“And this new evidence is the testimony of the girlfriend of the formerly accused and the estranged wife of the newly accused?”
“Yes.”
Delacorte huffs on the bench. “And the DA’s office deems this credible?” He clearly doesn’t want to let me off the hook.
I shoot a semi-worried glance toward Grier, who gives a nearly imperceptible shake of his head. Okay then. If Grier is unflustered, then I’m not getting my boxers in a bunch.
“We do. We have a recording of Mr. O’Halloran confessing to the crime. The statements of the victims are corroborated by the initial physical evidence at the scene, as well as post-incident statements heard by Detective Cousins, Detective Schmidt, and Officer Tomas wherein Mr. O’Halloran admitted that he’d mistaken the identity of the deceased for his wife.”
“Are you absolutely certain you have the right person this time? The last time I was here, you swore that Mr. Royal was the perpetrator of this violent crime. In fact, we had a sentencing hearing scheduled due to the fact that he was going to plead guilty. Were you wrong then or now?” Delacorte says sarcastically.
The lawyer’s cheeks grow red. “We were wrong then,” he says, and despite his embarrassment, his voice is firm.
It’s so obvious that Judge Delacorte doesn’t want to rule in my favor. He wants me to rot. Unfortunately for him, he’s going to bed tonight with bitter failure in his mouth.
He picks up his gavel. “Motion sustained,” he snaps. “Anything else, counsel?”
“Yes, one more thing.” The prosecutor turns and whispers something to his co-counsel.
Grier begins to pack up his things.
“Are we done here?” I ask.
Grier nods. “Yes. Congratulations. You’re officially free of all of this.”
I take my first full breath since walking into the courthouse. “Thanks.” I shake his hand, even though the real person I should be thanking is behind me. Grier, on the other hand, believed I should plead guilty in spite of my innocence.
East reaches over the small railing, but his high-five halts in mid-air at the next words out of the prosecutor’s mouth.
“We’d like to bring charges against Steven George O’Halloran.”
I suck in a breath as Steve exits a side room, accompanied by a uniformed guard. Steve enters the courtroom and walks to the defense table, but his expressionless gaze doesn’t once stray in my direction. Or his daughter’s.
“Read them off, counselor,” Judge Delacorte says in a bored tone, as if this is an everyday occurrence. I guess it is for him, but it’s not for us.
Not for Ella.
I glance over my shoulder to find that her face is a mixture of horror and awful sadness. So I murmur to East, “Get her out of here.”
My brother nods, obviously agreeing that Ella doesn’t need to hear all these charges read out against her father. “Come on, Ella, let’s go. We’re done here,” he says in a low voice.
But Ella refuses to leave. She grabs Dinah’s hand, of all people. And Dinah, the gold-digger, the blackmailer, grips my girl’s hand in return. The two of them lean against each other as the prosecutor reads from the indictment.
“Steven George O’Halloran, hereinafter known as defendant, in the county of Bayview and the state of North Carolina, did knowingly commit murder in the second degree which resulted in the death of Brooke Anna Davidson.”
“Will the defendant step forward?”
I move out of the way and watch in stupefied amazement as Grier pulls out another file. Holy hell. He wasn’t packing up. He was putting my case away and preparing to defend Steve.
Steve buttons his jacket as he approaches the bench. He looks confident and composed, but he still refuses to meet my eyes.
“How do you plead?” Delacorte asks.
“Not guilty,” Steve says in a loud, clear voice.
My hand curls into a fist. Not guilty, my ass. I want to end him. I want to drive his face into the wood table until it’s a bloody, unrecognizable mess. I want—
A hand clasps my wrist. I look up and stare at Ella’s lovely, unhappy face and realize what I was on the verge of doing. Closing my eyes, I lean my forehead against hers. “You ready to go home?”
“I am.”
I take her hand and then we leave the courtroom—and Steve—behind us, my family filing out after us. Outside, a few reporters rush at us, but the Royal boys are big and intimidating. We form a protective circle around Ella and keep the vultures away as we exit the courthouse.
Dad meets us by his Mercedes. “You’re going to come home with us, Ella.”
“For good?” she asks warily.
He smiles. “For good. Grier is filing guardianship papers as we speak.” The smile fades quickly, though. “We’re using Steve’s current legal troubles as grounds for an emergency ruling.”
I don’t miss the sorrow swimming in my father’s eyes. Steve’s betrayal hurt all of us, but it hurt Dad the most. Steve is—was—his best friend, but the asshole was willing to let me go to prison for a crime that Steve committed.
And he…
My throat tightens as I remember the other betrayal.