Jury Town (9 page)

She glanced up at him as warm water washed over their toes. “But
you
are a national celebrity. Everyone in the country who’s even remotely a basketball fan knows who Trent Tucker is. Heck, a lot of people who aren’t basketball fans know who you are. You could be a huge help to me in Richmond and Washington.”

“You got it,” Trent agreed without hesitation. “Anything you want from me you got. You want me to do appearances, promotions, or anything else, you name it. I’m yours.”

She gazed up at him as the mist closed in around them. “I was nervous about asking you.”

“Why?”

“It could take a lot of your time.”

Trent ran his fingers down her soft cheek.

And her heart jumped several beats. She had to fight these urges hard because she was
so
tempted. He’d make all the right promises, standing here on the beach in the heat of this moment. Men like Trent were experts at making promises—but not at keeping them, especially to women. Her father was proof of that, wherever he was.

“Life’s a wild ride, isn’t it, Angie?”

She nodded as he pressed his warm palm to her cheek, and his heat surged into her body. “Yeah,” she whispered, shutting her eyes as she allowed her face to rest against his big hand.

“When we were kids in the ghetto, nothing was more important than money.”

“Nothing.”

“We were so poor. My mother served my brothers and me Spam and grits four nights a week. The other three she didn’t serve us anything. She told us to mooch off friends.”

“So that’s why you were over every Tuesday night.” Angela laughed softly. “How did you ever grow to six ten?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, pulling her against him. “I really don’t.”

She slipped her arms around his large frame. She could get used to this. And he’d claimed he was giving up younger women . . .

“But that’s the point,” he continued. “We both beat the odds, and now money’s not the issue anymore. Now it’s about making the world a better place.” He leaned back, slipped both of his large palms to her face, and gazed down at her intensely. “You’re gonna win that senate seat in Washington, you hear me? You’re gonna be a United States senator. And I’m gonna do everything in my power to make that happen. Okay?”

“Okay.”

A thrill rushed through her chest as he leaned down toward her. She wanted him so much; she always had. Why was it that everything she wanted in the worst way could end up being so bad for her? Couldn’t anything in life be simple?

“I’ve got another favor to ask of you, Trent. It’s a little more immediate.”

“Anything,” he murmured, “anything at all, Angie.”

CHAPTER 9

JURY TOWN

“Glad we’re off that damn tower,” Cameron muttered, his voice overflowing with relief as he riffled through the long list of e-mails, texts, and calls that had accumulated on his phone during their time inside Jury Town. “Ever noticed how it looks farther to the ground when you’re up on a tower than it does to the top of the tower when you’re back on the ground?”

“Sure,” she answered as they neared their cars.

She wasn’t really listening. She’d been focused on how good she was going to feel after she grabbed the small bag of joy that was tucked beneath the driver’s seat of her Lexus, stuck a straw into it, and sniffed twice,
hard
. Once in a while, the stress of leading Project Archer combined with those demons and ghosts Cameron had mentioned required an antidote. This was one of those times—as last night in her study had been. Though, that need had been driven by loneliness, not the demons.

She was worried that those times were coming more often as Jury Town’s opening grew imminent. Not less, as she’d anticipated—and hoped. The pressure was mounting instead of receding, especially after reading what was inside that envelope Cameron had passed along earlier.

“Wolf wasn’t happy to hear about Raul Acosta coming to Jury Town to be the second-ranking guard,” Cameron spoke up. “His expression was classic. I got a good chuckle. You were brave to do it up there.”

“Why?”

“He could have tossed you off the tower.”

“He’s not going to toss me off any tower. He likes what I’m paying him, and he doesn’t want to jeopardize it. That’s why I wouldn’t sign contracts with him . . . or anyone else, for that matter. They work at will . . . my will.”

“It’s an excellent idea to have your own mole inside the walls,
especially
inside the corps of guards. Wolf knows that, even though he’d never admit it.” They stopped in front of the cars. “What was in that envelope from Judge Eldridge?”

“Again with the envelope?”

“You bet.”

“What makes you think it was from Eldridge?”

“Who else would it be from? Come on, Victoria, this is me.”

“He was congratulating me on my performance at the announcement.”

Cameron groaned, exasperated. “Then why the dead-of-night pickup? My aide, I might add, had a very relieved expression on his face after he handed it to me and ran off. Give me a break, Victoria. What was Eldridge telling you?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“You’re damn right I do. I’m gonna get pissed at you in a second.”

“You want plausible deniability in this instance,” she said, glancing over at him. “I’m serious.”

He hesitated.

He’d heard the code loud and clear. She saw that in his expression. She was giving him a chance here
not
to know.

“No,” he finally answered, shaking his head. “I’ve come too far on this project to start ducking now. I want to know. I have a
right
to know.”

“You’ve been warned.”

“Whatever.”

“It turns out Project Archer didn’t start with Judge Eldridge,” she began quietly, glancing around the area.

“Who then?”

“Michael Delgado.”

Cameron’s eyes gleamed.
“The attorney general of the United States?”

“According to Eldridge, Delgado approached him eighteen months ago about initiating the program in Virginia because he knew he could trust the judge to handle it right and keep the Justice Department out of it. Delgado suspects that juries in high-profile cases all around the nation—not just in Virginia—are being blackmailed. There have been too many irrational verdicts coming down. And those bad verdicts are still coming. At some point”—she gestured back at the facility—“Delgado may ask to use Jury Town.”

“For federal cases?”

“And Delgado is keen on this catching on around the country with other states when it’s successful here so he can
completely
insulate the system, federal and states. That’s the grand plan.”

“Which puts even more pressure on us to make it work here in Virginia.”

That little bag of white powder beneath the Lexus’ seat was
screaming
at her. The pressure was rocketing toward the heavens. “Exactly.”

“Why is Eldridge telling you all this now?”

“In case he turns up dead.” She pulled the note from her pocket and held it out so Cameron could read it for himself. “So I know to contact Delgado for help. The note says Delgado called last week to tell him he was more convinced than ever that someone or some group is blackmailing jurors around the country. Do you get what that means? The power, the ruthlessness—the hubris—it takes to execute something like that. They won’t be easily deterred by Jury Town. They’ll fight it with everything they have. Eldridge is concerned for his physical safety.” She pointed at the paper. “It’s all there.”

“That sure looks like Judge Eldridge’s handwriting,” Cameron murmured as he scanned the page. “He didn’t sign it for obvious reasons, to maintain his own plausible deniability. But this is almost certainly his chicken scratch. I recognize it from other notes he sent you before he went off the grid six months ago.” Cameron glanced up as she took the paper back and headed for the driver’s side of the Lexus. “Where are you going?” he called.

“I’ve got an errand to run.”

“I’ll run it with you. Then we’ll go to dinner when we get back to Richmond. We’ve got a big day tomorrow, everything we’ve been pointing to for a year, and I’ve got a punch list a mile long to cover with you.”

“Can’t,” she called back, reaching for the door handle. “We’ll meet tomorrow morning for breakfast.”

“Victoria.”

“What?”

“Where are you really going? Tell me.”

“To see my father.”

“To Stony Man?”

She nodded. He knew her so well. “I need inspiration.”

“I’ll go to the mountain with you.”

“I want to go alone.” If Cameron was tagging along, she wouldn’t be able to enjoy her distraction. In fact, he’d physically take the bag from her if he saw it. “I want to
be
alone.”

“Are you crazy? Did you not just read that note from Judge Eldridge?”

“Of course, I—”

“Of course you did because you told me yourself that he wrote in it about being worried for his safety—for his
life
. In case you didn’t read the entire note—which I’m sure you did, but I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt—he also told you in no uncertain terms to get security for yourself.”

She sighed. “I won’t be intimidated.”

“Or is there another reason you don’t want people like that around all the time?”

“Don’t go there,” she warned like he was way off . . . even though he couldn’t have been more right.

“I’ll take care of everything for you. You know that,” he promised as his phone pinged with a new e-mail.
“Oh, Lord.”

“What is it?” she demanded.

He looked like he’d just seen an execution.
“What happened?”

“Raul Acosta died last night,” Cameron murmured, looking over the BMW roof at her. “It says here he was murdered.”

“Murdered?”

“He was shot.”

“Do the police have a suspect?”

Cameron shook his head. “Victoria, don’t go to Stony Man.”

“How do the police know he was murdered?”

“He showed up at a hospital last night with a bullet hole in his gut and died on the operating table. A hospital in the
West End
,” Cameron said, pointing at his phone. “Maybe he was the one who delivered that envelope to my aide.” He tapped the phone again. “It says here they’ve increased the judge’s security as a result, even though they don’t know if Acosta’s death is related to the Supreme Court.” Cameron stared over the roof at her. “It’s time for you to get security. Victoria, you’ve got to listen—”

She slammed the door as she dropped in behind the steering wheel and fired up the Lexus. She had to get out of here.

CHAPTER 10

SKYLINE DRIVE OF VIRGINIA

Hiking up from the small, secluded parking area off Skyline Drive to Stony Man Mountain Overlook wasn’t that challenging. It was less than a mile in distance and slightly shy of nine hundred feet in elevation gain to the summit’s cliff, which was four thousand feet above sea level.

Victoria had taken just twenty minutes to reach the last hard turn in the trail. She was only a few hundred yards shy of emerging from the dense woods and onto the spectacular overlook, and she was barely breathing hard.

The path was steep in certain stretches, but technical climbing wasn’t involved. No clinging to cliffs or creeping along tightrope-thin ledges, nothing that would ignite her intense fear of heights.

The overlook was another story altogether in terms of her phobia. But she would stay far enough away from the sheer cliff to control it. She always made sure to.

A hundred miles northwest of Richmond, she was hiking up the Appalachian Mountains’ easternmost wave. When she reached the overlook, she’d have a magnificent view of the wide, deep Shenandoah Valley. From the cliff, she’d be able to make out the farm she’d grown up on. The house and barns would be just specks on the valley floor, but she’d be able to pick them out.

She’d be able to spot Judge Hopkins’ house as well. She knew exactly where he used to live.

The trail up through the thick woods was well marked. Had it not been, she still would have had no problem finding her way. She was quite familiar with the route. Her father had first brought her to this peak when she was four years old, and she’d hiked up Stony Man Mountain no less than sixty times since.

She’d done the math in her head as she’d climbed today—twice a year for more than three decades, even during her term as governor, even during her father’s prison sentence. It was like seeing an old friend each time she visited because she and her father had climbed this same trail together at least fifteen times before he’d been framed and sent away.

During those trips she’d had him all to herself. She’d had every bit of his attention, and adored every moment.

A few hundred feet from the overlook, Victoria stopped short and whipped around. The eerie feeling of being followed had been gnawing at her since the halfway point of the trek. This was the third time she’d cut her progress short to check.

No other cars were parked in the small lot when she’d arrived. But she hadn’t pushed herself during the climb. So it was conceivable that someone had arrived soon after her and caught up.

However, no one was back there when she peered down the slope into the lengthening shadows. No one she could see, anyway. Of course, there were plenty of boulders and trees to hide behind, and the afternoon light was fading.

If she didn’t hurry, she’d miss a gorgeous sunset. And, if she stayed for the entire show, the hike back down the mountain would be through darkness—which didn’t bother her. She’d done it before.

She’d never had this feeling of being stalked, either. And Cameron’s warning about the need for security kept ringing in her ears.

“It’s just your imagination,” she muttered to herself as she turned and headed for the summit. “It’s his fault for getting me started on this bodyguard thing. And don’t forget the selfie,” she reminded herself, patting the phone that was wedged deeply into the front pocket of her jeans. He’d asked her to send a picture of herself on top of the mountain when she made the summit, just so he could feel okay about where she was. “If you don’t send it, he’ll go crazy.”

Fifty feet from the overlook, she paused at a towering oak tree, and moved off the trail to the far side of its massive trunk. Despite the fading light, she paused to stare at the two sets of vaguely legible initials. Higher on the trunk than when her father had carved them that summer she was seven, but still there. She touched her letters and then her father’s, and heat rose to her eyes as she remembered watching him carve.

She touched the initials once more, wiped her eyes clear of moisture, then retook the trail, and climbed the last few yards to the summit.

Her pace slowed to a deliberate shuffle when she emerged from the tree line and moved out onto the wide, flat rock. She was acutely aware of the rock disappearing in front of her, turning ninety degrees and plunging a thousand feet as it gave way to the incredible view and the solitude she’d climbed up here to enjoy.

She inched forward until she stood on the spot she always stood on when she came up here, identifiable by three parallel gouges in the flat boulder, each an inch deep and a foot long. The spot where her father had let go of her that first time, when she was four years old, and made her stand close to the edge on her own. At this point she was five feet from the sheer drop-off that had been left completely natural by the Park Service, open and unprotected by railings or banisters.

The height still bothered her intensely, but she was on firm ground here. Not wavering around in the wind on a flimsy, shaky surveillance tower. This was solid rock beneath her feet. Still, she would go no closer to the edge. This was far enough, as far as she’d ever gone.

She shielded her eyes against the orange fireball grazing the soaring mountaintops of the wide valley’s western side. Amazed at how quickly the sun descended at the end of the day. You could never recognize that speed when the fireball was high in the sky, never get a perspective on how quickly it raced across the sky. But that was obvious now as it dropped to the valley’s far wall.

Victoria made certain she was alone up here on top of the world before digging into her pocket for the small bag of cocaine. She’d done some in the Lexus a mile out from Jury Town, after pulling over to the side of the narrow, winding road in a secluded spot.

Now that she was on top of the world, she wanted to feel wonderful—again.

Four hard sniffs through the straw and ecstasy quickly caught up to her—again.

She glanced around as she retied the tiny knot at the top of the cellophane bag, then replaced it and the straw in her pocket as she gazed down at Judge Hopkins’ house—bastard.

Her gaze flashed right at the disconcerting sound of a twig snapping, at a spot she’d been looking.

A slender young man with closely cropped, blond hair stood thirty feet away, just outside the tree line. He hadn’t emerged at the trailhead, but out of the underbrush on the far side of the opening in the trees and bushes. Why?

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up the instant she recognized him as a predator.

He was physically average, nonthreatening in every way save for his hungry, one-eye-closed stare, which made her feel as if he were looking at her through the crosshairs of a rifle scope. There was a cold indifference to that expression. As if he understood very well that he was about to cause her horrible pain, but had no sympathy for her plight. Like he was a wolf—and she was a deer.

It was now or never, Victoria realized. To hesitate at this moment would be to accept death. Somehow she knew that with every fiber of her being.

She bolted left.

Why hadn’t she listened to Cameron, especially after the news that Raul Acosta had been killed?

Thank God she’d done the coke, she thought as she sprinted, and the rush of the drug surged through her. Without it, she’d be helpless against this predator.