The Devil’s Barbarians had a list of members who appeared to be in a contest to please the devil. Guns. Contract killings. Drugs. Hell, it was rumored they acted as vigilantes and had castrated several pedophiles on their home turf.
“So, you see, your Honor,” Willow was saying. “My client here was simply caught in the crosshairs of a brawl.”
“Adeadlybrawl,” the judge said.
“That might be the case, but there is no blood on his hands.” Willow gestured to Carter. “He was injured himself in the fight and received ten stitches to his right forearm following a knife attack.”
The judge frowned at Carter.
Carter’s expression remained unchanged, and he didn’t squirm or look away as Leah had become used to defendants doing under Judge Lincoln’s scrutiny.
“Police statements report him carrying a knife,” the judge said.
“He took it, your Honor, from the man who had just stabbed him.”
“A man from another motorcycle club?”
“Yes, your Honor.”
Carter licked his bottom lip in a casual way, as though he were watching something vaguely entertaining on television instead of a conversation that would determine whether he went behind bars for the next couple of years.
The judge sighed. “Mr. Harris, every year I see your sort come through this town, and every year I have the miserable job of sifting through the various criminal activities and deciding who we have room for in the state penitentiaries.” He shook his head. “Quite frankly, I’ve had enough of it, but what can I do?”
Carter opened his mouth.
“No!” The judge held his finger up. “That was a rhetorical question, Mr. Harris. I have no interest in your suggestions.”
Carter closed his mouth and shrugged. He glanced at Leah.
Her spine stiffened and her throat tightened. Why did he keep focusing on her? She’d never met the guy before. Would never see him again after this court appearance.
“Over the years, I’ve learned,” Judge Lincoln was saying, “that club loyalty is just another word for club violence. I’ve dealt with mass brawls, robberies, vandalism, illegal weapons, and once a rogue sniper.” He clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “It would be best if you all just stayed on your own damn turf.” His eyes rolled heavenward. “Excuse my French.”
The courtroom fell silent. The ticking of the huge black clock behind Carter was the only sound.
“And the truth of the matter is,” the judge said, “I don’t think for a moment you’re innocent, Mr. Harris. You were there with your … what do you call them … club brothers, to cause mayhem and settle vendettas. There was a reason you were nearby when a man was murdered, and that’s because you wanted to see him dead whether or not it was you who did the deed. However…” He paused and his scowl deepened. “Much as I’d like to put you and your freewheeling anarchist buddies behind bars until you’re too old to get your leg over a bike, I simply don’t have the resources. And on this occasion, Mr. Harris, there is not enough evidence to put you on the jailtime list.” He tapped his pen on a pad of paper, as if he did indeed have a list. “Being near to the scene of the crime does not equal guilt in a court of law. You’re free to go.” He banged his hammer, scraped his chair back, and stood.
Instantly, the conversation in the room grew, quickly moving from a hum to a loud talk.
Willow turned to Leah. She was beaming.
“Well done,” Leah said, grinning. Willow had put the work in with the notes she’d presented to the judge. She deserved a victory.
But did Carter deserve freedom?
Again, she glanced at him. He unfolded to his full height and pushed his hand through his overly long hair. It fell straight back into place around his face and ears and the nape of his neck.
And then he grinned at her, wide and open, as though she were the one person in the room he wanted to celebrate with.
“Not a chance,” Leah muttered and reached for her purse. It was time to get out of the courtroom. Maybe she’d squeeze a trip to Boutique Barn and find something for the garden party she was obligated to go to as the mayor’s daughter.
Willow leaned across the wooden divider. “Meet you out the front?” She made a drinking motion. “We have to celebrate.”
Leah nodded. “Of course. See you in a minute.” There’d be no dash to Boutique Barn, not once they’d gotten into a booth at Cheers and Beers. Not that Leah really minded.
She turned and walked between the rows of chairs, her high heels tapping. A sense of being watched, her ass in particular, prodded her sixth sense. It was Carter, she was sure of it. His gaze was on her behind the way it had been on her face during the trial.
She tipped her chin and strutted faster, eager to get out of there. Flattening her palm on the heavy oak door, she escaped into the corridor, took a left toward the front entrance, and tightened her hold on her purse strap.