
George grabbed Amelia’s hand and tugged her towards the
door, but she shook her head and whispered, “We have to see
who it is.”
“It’s none of our business. Let’s just go,” George
said, shaking his head.
“Bribing judges and killing jurors? As officers of the court,
we have a duty—“ Amelia was interrupted by a high-pitched
sound that echoed throughout the stairwell. She didn’t know
what the sound meant, but it scared her. She looked at George,
and from his expression she suddenly knew what the sound meant.
A gun with a silencer attached. Someone was dead. She covered her
mouth with her own hand before the scream she barely contained
escaped her throat.
George grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door at the
same time that she tried to move down the stairs towards the sound.
She glared at George.
“You find the police while I take a quick look. I’ll
be right behind you,” he ordered in a tone that made her
back automatically straighten. She blamed it on being a Farrow
but she was not accustomed to receiving orders.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You can’t stay here.” He cast a frantic look
down the stairs as his whisper carried obviously louder than he
meant.
“But, you can?” she demanded.
He sighed in agitation and tried to once more forcibly push her
towards the door, but she evaded his grip.
He threw up his hands in frustration and appeared on the verge
of screaming, before he hissed, “We don’t have time
for these games, Amelia, they could still be down there.”
“George—“
Suddenly she heard footsteps on the metal stairs, headed towards
them. They froze, staring at each other in horror. In a flurry
of abrupt activity, George ripped open the door and grabbed a stunned
Amelia around the waist, pulling her once more into the hallway
of the court house.
With her briefcase slapping one thigh and her purse bouncing against
the other, Amelia ran after George towards the closest courtroom
door. He pulled the handle and cursed when the door wouldn’t
budge. He immediately ran to the next courtroom door, pulling her
behind him. Amelia glanced over her shoulder towards the stairwell
door, expecting any moment to see a monster with a gun headed towards
them. She had led a sheltered life. She was the first one to admit
it. In her life, guns only existed as facts in a police report
she read while preparing for a case. Now, she was in danger of
being shot if they couldn’t find some place to hide.
The fourth door George tried opened and the two ran into the dark
courtroom just as Amelia saw the door to the stairwell slowly open.
She knew that she should have waited to catch a glimpse of the
murderer, but there was a stronger force in her body, that she
cursed as cowardice that made her sprint into the courtroom.
As George frantically scanned the courtroom for a hiding place,
Amelia wordlessly tugged his wrinkled suit sleeve and pointed to
the elevated judge’s bench. The two ran across the courtroom
and scrambled into the cramped opening beneath the high desk. She
found herself crushed between one side of the desk and George.
She tried to move closer to the desk and control her ragged breathing.
George pulled the chair back into position just as the courtroom
door opened with a loud creak. She unconsciously held her breath
and hoped that the frantic, loud thump of her heart against her
chest didn’t carry across the courtroom. Instead of attempting
to move farther from George, when she heard the deliberate and
cautious footsteps in the empty courtroom where no one else should
have been, she moved even closer to him.
The footsteps sounded closer and she glanced at George. There
was a restless energy in his coiled body. He seemed ready to spring
from beneath the desk at any moment. She placed her hands on his
arm to keep him in place. He didn’t look at her but squeezed
her knee in response. She squeezed her eyes shut as a tidal wave
of fear washed over her. She couldn’t die today. She had
on an old pair of underwear that would make her mother cringe in
embarrassment.
Sounding like a screeching wild animal in the silence of the abandoned
courtroom, Amelia heard the tinkling sound of a cellular telephone.
For one horrified second, she froze, thinking that the ringing
telephone belonged to her or George. Then she heard the familiar
deep voice from the stairwell answer, “What?”
There was a long pause then the man said, “I’ll be
right there.”
She heard his rapidly retreating footsteps then the sound of the
courtroom door closing. She released the breath she didn’t
know she had been holding then turned and stared straight into
George’s dark eyes and lost her breath all over again. Her
gaze dropped to his mouth. She didn’t know what she feared
more – the man from the stairs or the dark expression in
George’s eyes.
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