His Runaway Juror. Mallory Kane
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far away that Castellano’s influence wouldn’t reach them. She’d change her name if she had to. She’d started over before. She could do it again.
She looked at each of the jurors in turn, hoping the desperation and uncertainty she felt wasn’t reflected on her face.
It all comes down to what’s right, Lilybell. You can’t outrun your conscience.
I know, Dad. I’m doing it. You’d be proud of me.
“Ms. Raines, please don’t make us stay here another night. It would be a travesty of justice if we had to go out there and report that we’re deadlocked. Surely even you can’t still believe the evidence is inadequate.”
Lily took a deep breath, praying that Bill hadn’t had any trouble, wishing there was a way she could know for sure. But he had promised her he wouldn’t let her down. He was a former police officer. He could take care of himself and her father.
She had to trust him. She wasn’t sure she could live with herself or face her father again if she let a killer go free.
She clasped her hands together in her lap and took a deep breath. “I’ve studied the DNA evidence and the fingerprint, and the testimony,” she said, her voice trembling with anxiety. “I vote guilty.”
BRAND AND FOSHEE were waiting on the courthouse steps when someone shouted that the jury was back. Foshee dropped his cigarette and stomped on it.
“Let’s go. This oughtta be good.”
Brand’s phone rang. He stiffened.
Foshee turned. “Who’s that? Your ex-girlfriend again?”
Brand forced a smile. “Yeah. Go on. I’ll catch up.”
Foshee’s black eyes narrowed. “Nah. I’ll wait.”
Brand looked at the caller ID and felt his heart rate pick up. It was Pruitt.
“You know I’m busy, sweetheart,” he growled, turning the volume on the phone down. Foshee was standing uncomfortably close.
Pruitt laughed shortly. “Okay, I get it. You can’t talk. Got a report that an ex-cop buddy of Raines’s was shot in his van on Lindon Road earlier. The road to Beachside Manor.”
“Damn it!” So that’s what Lily had done. She’d tried to get her father away from the nursing home, away from the long reach of Giovanni Castellano.
She was going to vote guilty!
Sweat prickled his scalp and stung the back of his neck. He racked his brain for a way to give Pruitt a clue. “You know what that means, don’t you? Is everything else all right?”
“Yeah. A car came along and interrupted the killers. The driver called 911. The killers took a couple of potshots at the Good Samaritan, but he wasn’t injured. He got a partial tag number, too.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess. So what are you going to do now?”
Foshee’s curious black eyes snapped as he did his best to eavesdrop. Brand turned away.
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