Disorderly Conduct Page 2

  I swallowed again, wanting to beg him to stay with me for the second hearing. But I had to at least act like I had a clue what I was doing. The bailiff, a brawny guy whose nightstick somehow looked thicker than usual, moved for the door he’d emerged from earlier and opened it. He grabbed an arm covered by an orange jumper while I shuffled the files and looked down, trying to read Scot’s mangled notes. Hopefully I could get caught up quickly.

  The judge slammed down his gavel again. “Elk County vs. Aiden Devlin for narcotics possession and intent to distribute.”

  I stilled. Everything inside me, from thoughts to feelings to dreams and hard reality, just halted. I slowly turned to face a tall man dressed in an orange jumpsuit. Oh my God. “Aiden,” I whispered, the entire world grinding to a harsh stop.

  He smiled, his eyes bluer than I remembered, his face much more rugged. “Hi, Angel.”

  Chapter 2

  Memories flooded in, so hard and so fast my knees wobbled. It couldn’t be. But it was. Him. My legs wanted to give, so I tightened my muscles to keep from falling. I looked frantically around, needing something to say. “You don’t have a lawyer?”

  “No.” He flashed the same smile he’d had at seventeen. Sweet with a hint of danger. Well, now it was more dangerous with a hint of sweet.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  “Miss Alberto?” the judge intoned. “You should be saying something right now.”

  “Um.” I bent to read the papers in the file.

  “Um isn’t good enough,” the judge bellowed.

  “It’s Ms. Albertini, Judge.” I winced. Scot’s notes danced in front of my eyes, blurring into nonsense. This was Aiden. He was in a freaking orange jumpsuit. Focus, damn it. Scot’s notes were all over the place, but there wasn’t a strategy or bail plan. I cut Aiden a look. “Let’s see how he pleads.” The file was a bit light for him to have been in lockup.

  Aiden stood straight; his stance wide. He’d been tall as a kid, but he’d gained a couple more inches since leaving town at eighteen. He probably topped out at six-four, which was almost an entire foot taller than me. His hair was still thick and black, and those eyes. The deepest blue imaginable. “I plead not guilty and request a jury trial,” he said, his barely-there Irish brogue lilting his consonants.

  “Albertini?” the judge bellowed.

  I gulped. “Um, we need a week for trial.” I had no clue if we needed a week or three months. I couldn’t think. This was too much. It was Aiden. Where had he been? Had he missed me? Probably not. Didn’t matter. He’d saved me. That did matter—period. “No bond, judge. The state agrees the defendant be released on his own recognizance until trial.”

  Aiden tensed next to me.

  The judge lifted one bushy eyebrow and stared me down, his brown eyes hawk-like. “You sure about that?”

  I scrambled through the papers, but nothing made sense. My mind was fuzzy, but even so, the arrest warrant wasn’t even there. I had nothing to argue that Aiden should remain in custody except the charges that the judge had listed, so even if I had wanted to keep him locked up, I couldn’t. Probably. “I’m sure, Judge,” I said, my voice as level as I could make it. The moment could be the end of my career, but I didn’t see a choice. Not really. Plus, everything inside me wanted to let Aiden Devlin go free. He’d done the same for me years ago, and that wasn’t something I’d forget. Ever.

  “So be it. Let’s get the defendant counsel and then schedule a hearing for a trial date. You’re due an attorney, Mr. Devlin.” The judge held his gavel midair.

  “I’ll acquire counsel on my own, your honor,” Aiden said quietly.

  The back doors opened, and I turned instinctively to see who’d entered. Two men loped inside, both wearing jeans and black T-shirts. The first guy wore one of those motorcycle vests, or cuts, I’d seen on television. The guys were tattooed, scarred, and tough looking. Aiden glanced over his shoulder and straightened, standing even taller. I gulped, turned, and looked at the judge, my brain fighting to keep working.

  “Court dismissed.” The judge slammed his gavel down, stood, grabbed the kitten, and swept through his door with the bailiff on his heels.

  I coughed. “I’m not sure what you do next. I mean, how you get rid of the orange jumpsuit and get your clothing back.” I was babbling, but I couldn’t stop.

  Aiden pointed to the closed door. “I go that way. The bailiff would’ve handed me off to the deputy waiting on the other side if I’d been held over for bond. Right now, I’ll go meet him.”

  So he knew more than I did about the process. That probably wasn’t good.

  “It’s nice to see you, Aingeal.” The Gaelic word for Angel. A nickname he’d given me as a kid that I still heard in my dreams once in a while. His gritty voice was familiar, even though I hadn’t heard it since I was twelve years old. “I mean, Anna.”

  He remembered.

  I blinked. Through the years, I’d daydreamed about him. A lot. He’d turned out even better looking in person than in my imagination, which was pretty darn good.

  Talk about angels. If fallen angels really existed, one stood in front of me, his gaze searching mine. His black hair curled around his nape. A face sculpted by the gods—on a good day—showcased eyes created with every blue in existence, all melded together into perfection. In a large package.

  But the orange jumpsuit cut through me with a harsh reality. “Tell me you’re not guilty,” I whispered.

  “Long story.” His chin lifted. He glanced at the two tough guys by the door and gave them one of those tough guy nods before turning even more toward me. Muscles rippled in his arms and chest as he moved; all power, all male.

  I knew he’d grow up to be a badass.

  But was he bad?

  The judge’s door opened, and a twenty-something uniformed officer poked his head out. I think he was one of the Carisea kids—maybe one of the younger cousins. “Devlin? Let’s get you processed out.”

  I stepped away from Aiden, instantly feeling cold. “So, good luck.” It was doubtful I’d be prosecuting him.

  He paused as if he wanted to say something. “You became a lawyer.”

  It wasn’t what I’d expected. I nodded, the memories hitting me so hard my ears rang. So many moments, seconds really. The ones that marked you for life.

  “I guess it isn’t surprising.” He stepped away. “I’m glad to see you.”

  Was he? Then why hadn’t he called? Or written. Suddenly, anger slid though my veins, piercing the veil of numbness I’d had all day. I welcomed it; this return to reality. “I’m sure.” Without waiting for him to answer, I turned on my wedge and strode down the aisle, ignoring his friends and not looking back.

  As such, I had no clue if he watched me go or not. From the way my butt tingled, I’d bet he had.

  The DEA cordoned off our offices but promised we could return the next day, so I headed home after trying to get the gossip in the office, but nobody knew anything about Scot or his arrest. So, why not go home? I probably should’ve called one of my sisters, but at the moment, I wanted to burrow into a good book and force reality away for a short time. Or maybe forever.

  My body felt electrified and oddly numb. So I drove automatically through the quaint town, driving toward the mountains and a much smaller Tamarack Lake, the top of my Fiat down. The black car was circa early eighties and reminded me of one of those old detective shows with the gumshoe and electric blond criminal. It didn’t have airbags, a radio, or even effective seatbelts, but I loved it because my Grandpa Enzio had refurbished it for me. I couldn’t wait to get it out of storage every spring to drive during our short-lived summer.

  I’d been renting a guesthouse situated far away from a main house made of wood and stone. Trees surrounded my bungalow, which faced the sparkling water of Tamarack Lake. By the time I’d parked on my gravel driveway, my hands were shaking.

  I took several deep breaths and walked up the stone walk bracketed by yellow and pink tulips to unlock my door. Quiet a
nd peace instantly surrounded me, and I locked the door, heading straight through the comfy living room for the one bedroom. It was a sweats and ratty T-shirt afternoon.

  After changing clothes and popping a Xanax, I sacked out on the overstuffed sofa to read a book. Soon the pill took effect, and I dropped off into an uneasy sleep, ready to face my demons.

  Demons really existed.

  It was a nice June weekend, and the camping season was in full force for the entire Silverville community. I was ten years old again, skipping rocks across the river with my cousin, Lacey O’Shea. She was my best friend in the entire world, but the contest was heated, and I needed a good skip. She had a trick of twisting her wrist at the last second, which gave her at least one—if not two—extra hops each time. We’d walked up a ways from our family’s campsite, shoving through the brambles and slipping over moss covered stone.

  But we’d reached a place where the river was wide and somewhat calm. The perfect place to skip rocks, away from all the kids on dirt bikes and four-wheelers finally enjoying the semi-decent spring weather.

  I twisted my body, aimed, and sent a rock spiraling. It clipped hard the first hit and then went nine more.

  “Nice,” Lacey breathed, her twin braids bobbing as she acknowledged my expertise. Her light brown eyes narrowed, and she shrugged her shoulders to loosen them to prepare for a big throw.

  I felt a little smug as I watched her toss, but an arm came out of nowhere and wrapped around my waist, jerking me off my feet. My lungs sucked in air, and I screamed. The hand slapped across my mouth. My skin pricked and I started to fight, kicking and hitting back, even though I was off the ground.

  Lacey turned, and her eyes widened. She grabbed a rock and ran toward us, screaming so loud the birds scattered across the water.

  The man holding me struck out, hitting her in the side of the face. She went down hard, and I stilled, shocked.

  Then he was moving. Fast through the weeds until he reached a four-wheeler. The hand at my mouth hurt, and tears flowed down my face. I couldn’t fight. He was too strong. My chest ached, and my heart started hitting my ribs. I couldn’t see, and my vision went all fuzzy.

  He shoved me into the front seat; a rope was already attached to the dash. He tied my hands, and I tried to jump away, but then we were driving wildly over the rocks and up the mountain.

  I turned toward him. He was old—probably around twenty-five with brown hair and a big nose. “Don’t hurt me,” I whispered.

  He turned and looked at me, and his hands were dirty on the wheel. “I won’t. Just need a bride.”

  Chilly pins snapped down my spine. “I’m only ten.” What was wrong with him?

  He shrugged and turned back to the narrow trail.

  I gulped, my stomach hurting. Stranger danger. It was true. How was I gonna get free? I twisted against the ropes around my wrists, but I couldn’t get them loose. I wanted my dad. Right now. My dad would punch this guy and get me free. “Who are you?” I asked, my voice shaking.

  “Jareth Davey,” he said. “I live in the mountains.”

  I didn’t know any of his family. Did he have family? How could I get free? We drove for hours up and around the wild hills of Idaho, crisscrossing and going higher and higher.

  Was Lacey okay? I hadn’t seen if she’d hit her head when she fell. I hoped she was okay and had run for help. My dad would find me.

  But what if he didn’t? I was almost too scared to even move. Maybe this was a bad dream. It had to be.

  I heard motors in the distance. Dirt bikes and four wheelers. Were they looking for me already? If Lacey had gotten to the family, they’d be looking right away. All the campers all up and down the river would be. Then a helicopter finally roared above.

  “Shit,” the man said, jerking a hard right and heading for an old cabin set against some rocks. I hadn’t even seen it until we were almost there. He parked the four-wheeler under a bunch of trees, undid my rope, and picked me up again.

  I started fighting him, punching his throat.

  He didn’t seem to notice.

  Then we were inside a one room cabin with a mattress on the floor and a kitchen with hotplate and pans.

  I started to shake. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I needed to throw up. I could see through the slats of some of the boards to the forest outside. If I could just get free, I could run.

  He set me down.

  I backed away, toward the counter with the hotplate.

  He shut the door and turned to face me. “We’re married now.”

  No, we weren’t. I panicked and grabbed a cast-iron pan to hold in front of me. It was so heavy that my arms shook. Could I lift it high enough to hurt him?

  He chuckled and moved toward me, so much bigger than me that I felt really small. But I swung. As hard as I could, I hit him in the ribs.

  He jumped back, his face turning red. Then he lunged at me.

  The door burst open, and a boy rushed inside, colliding with the man so hard that they hit the opposite wall.

  I screamed and dropped the heavy pan. I recognized the boy from seeing him around town, but he was in high school. He hit the man in the face several times so rapidly I could barely see it. It was like he’d gone wild. The man hit back, and blood sprayed. Then the boy grabbed the pan I’d dropped and hit Jareth full in the face. The man slumped once and passed out.

  The boy stood, blood on his chin, and looked at me. He had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. “You okay?”

  I couldn’t breathe. Tears blocked my vision. “N-no,” I said.

  “You will be.” He reached for my hand, and I took his much bigger one, holding as tight as I could. “My dirt bike is outside. I’ll take you home.”

  Home. I wanted to be home. I sniffed and let him lead me out of the bad place.

  “I’m Aiden,” he said. “You’re safe now. I promise.”

  Years later, I sat up on my couch, surprised that night had fallen. Jareth Davey had gone to trial and then gotten off with a technicality. It didn’t matter why. He was free and had been since that day.

  I received an anniversary card every year on the date of my kidnapping and around Christmas, not signed and sent from different postal locations. I couldn’t prove they were from Jareth Davey, but they had to be. They were sent to the post office box I’d kept in Silverville all these years, and the next one was due the following Wednesday. Things were coming full circle, and the nightmare was expected.

  Now things had changed. Aiden Devlin was back, and now he was in trouble. Could I save him this time?

  Chapter 3

  Quiet chaos ruled the office when I returned the next day, although the DEA had exited the premises with what I heard was boxes and boxes of documents. I had no doubt they didn’t need most of the stuff for their case, but I hadn’t been there. I was oddly gratified to see that the receptionist’s picture with Stan Lee had survived the raid. She smiled widely when I returned, leaning over the desk. “Have you heard anything about Scot?” she whispered.

  “No,” I whispered back. “Have you heard anything?” How could Scot have been arrested by the DEA? It was crazy, and nobody knew a thing.

  She shook her head. While she’d been friendly during my month of tenure, she was usually busy, and I was just a deputy prosecutor. I’d obviously been bumped up a bit in her mind. She handed over a stack of messages. “I sent the interns to clean up your office, and they should be finished soon.”

  “Thanks.” As the fresh and new lawyer, I didn’t have a secretary or paralegal of my own, and the interns usually handled things for the more experienced attorneys. “Is anybody else back yet?”

  She shook her head, losing the smile. “No, and it’s a mess. We can’t get any answers from the DEA.”

  I nodded like it was all okay and turned for my office just as two college students exited. The first was a tall woman with blue hair. “You’re good. The DEA agents left your drawers open and some files messed up, but we fixed them.”


  “Thanks.” I smiled and again acted like the world hadn’t just started spinning in the opposite direction. Sure, I was thrown off by my boss being arrested. But Aiden Devlin was back in town, and he’d been arrested. I sat on my too loose rolling chair, grabbed the phone, and dialed Celeste. As Scot’s paralegal, surely she’d know something. Anything.

  “Hi,” she said, no doubt having seen my extension number come up on her phone from the opposite side of our office. “How was court yesterday?”

  “Uneventful,” I lied. “Have you heard anything about Scot? It’s impossible that he’s been dealing drugs.”

  “I know. Whatever this is, I’m sure Scot will get it sorted out,” she said, sounding lost.

  Okay. So she didn’t know anything. On to my next topic. “Please find any other documents you have on the Aiden Devlin case, so I can pursue this until Scot gets back. The casefile I took to court yesterday was missing most of what I needed.”

  She sighed. “The DEA took everything Scot had on that case, and it wasn’t much. You have the case file.”

  Too much was missing. What was going on? “Get me everything you can find that they didn’t take. As soon as you can.”

  She promised to do so and then hung up.

  I tightened my calves to keep my chair from rolling away. Then I reached to dial out again when my computer dinged a notice. Crap. I glanced at the time. I was due in misdemeanor court in five minutes. It seemed ridiculous that I was still working the day away when the sky was falling, but court was court, and I was scheduled to be there. So I grabbed the stack of casefiles I hadn’t had a chance to read through yet, jumped up, and hustled outside and down the street to the courthouse.

  This time I descended to the lower floor, where various people shuffled around as they lined up at the parking ticket counter. I passed them for the smaller courtroom where I was somewhat more comfortable and shoved open the much lighter door. This felt more like home.