Final Verdict. Jessica R. Patch
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now.”
“Then one night, it is. I’m not going to run scared.”
Beckett studied her. Seemed like that was what she’d done by coming to Hope. Why else would an uppity attorney like her move from Chicago to here? It was like she’d run as far away as she could from Franco Renzetti. “Nobody but you said you were. Pack a bag.”
She muttered about his barking demands and trudged to her room.
Like a child. But cute as all get-out.
A few moments later, Aurora had a bag hanging on her arm. “I need to take that box of files. I can’t risk someone knowing I’m gone and busting in here and ransacking the place—including the files.”
Beckett collected the ones lying on the table and added them to the rest in the cardboard box. Case files on her brother. “Hey,” he said, and turned, “I’m sorry for earlier. I know how much you loved your brother, and I basically told you he was guilty. I don’t even know the facts. So, I apologize for acting like a jerk.”
“Thank you.”
Well, that was something he’d never expected out of the shrewd attorney. Grace. It surprised and befuddled him. Beckett carried the box to the door. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna go out first. Do a sweep, make sure no one is lurking. I’ll come back inside and get you.” He grabbed her other bag and surveyed the area from the porch. After placing the items in the backseat, he swept the perimeter. Everything seemed quiet. Bleak. Temps were dropping steadily. A sense that someone was watching skittered across his flesh. Please don’t be you, Trevor. He finished clearing the area and came inside. Aurora was perched on her recliner.
“Everything as it should be?”
He nodded. He’d leave the sixth sense to himself. “Let’s go.” He hovered over her as she locked the front door and sheltered her as they made their way to his Chevy Tahoe, the words Fallon County Sheriff reflecting in silver.
Ten minutes later, he had her on Holt and Blair McKnight’s porch. Blair guided Aurora inside, and Holt stepped outside and closed the front door, his hair whipping in all directions as they stood in the frigid night. “What are you thinking?”
Beckett cupped his aching neck. “Could be anyone, man. She shook up a crowd today. People starting to heal. This motion brought everything back up.”
Holt rested a hip on the wooden porch railing. “I’m sure Trevor was hoping for the court to rule in his favor. He’s bound to be furious. Old wounds ripped open. But would he stoop to throwing a whiskey bottle through the window and threatening Aurora with that kind of phone call? He’s a good dude. Lieutenant at the firehouse. Lot to lose if he did this.”
“What if it had been Blair who Austin rammed into? What would you do?” Beckett tipped his head as Holt’s face hardened. “Exactly. You’d want to see that kid pay for the rest of his life, and then some. And you’d want to see whoever let him walk pay along with him.”
“He’s not going to walk.”
“He’s not serving a life sentence, either. Probably get three months. Then community service and parole. Hardly seems fair.” Beckett pulled a butterscotch candy from his coat pocket and popped it into his mouth, twisting the golden paper between his thumb and index finger. “I don’t know. I’m heading over there now. Aurora doesn’t want to be here. She says she’s cutting into honeymoon time.”
Holt chuckled. “Blair has morning sickness at night. The honeymoon is over, bro. They say she should feel better come next month. So, be glad Aurora was threatened now and not in April.” He gave Beckett’s shoulder a solid pat. “She’ll be safe here. And she’s welcome to stay till next week. But then I’m in Memphis for a few days teaching a narcotics class. I’d rather—”
“Her not be in the house with only Blair and your kiddo cookin’ inside her. I wouldn’t do that. She’s staying with Judge Marks come tomorrow.”
“I mean what’s Blair gonna do anyway? Puke on the attacker?”
Beckett laughed. “I’ll be by in the morning. Or if anything new arises.” He shook Holt’s hand and left for Trevor Russell’s house. Holt was right. With the ruling today, all that agony and hurt would be fresh. Trevor and his family had been banking all these months that Austin Bledsoe would be punished to the fullest extent of the law. As an adult. God, why did You let him get away with this? Why didn’t You move the judge to rule that he be tried as an adult? You can do anything You want. Turn the heart of a pharaoh. Soften a king. Why did You fail them?
His phone rang as he pulled into the Russells’ driveway. He glanced at the screen. Wilder Flynn. His oldest buddy from the SEALs. And Meghan’s brother. No time to talk. Besides, Beckett didn’t have an answer for Wilder. Moving to Atlanta to work with his elite team and seeing him every day would only remind him of Meghan. Of failing her. Beckett wasn’t sure he could handle that. Too much guilt. Plus, he’d finally come home to a safer career, and his mother was on top of the Rockies. Going back into a high-risk occupation would knock her off the edge. Mama had no one but him to see to her.
He let it go to voice mail and climbed the steps to Trevor’s porch. A light burned in the living room. He knocked. Waited. Knocked again.
Trevor’s son, Quent, opened up. Definitely not sleepy eyed. “Hey, bud. Your dad in?”
“Why?” Quent’s jaw hardened and he bristled. Why the need to go defensive?
“I need to talk to him.”
“Quent, who’s here?” Trevor came to the door, hair tousled, white T-shirt wrinkled. “Beck? What’s going on?”
Beckett scuffed his toe along the wooden planks. “How you doing?”
“You’re here at eleven o’clock at night to ask me how I’m doing?” He frowned. “How do you think I’m doing?”
Beckett massaged his achy neck muscle again. “I know it’s not the verdict you wanted to hear—”
“Not even close,” he hissed. “Why are you here?”
Beckett told him about the whiskey bottle and the phone call. “I was wondering if you might know anything about that? Tell anyone the brand, perhaps?”
Trevor gave a humorless laugh. “Really? Give me a break. My wife is dead. That punk is getting away with it and you want to question me about a bottle? I’m only sorry it didn’t whop her upside the head and knock some decency into her. Quent, go to bed.”
After tonight, Beckett wasn’t so sure that Aurora wasn’t decent. She was complicated. “Wait. I need to ask Quent if he might know anything.” He inspected the boy. “Do you?”
“No,” he barked. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. I hope she gets what’s coming to her.” He stomped off, and Trevor pinched the bridge of his nose.
The kid had a lot of anger. Could it have been him? Maybe, but not the threats. Aurora had said the voice was gravelly. Trevor’s voice was gravelly. But lots of male voices had a rasp. “I’m sorry. I had to ask. It’s my job.”
“Yeah.” Trevor closed the door in Beckett’s face. Well, that went well.
* * *
Aurora hadn’t slept much last night. Not that Blair’s guest bed was uncomfortable, but she’d had too much on her mind. Today, she had an appointment in Richfield, Mississippi, with the detective who’d been assigned her brother’s case and an interview with Gus’s widow, Darla McGregor. She’d always believed that Richie hadn’t murdered her husband, and Aurora had been grateful someone had been on her side. Maybe, after all this time, one of them might remember something they hadn’t before.
Now she sat across from Beckett at The Black-Eyed Pea, picking at her eggs and toast. He’d shown up to the McKnights’