Beyond A Reasonable Doubt: Jenna James Legal Thrillers, #1

PROLOGUE

Kamela examined her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She wasn’t showing yet, but she would soon, and she wanted Jordan out of prison before that happened. She fluffed her long blond hair before applying Jordan’s favorite pink lip gloss. She’d chosen the country club for her meeting with Olivia because it would be quieter on a weekday and because she’d met Jordan there. They’d planned their wedding on the hill overlooking the lake. Her gaze fell on her ringless finger. Instead, they’d been married in the prison chapel with two guards as witnesses.

She lifted her eyes, meeting her own gaze in the bathroom mirror as she spread her hands over her flat stomach. She was Mrs. Jordan Elkins, and she was carrying Jordan’s child. Nothing else mattered. She could live without the country club and the limousine, and although she’d grown up in Corpus Christi and had never imagined leaving it, she could live without that too, for Jordan.

Picking up her purse, she took a deep breath and headed for the dining room. Olivia loved Jordan as much as she did. She’d want him to be with his child.

Kamela scanned the dining room and moved quickly toward the table in the back. Olivia, thank you for meeting me.

The older woman stood and embraced her. You look absolutely beautiful, Kamela. Have you seen Jordan?

Kamela shook her head. I thought I might visit on Friday.

She waited until Olivia sat down before taking her seat. She smiled at her, studying the timeworn face, covered with thick makeup that—to all except the most perceptive eye—disguised green discoloration and subtle swelling. The judge was either getting careless with his beatings, or he’d gotten away with it for so long he felt invincible.

Kamela continued her assessment, noting the long sleeves of the Versace silk even though the weather was blistering outside. A delicate scarf was tied around her neck. Olivia Elkins was a beautiful woman, but the luster was gone from her eyes, the spark of life slowly fading.

Kamela, is something wrong?

She’d promised Jordan she’d protect his mother as best she could, but the stakes had changed. Placing her napkin on the table, Kamela took the woman’s helpless, fluttering hands and held them tightly, her own hands trembling. Olivia expected an answer but perhaps not the one she was about to reveal.

I’m pregnant, Olivia. Jordan and I are going to have a child.

The color faded from Olivia’s already pale face, and her hazel eyes started, blinked, and settled on Kamela’s, questioning as Olivia pulled her hands away and shook her head. But that’s impossible. Jordan is in prison.

Kamela laughed. The sound carried in the room, and several guests glanced their way. She lowered her voice. Money buys many things, Olivia. You pay the guards to keep him safe; I pay them for private time alone with my husband.

Your husband?

We were married last year. We wanted to tell you, but Jordan thought we should wait. He was afraid it would make his father strike out at me.

Olivia’s mouth twitched, words forming slowly. Does he know?

No. I wanted to talk to you first before I told him. It would only hurt him to know I was pregnant and he wouldn’t be around to help raise our child.

Olivia nodded slowly, her hands settling around the crystal water goblet, gently wiping away the condensation like tears on a child’s face.

Kamela waited until the hazel eyes met hers, clear and determined.

What do you want me to do?

She hesitated for a moment and then sighed heavily. Jordan had refused to allow her father to help him, and Olivia was her only hope. We have to get him out. I want my child to have a father.

William will never allow it.

Kamela felt her anger rise, color flooding her face. William would have no choice if you told the truth. My father would help you. I know he would.

Kamela immediately regretted her words as the hazel eyes misted, tears threatening to overflow.

In the beginning, I tried to tell the truth.

I know; you did, Olivia. But we have to try again. Jordan only stole that gun to protect you. You know he would never hurt anyone. No one except his father.

Olivia, please talk to Michael. Tell him the truth. Show him what his father is really like—what he does to you when no one else is around.

A single tear made its way down the wrinkled cheek. Michael knows. Rising slowly, Olivia wiped her hands on the napkin, folded it, and placed it carefully on the table. Her lips trembled slightly as she smiled, but her hands were steady. We’re leaving for Kentucky tonight for the fall Keeneland meet. William is always happier there. I’ll talk to him.

Olivia, no. You can’t. He’ll... Kamela’s voice faltered as she watched in horrified silence as Olivia walked away from her, back straight, head held regally, kill you. Kamela finished the sentence, her voice barely a whisper, as a cold chill enveloped her.

CHAPTER ONE

Jenna scanned the courtroom, anxious to get started and get it over with. Closing arguments were the part of her job she loved the most, and the part she was good at. The evidence had all been presented to the jury. Next, the defense would weave their story, shining a different light on the proof and twisting testimony in the hopes of creating doubt. All they needed was one juror. Her job was to make sure they didn’t get that—to close all loopholes and leave the jury with only one choice: Travello was guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. She’d practiced her closing argument, and she was ready.

Her gaze fell on Aran Travello. He grinned at her, causing a deep, nagging feeling to gnaw at her gut. She shook it off. The evidence was all in her favor. No jury in its right mind would find him innocent.

Grant Benson slid into the seat beside her and handed her a file. Here’s the PSIR.

Jenna scanned the presentencing investigation report, her eyebrows knitting together. Travello’s previous crimes included everything but murder, and most of the crimes were nonviolent. Damn it, there has to be more, something everyone missed.

Grant smiled, showing even, white teeth. Patience, you’re showing your true colors.

Jenna laughed and closed the file. Her father had wanted to name her Impatience, but her mother had balked. Two months early and weighing only two pounds, Jenna Patience James had burst into the world with gusto, screaming and kicking and fighting for life—just as she’d been doing ever since.

A quiet hush fell over the courtroom. Jenna turned, watching as Conrad Merced sashayed through the doors. She heard the quick intake of Grant’s breath as a blinding pain started just behind her right eye.

What the hell is he doing here? she whispered. There’s no damn way Travello could afford to hire him.

Jenna rubbed her right temple, soothing the pain as she continued to watch Conrad stroll down the aisle. He always reminded her of a clown, dressed in a dark-blue Armani suit, bright-red bowtie that matched his flaming-red hair and, of course, his trademark white shoes. Travello couldn’t even afford the shoe shine.

Grant shrugged and stood up. Don’t worry about it. I’d say you’ve got this one in the bag, even with Merced on his side.

Jenna raised an eyebrow. Grant was the new law clerk at the DA’s office and had yet to try his first case. He had no clue just how many things could go wrong in a trial, especially a trial with Merced. His confidence in her ability wasn’t exactly comforting.

Jenna continued to rub her temple as she slipped her feet into her three-inch heels, which gave her a respectable five-foot-five-inch height. Going up against Merced, even that felt short. Why hadn’t Michael told her Merced was entering the case? She glanced to the back of the courtroom, and he shrugged, his lips lifting in a sympathetic smile.

Merced stopped at the prosecutor’s table and dropped a motion in front of her. There’s been a slight change in Mr. Travello’s representation. I’ll be doing closing arguments. I hope you won’t object as I’d hate to see a mistrial called on a technicality.

Jenna glanced at the motion. Merced knew damn well she wanted to object. Under other circumstances, she would have objected. Conrad Merced had never lost a case. Well, today wasn’t going to be his lucky day. Pasting on her sweetest smile, she met the stony black gaze. No objection, Counselor.

She took some pleasure in the knitting of his bushy brows as the bailiff entered the room.

All rise. Judge Raymond Carter presiding.

Jenna continued to smile as she stood. Merced was known for his courtroom drama, but Carter would squash him like a bug if he started that.

Counsel, approach the bench, please.

Jenna held her smile as she stood before the bench, meeting the judge’s sympathetic look. Damn him, he’d buried her already.

Miss James, I have a copy of Mr. Merced’s motion, do you have any objections?

No objections, Your Honor.

Carter eyed them both over his glasses. All right, Counsel, you may proceed with closing arguments. Mr. Merced, there will be none of your usual shenanigans.

Strictly by the book, Judge. If Miss James has no objections, defense will go first, alleviating the need for rebuttal by counsel.

Jenna eyed him warily. Clearly, he had something up his sleeve. No objections, Your Honor.

Jenna returned to her seat as Merced addressed the court. The gnawing feeling inside her gut grew to almost a physical pain as she listened to him go over the evidence, creating loopholes that could, if believed, create a reasonable doubt in the jury’s mind. Fortunately, the loopholes were minor, but Merced’s lack of courtroom drama and droning voice created a new fear inside her. Was he setting up an appeal defense for incompetent counsel?

Miss James?

Jenna stood and walked around the table.

Your Honor, Counsel, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you’ve heard the testimony. The evidence is clear and precise. Mr. Travello not only butchered but reveled in the death of a homeless immigrant. All for a bottle of cheap wine. She knew her blue eyes were flashing as she delivered condemning words with precision. She didn’t flutter or wave her hands at the exhibits. Instead, she gripped them as weapons, walking slowly in front of each juror as she met their eyes, dropping her voice and making it soft and sensuous. "Perhaps Mr. Travello thought no one would care. Ladies and gentlemen, I care. This was someone’s son. Someone’s father. Someone’s best friend."

~ ~ ~

Michael Elkins took his gaze from the jury for just a moment to admire the young woman delivering the scathing closing argument. She wasn’t as pretty as the women he normally dated, but she was cute, and eventually he would change the things he didn’t like. He studied the reddish brown hair surrounding a heart-shaped face and grinned. That would be his first change. His gaze traveled down the slender frame. The breasts were a little too small, but implants would take care of that. He sighed. Her legs had almost become a deal breaker. He liked them long and shapely. Unfortunately, there was little he could do about her height.

He shook his head as the jurors averted their eyes from the gory picture she held in her hands. She was one of the best prosecutors in the state of Texas, and in another year or two, she’d be the new district attorney. That made her valuable to his career, which was all that really mattered in a relationship.

Shrugging his shoulders, he met the gaze of his partner, Scott Harman, who had taken his place on the case when Jenna was assigned as prosecutor. Their relationship wasn’t exactly public knowledge, but there was no way he would risk his career for a lowlife like Travello. He’d known Travello was guilty the first time he talked to him. He didn’t need to stay to hear the jury’s verdict. Travello had lost the second she dropped her voice and whispered those soft words, someone’s son... someone’s father... someone’s best friend.

He turned his attention back to Jenna. She was going to be pissed that he hadn’t told her about Merced. Of course, he could feign ignorance. Scott had called him last night to tell him Merced was doing closing arguments. He hadn’t asked why. Truth be told, he didn’t care one way or the other. If Jenna won, he would take her for a celebration dinner. If she lost, he would console her.

Rising, he caught her eye as she returned to the prosecutor’s table to wait for Judge Carter to deliver the jury instructions, then to wait longer for the verdict and, if Travello was found guilty, sentencing. He caught her subtle wink, the slight lifting of the corners of her mouth.

Michael raised his hand, running his fingers through his thick, blond hair in a silent salute as he headed for the courtroom door to answer the cell phone that had been vibrating incessantly for more than five minutes.

He cleared security, heading for fresh air and a much-needed cigarette before he returned the call. The Honorable William Jefferson Elkins had summoned—six times. He wasn’t going to be happy about Michael’s refusal to answer the phone, even if he had been in court. Lighting a cigarette, he took a deep drag and scowled. His father hadn’t called him in over six months, and now he’d called six times in the space of a half hour. Hitting the Redial button, he threw the unfinished cigarette into the street.

Hello.

Maria, it’s Michael. My father has been trying to reach me.

The silence on the phone was deafening, and Michael felt the first tremors of foreboding.

Hold, please. The words were whispered with an underlying note of compassion and pain.

Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you for hours! Judge Elkins bellowed into the receiver.

I’ve been in court, Dad. Michael didn’t bother to correct him that it had been only a half hour. No one ever corrected Judge Elkins—at least, no one that still had a bar license.

There’s been an accident. Anger still riddled the old man’s voice. Your mother’s dead.

CHAPTER TWO

Time passed. The jury filed by him, glancing at Michael as he leaned against the courthouse wall as if he no longer had the strength to stand.

He drew in a ragged breath, his chest constricted and painful. Your mother’s dead. The old man had delivered the words with the same unfeeling drone as the sentences he handed down from the bench. Cold, unfeeling bastard. Only the underlying anger had revealed he was capable of emotion. The sad part was he was probably angrier at missing Keeneland than at the passing of his wife.

Michael? Jenna laid her hand on his white knuckles, tightly gripping the cell phone. What’s wrong?

He blinked, staring into her deep blue eyes, eyes that only hours before had widened in passion. Now, they were dark, filled with concern. From the corner of his eye, he could see the press converging. He had to get out of there. The old saying, The truth will set you free, was a bad lie. If the truth came out, it would end his career and his relationship with Jenna.

Pushing away from the building, he shook off her hand, ignoring the pain that flickered for just a second in the blue depths of her eyes. I have to go.

Michael, wait. Go where? Jenna held her hand up to the press, staving them off for one more second.

He turned, smiled wistfully, and shook his head at the converging press. Enjoy your win. I’ll tell you later.

Miss James! Are you disappointed that you didn’t get the death penalty?

Will there be an appeal?

Questions fired at her from all directions, and Jenna pasted on a smile that she knew didn’t quite reach her eyes. The jury had barely left the room before returning with a unanimous guilty verdict. Normally, sentencing would have taken place several weeks later, and she would have had time to prepare for their questions, but Judge Carter was retiring and wanted to finish this case before he left the bench, so sentencing had commenced immediately after the verdict.

Yes, I am disappointed that we didn’t get a death penalty, and no, I don’t believe there will be an appeal. Aran Travello can consider himself lucky with life without parole. Her eyes followed Michael’s back as he crossed streets, moving quickly out of her line of sight. She needed to end this and go after him.

Was it difficult for you to prosecute this case, Miss James?

Jenna scanned the crowd until she found the face behind the voice. He was older than the other reporters and more unkempt. Hatred lashed out at her from the beady black eyes. He sneered, his mouth twisting, voice lowering. Or did you enjoy it?

I’m sorry, I don’t understand your question.

He moved forward through the crowd, dark eyes never leaving her face. The sneer widened as he came closer. It must have been hard to prosecute the killer of a homeless immigrant.

Jenna felt the color drain from her face, the slight tremble of her hands. I’m sorry, I don’t have time for any more questions today. She moved away from the crowd, eyes glued to the green light as she prayed for it to change.

He followed her, his voice triumphant. But Miss James, isn’t it true that your parents were butchered by an immigrant worker twenty years ago? Could that be why you didn’t push harder for the death penalty?

The remaining journalists, even those who knew and liked her, were gathering round him, voices clamoring to be heard over the sounds of traffic.

Is that true, Miss James?

Did you let Aran Travello off easy?

Jenna stood for a moment, hands clasped tightly around her briefcase, back straight. The light changed to red, and the small sign signaled it was safe to walk. She wanted to scream at them. Instead, she waited until the sign flickered that time was almost up. She nodded a silent plea to the patrolman at the corner and, without glancing back, dashed across the street.

CHAPTER THREE

Rage had replaced his anger by the time Michael made it to the apartment. The son of a bitch! All he thought about was himself. He knew Michael was intending to announce his candidacy in three months. Now he’d be stuck for God-knows-how-long cleaning up another one of his father’s messes.

He poured a glass of scotch and downed it. And what the hell had his mother done that time to incur the old man’s wrath? His hand clenched the glass. She’d probably spouted off about something that wasn’t any of her business, just like every time before. He’d told her over and over again to keep her mouth shut and stay in her place.

He poured another shot and downed it quickly. He’d have to clear his schedule at the office, fly to Kentucky, and make arrangements to have his mother’s body brought back here.

Damn you! He threw the glass against the wall just as the apartment door opened.

Michael! Jenna covered her face as pieces of shattered glass pelted her.

Oh, God, Jenna, I’m sorry. Are you all right? He removed her hands from her face, running his fingers through her hair and over her arms and neck. Are you cut?

I don’t think so. Jenna pushed back from him, noting the lines of strain around his mouth and eyes.

Michael, what’s wrong?