Page 5 of Nova

"Sustained. Please continue, Miss Bailey."

Given the go-ahead by the judge, I continue my line of questioning. "Were you high the night of the incident, Mr. Hunter?"

The witness begins squirming in his seat, his eyes darting around the courtroom. He shrugs. "I may have had a hit of something. I don't know."

"So, you're telling us, with it dark outside, and roughly twenty yards away from the scene of the crime, plus you were high as well, you can positively identify Mr. Velasco as the shooter?"

"I…I," Robby Hunter stammers. "I don't know. I could have made a mistake. Maybe it wasn't him I saw."

"You made a mistake? It might not have been Mr. Velasco you saw that night? Is that what you are telling the court?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

"You guess so?" I take another step closer to the stand. "Are you high now, Mr. Hunter?"

"I may have had a little something earlier," Robby Hunter confesses under pressure, and the courtroom fills with murmured voices.

I turn to the judge. "Your honor. Clearly the state's only witness holds no credibility. Not only is he under the influence now, but he admits to his drug use the night he allegedly saw my client."

The judge addresses the state attorney. "Mrs. Williams, do you have anything to add?"

"No, your honor. We have no other witnesses."

The judge slams the gavel. "Court will adjourn while the jury reaches a verdict."

"All rise," the deputy orders as the judge steps down from the bench and exits the courtroom.

An hour later, I'm at a deli across the street from the courthouse grabbing lunch when I get the call the jury is back with a verdict. When I arrive back in court, I can feel the tension in the room. The victim's family is visibly nervous while my client oozes confidence and looks almost bored.

"Will the jury foreperson please stand," the judge asks.

A middle-aged man at the end of the jury panel stands.

The judge speaks again, "Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?"

"Yes, your honor, we have."

"Please pass it to the deputy."

The jury foreperson passes a piece of paper to the deputy, who hands it to the judge. I try to read the judge's face as he opens the paper but his features reveal nothing. The whole courtroom watches nervously and patiently for the verdict to be read.

"For the crime of murder the jury finds the defendant, Leon Velasco not guilty. Mr. Velasco, you are free to go." The judge bangs the gavel.

As soon as the judge makes his ruling, the victim's wife breaks down in sobs as her son consoles her. I chance a glance in their direction finding the victim's wife and son distraught. I then look back at my client who is smirking. I follow his line of sight to see he too is looking at the victim's family. The victim's son looks at me, and I don't like what I see—sorrow and defeat. My stomach sinks. I want nothing more than to run out of the courtroom. Instead, I keep my usual stone expression plastered on my face and turn my attention to Leon Velasco. "Congratulations, Mr. Velasco." Then gather my files, stuffing them into my briefcase.

"Thank you, Miss Bailey." Mr. Velasco stands and buttons his suit coat.

I don't bother making conversation with the man. The three months I have been working this case I have rebuffed countless inappropriate passes from him. I even get weekly flower deliveries to the office. All from Leon Velasco. His attention toward me is borderline creepy, it makes me uncomfortable and what I want is to get as far away from him as possible. Once I have my things, I turn on my heel and walk out of the courtroom. The moment I step outside, I release the breath I was holding and tip my head back, allowing the Louisiana sun to warm my face. I stand in place while taking several deep cleansing breaths.

Hearing the doors to the courthouse open behind me, followed by a commotion, I look over my shoulder to see Mr. Velasco exit the building along with several of his men flanking him. He makes eye contact with me and smirks. He's slimy and knows he is guilty. Men like Velasco don't care about right or wrong. They have no remorse. As for me, it eats me up inside. It's cases like this one that keep me up at night. On the outside, I'm good at coming off as cold and ruthless as the criminals I defend, but on the inside, I hate what I do. I do it to please my stepfather. But lately, I find myself wondering if my family is worth sacrificing my conscience and my heart. I have spent more than half of my existence trying to please Thomas Collins, doing whatever it takes to gain his acceptance.

Ever since my mother married Thomas when I was a little girl, I craved his fatherly affection. Since losing my biological dad to war when my mother was pregnant with me, a father figure is something I missed and desperately wanted. The day I gained a new dad, a sister, and a brother, I was ecstatic. Only I soon learned their feelings were not mutual. Thomas wasn't always cold and distant toward me. Back when my mother was still alive, he at least tolerated my existence. But something in him changed when we lost her. To Thomas Collins, I will forever be the stepdaughter he was stuck with when my mother died.

My phone rings, knocking me from my daze, and I tear my eyes from Velasco. Digging my phone from my bag, I see London, my best friend's name flash across the screen. "Hello."

"Hey. How was court?" I let out an audible sigh. My best friend, who knows me better than anyone, doesn't have to ask another question. She knows. "Want to come over to my place? I have a bottle of wine with your name on it."

I smile. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

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