Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) (28 page)

“I know Sam’s ambitions are her mother’s ambitions.” He didn’t need Ragno for that bit of information. Sam had shared her ambitions with Zeus, and the root of them, when they’d been together all those years ago. As someone who also carried a torch for a deceased parent, every day, every step of the way, he fully understood the burning drive to succeed. It was part of why he loved her, part of why he wanted her to realize every dream.

“That’s right, but did you know it was Elizabeth’s love for her husband that kept her from attaining her goals? Samuel raised Samantha after her parents died. He raised her to realize her ambitions. From the very moment her parents died in that car crash when she was thirteen, Samuel took over—the best schools, the highest opportunities, and pulling strings behind the scenes to remove every obstacle that might lead to failure. Now that I know about that conversation—the bribe he offered you and others—the puzzle pieces that make up her life are all falling into place.

“Geez, Zeus. Imagine if you believed romantic love led to failure, because your parents were the role models for that truism. And then, everyone you ever loved suddenly disappeared, and some of them did it for no apparent reason? I’d
be one tough cookie, too.”

And you’d run like hell from real love. Because the only glimpse of it you ever saw resulted in the destruction of a parent who you loved.

“If that’s so, why is she a hair’s breath from marrying McDougall?”

“Jesus H.!
Bingo!
You are brilliant, Zeus. Remember, I’ve listened to their phone calls. I said it sounded like they’re talking shorthand. They’re friends. They talk to each other like they’re besties. She has even talked about you to him.”

I could only hope they were just friends
.

“Zeus, aside from this bucket load of bad news, you also have a really big problem looming with Samantha.”

“Really? Gee. How astute.” A door beyond the dais opened, signifying that the judges were ready to enter the proceedings. The conversation among the lawyers stopped. Zeus rose to his feet with everyone else in the courtroom.

“Not any of the obvious ones that you’ve already thought of, Mr. Smartass-Irritated-Bodyguard,” Ragno said. “Call me lucky, call me correct. Hell, just call me a woman whose brain isn’t operating on oversexed testosterone deficits. Don’t even think about shooting the messenger on this one. Gonna hurt, but I’m calling you out on a mistake you made. When you and Sam were last together, when the job was over, and you two became intimate, you didn’t tell Sam that her grandfather offered you money to stay away from her, did you?”

Instead of the judges, two clerks, one Zeus recognized had been at the side of Judge Ducaisse on prior days, and another who was constantly at Judge O’Connor’s side, entered the courtroom. The French clerk walked to the center of the dais, while the American clerk walked with a purposeful stride off the center stage.

“No,” he muttered, tone low, as the others in the courtroom ended their conversations to focus on the clerks. Sam returned to her chair, and stood beside it. Her gaze remained on Brier. “My mind was on…other things, and then I got the call from Theresa. My conversation with her grandfather seemed irrelevant.”

Beyond lame, but an excuse that made sense.

“The fact that you didn’t give her this pertinent info is going to royally piss her off, when she finds out.”

Ragno’s words placed a shiny red-candied cherry smack dab in the center scoop of the hot-fuck, sticky mess of a sundae his life had suddenly become. To further embellish the dripping concoction, he had only a few days before the world’s modern-day version of Prince Charming, U.S. Senator Justin McDougall, had a dinner date with the woman he loved and did God knows what else afterwards.

Gazing across the now-crowded courtroom, he fixed his eyes on Sam as her gridlock focus was on Brier. His blood ran cold, because no strategy for dealing with her seemed apparent, obvious, or destined for success. With the host of personal issues Sam presented, there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about any of it except let it play out as he kept her safe, because that was the only legitimate part of this job.

Embrace the fucking suck, buddy.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Proceedings will commence at 12:45,” Judge Ducaisse’s clerk announced to the courtroom from the center of the dais, then stepped back without an explanation for the delay.

Good.
She needed more time to work on Brier, who had just informed her, with belligerent, in-your-face bravado, that he was planning to oppose both the French-sponsored motion for expansion of the record with additional telecom data and her request to interview Stollen.

Thinking through counter-arguments to the points Brier had raised, she watched Timothy Adams, Judge O’Connor’s law clerk, as he navigated around briefcases in the aisle that fronted the tables for lawyers. His gaze rested on her as he headed in her direction.

Now what?

“Judge O’Connor wants to speak to you before the proceedings start,” Timothy said. “In private.”

Samantha glanced at Zeus, who stood as she stepped forward. Jenkins also stood. On the courtroom side of the private door behind the dais, the space was crowded with lawyers, clerks, and reporters. Immediately on the other side of the door, there was silence in the long corridor that led to the chambers of the ITT judges and their staff members.

“That was quite a scrum,” Zeus said, catching up and falling into step as they followed Timothy through the narrow hallway, the walls adorned with photographs of French judges and dignitaries. Jenkins trailed behind them. A U.S. marshal walked past with a German shepherd. Ears alert, the K9 turned and sniffed in their direction, then the pair continued down the hallway in the opposite direction. “Motions aren’t going over very well, are they?”

Their eyes held for a second. A bit of a smile played at the corner of his lips, enough of one to erode some of the self-protective wall she’d erected around her feelings since her early morning departure from his bedroom.

“Understatement,” she acknowledged. “Though we knew Brier would oppose. He’s just doing his job, and he’ good at it.”

“Looked to me like you were holding your own.”

With Zeus, being cool and indifferent was an effort. He was not only a damn vigilant protector, with his eyes on her at all times, she liked that he took an interest in what she was doing. She liked even more that he didn’t stay perturbed with her for too long—because that slight smirk of a smile told her he wasn’t angry any longer about her telling him she’d prefer sleep over sex. She thought it funny that he equated her comment about being good in bed to a human dildo insult.

She hadn’t intended it that way. Not at all. Well. Maybe. God, he drove her…crazy.

The problem was, she liked everything about him, even the way, despite his tall stature and super-sized physique, his footsteps were light and barely audible beside her as her heels clacked on the marble floor. Not to mention the way the hard muscles of his arm brushed against her as they walked together, or the way the soapy smell of his morning shower faded to just a lingering wisp, or the way an afternoon shadow was beginning to play on his jawline and hollow cheeks, despite it being barely past noon.

Cool. Indifferent. Remember? He isn’t the man for you. He makes you feel too much. He drives you crazy. Remember? Not good.

Judge Amanda Whitsell, the alternate who would be taking Judge Kent Devlin’s place while he attended his wife’s funeral, walked past them with U.S. Judge Mark Kennedy. Marshals and clerks were at their side.

A middle-aged redhead, petite with a pixie haircut that perfectly complimented her heart-shaped face and large brown eyes, Judge Whitsell looked smart, serious, and naturally pretty. Judge Kennedy had dark hair, dark eyes, and a serious look on his face.

“Hello, your Honors.”

The judges nodded at Zeus, Sam, and the clerk, then continued down the hallway.

As Zeus’s eyes scanned the doorways lining the hallway, he said, “Looked to me like you went over to Brier to pick a fight.”

“Hmm. That obvious, huh? I was trying to learn his argument before the judges take the bench.”

“Can’t believe he fell for it.” Eyes dead ahead, he asked, “Any idea why proceedings are late?”

“No,” she said, “but it happens, even in regular court proceedings. Any intel on timing from your sources?”

“Ragno? Any news pointing to a delay in proceedings?”

Zeus was quiet for a moment as he listened. Dark eyes flickering to her as they turned a corner, he shook his head. “No idea.”

Timothy paused at the shut door that led to Judge O’Connor’s office. Marshals flanked either side of it. Timothy glanced at Zeus. “Sir, the judge requested a private meeting with Ms. Fairfax.”

Samantha glanced at Zeus. “I’ll be safe. He is a judge of the United States Second Circuit.”

A stony gaze held hers. “I know who he is.”

“President Cameron’s best friend and confidante—”

“Know that too.”

“If you notice, his security is outside the office. Not inside.”

Zeus’s hard look, and the slight turn down at the corner of his mouth, told her he assumed she was safe with no one. “Not necessarily the judge I’m worried about. I’ll do a walk through, then exit.” He entered the office at her side, with Jenkins, Timothy, and a marshal on his heels.

Judge O’Connor, pen in hand as he sat behind his large desk, stood as they entered. He hadn’t yet put on his judicial robe. A dark business suit, white shirt, and red tie, revealed broad shoulders and the beginning of a paunch. Close-cropped curly hair, black and sprinkled with gray, gave the aging jurist a distinguished look. His warm, dark-eyed gaze, serious but welcoming, encompassed both of them. “Samantha. Zeus.”

“Hello,” Zeus said. “It’s good to see you, Ted. How are you?”

Samantha stopped as Zeus stepped forward, leaned across the desk, and gave the judge a firm, friendly handshake. She shook off her surprise, reminding herself that Black Raven was a player in Washington’s elite circles. Zeus, an owner of the company, no doubt made it his business to know those in power, yet he wasn’t the type to name drop or flaunt his connections. For all she knew, he and President Cameron were on a first-name basis as well.

“Just trying to herd this proceeding to a resolution that satisfies the powers that be.” Strain in his dark brown eyes revealed more tension than his words. “And you?”

“Never better,” Zeus said, his eyes scanning the room.

Judge O’Connor folded his arms and stared at Zeus, just the way he stared at lawyers in court as they presented cases. Analytical. Assessing. Thinking. “I receive task force reports on the hunt for Maximov. I understand Black Raven has joined the bounty hunt.”

“You’re correct.”

“Black Raven intel will be a welcome addition.” A smile that matched the gaze in the judge’s eyes momentarily softened his features. “And here you are, pulling guard duty. Samuel Dixon is a hard man to say no to, isn’t he?”

Zeus chuckled. “You’re correct on that.” He glanced at Samantha, a sea of unsaid words underneath his cool, calm exterior. To the judge, he said, “I’ll be out of your hair in a second. Just doing my job as bodyguard.” To the U.S. marshal, Zeus said, “You have personnel on the other side of that door?”

Two doors led to the office. They’d entered through one. Another was closed. As the marshal nodded, Zeus said, “Jenkins,” barely flicking his head in the direction of the second door. Jenkins crossed the office, opened the door, stepped outside, and shut it behind him.

Zeus gave the judge a nod and stepped towards the door. As the marshal exited the office ahead of him, the judge said. “Zeus. Stay.” Zeus turned back to the judge, who unfolded his arms and gestured with a raised hand and open palm for them to sit in two armchairs facing his desk.

When Timothy hesitated at the open door, the judge shook his head. “Timothy, thank you, but you may step out.”

Eyes returning to Zeus and Samantha as they sat, he sank heavily to his chair and drew a deep breath. “What Samantha and I will discuss will soon be a matter of public record. Before that, though, I wanted to acknowledge to both of you that the timing of three occurrences isn’t lost upon me. First, the French motion for expansion of the record. I’ve spoken to the French judges, who have ferreted out the root of the French prosecution team’s motion for sudden, and dramatic, expansion of the record with telecommunications data.”

His sharp glance at Samantha indicated he’d figured out she was the force behind the French motion. “Second, Samantha’s motion to interview Vladimer Stollen. It is destined to be an uphill battle. Third, the appearance of Black Raven in this proceeding coupled with your hunt for Maximov. As I said, the timing isn’t lost upon me.”

Heart pounding, Samantha mentally formulated an argument designed for damage control, knowing the judge would disapprove of her seeking guidance in the ITT proceeding from the unconventional tools Black Raven used. While it was the judge’s job to enforce the rules, her job was to play by them. The rules said that the ITT proceeding was to be the product of a carefully composed record. Not a record influenced by Black Raven’s questionable data-assimilation and gathering tactics.

“Your Honor—”

He lifted his hand and gave her a sharp look, effectively silencing her. “To be perfectly blunt here, I’m less interested in the guidance behind your thought processes, Samantha, than the results. President Cameron and I trust that you’ll carefully and astutely navigate through the minefield presented by using data that is outside of the ITT record to influence this proceeding—data secured by means that I cannot begin to understand.”

Stunned, Samantha kept her mouth shut. Desperation underscored the judge’s words, and the statement was as close to blanket permission to use Black Raven’s ill-gotten data as she was going to receive.

Reading between the lines, the statement was also a solid don’t-get-caught warning.

Instead of being thrilled, her palms turned clammy and her stomach twisted. Still, she managed, “Yes, Your Honor.”

With the weight of the world on his shoulders, his look—both solemn and worried—encompassed both her and Zeus, who had shifted slightly in his seat and was leaning forward, his gridlock focus on the judge.

“Then Godspeed.” The judge’s deep breath was loud and heavy in the silent office. After a pause, he said, “There have been additional developments this morning that may make the conversation we’ve had thus far moot. Duvall was murdered this morning. Strangled. Tongue cut out.”

Samantha drew in a deep breath.

The judge’s eyes were grim. “Intimidation message to other witnesses clear.”

Her chest felt hollow. “Duvall was in the custody of French officials, under the protection of armed officials. Who got through? And how?”

“We only know enough to know we likely won’t know either, except for the claim of
I Am Maximov
found in his cell.”

“But Maximov was never an organization that killed its own,” Samantha said.

“Obviously, the historical objectives of Maximov have devolved into general anarchy.” The judge shrugged his shoulders. “Another problematic development is that the lead prosecutor from Colombia will move for a mistrial when the proceedings begin this afternoon.”

Samantha’s stomach churned. “But a mistrial will end the proceedings prematurely. No verdict will be reached, not even one that reaches the defendants who have been apprehended thus far. Each of the four crimes at issue have someone like Duvall, and others. If the proceeding ends in a mistrial, all the defendants will go free. It will all have been a waste of time. No headway will be made in the war on terrorism. A mistrial is,” she paused, “something that shouldn’t even be discussed at this point.”

“You’re preaching to the choir.” Lines creased at the corners of the judge’s eyes, and his lips were drawn in a marked frown. For the moment, he looked worried, older, and defeated. “But I can’t say that I blame the Colombians. They lost lawyers due to the Boulevard Saint-Germain bombing, and Judge Calante’s death from the explosion yesterday is an overwhelming loss. He was well-liked. Popular in his country. A great jurist. Especially with Duvall’s death, the motion for a mistrial will have legs. Once the media catches wind of it, we’re not going to get one more word from witnesses in this proceeding, so what is the point of the trial? Tombeau, Duvall’s friend, was more talkative than Duvall, correct?”

“Yes,” Samantha said.

Judge O’Connor’s marked frown reappeared. “He won’t be any more. Tombeau found Duvall’s tongue. In his cell.”

Stomach churning, Samantha held the back of her hand to her mouth.

The judge continued, “Not that the live witnesses were giving us much of anything. Still, Duvall’s death gives the Colombians fodder for their mistrial motion, which they were planning on making even before they knew of it.”

“President Cameron’s feelings about the mistrial?” she asked, though she knew the answer. This sitting of the ITT was the president’s brainchild, something he had conceived and for which he’d fought long and hard.

“He’s gravely concerned. He strenuously opposes the early termination of this ITT proceeding through a mistrial.”

Samantha nodded as her mind raced through scenarios of how the argument would proceed. “Defense counsel will argue in favor, and I hope prosecutors—except those for Colombia—will oppose. A mistrial requires a vote of nine judges. Any idea of how the judges will vote?”