First Surrender (Chance Encounters #3)

Chapter Three

Jackson

“ T he Motion to Suppress the warrant used to search the Defendant’s residence is granted.” Judge Reisner pounds his gavel once, punitively. The murmuring in the courtroom increases as he rises from his seat and dismisses everyone. It’s only been a week since the last Motion to Suppress Hearing.

The judge pulled everyone in for an emergency session because he was tired of this case being dragged out. It barely gave me enough time to look further into the victim of this case, Nicole Halstead, and just how dangerous Declan Randolph is.

Not only is he a drug dealer, he has a rap sheet stemming back to his adolescence. Vandalism, graffiti, and drug possession before he turned twenty years old, and it only gets worse from there. He even had a report made against him for Domestic Violence from ten years ago, though no charges were filed and he was never convicted of the crime. It shows there is a history of violence but unfortunately, in the eyes of the law, it doesn’t count.

The defense attorney slaps Declan on the shoulder while the prosecutor gathers his paperwork silently. The dark-haired woman who has become my companion on this side of the courtroom is frozen behind him with her spine locked straight. Although her head remains high, I know this is a hard blow.

I’ve been in and out of this courtroom with my own cases enough to tell when certain evidence is crucial to an investigation. This news is devastating for her and this case.

Natalie Halstead. The victim’s daughter.

Her mother was killed by Declan’s drugs and I suspect that she, more than anyone, wants to see Declan go down for his crimes. Even more than I do.

Those text messages from the last Motion to Suppress were crucial. That’s how they obtained the search warrant that the judge just voided. Now, it’s up to the prosecutor to make a strong argument without them.

He leans over the bar, speaking low enough that only she could hear. I don’t know what he said, most likely giving her some false hope for the future of this case, but she snaps her head to look at him directly and he leans back like she might smack him.

She doesn’t. Instead, she gathers her jacket and purse and storms out of the courtroom, but not before shooting unsolicited daggers in my direction.

I ignore her look of disdain because it gives me a chance to look at her fully for the first time this afternoon. A dark purple top with a v only low enough to show off her sharp collar bones. Black pants that fit like a second skin and the same heels from last time.

She’s a knockout even though her appearance screams venomous, I can tell that her attitude problem isn’t strong enough to keep people from staring at her.

I’m not staring at her. I’m only gathering information.

The same way that I observe every other person in this room and their behavior. Judge Reisner’s restlessness with this case directly correlates with the months ticking down to his retirement. Prosecutor Fulton isn’t nearly as invested in this case as he should be and I suspect his personal life is taking precedent. He hasn’t stopped checking his phone since the judge dismissed us.

The punks from last time jump up and make their exit after Declan is led out of the courtroom, and I keep my head averted as if I’m preoccupied with something else. As soon as they’re through the doors, I’m up out of my seat because I’ve also had a chance to look into Declan’s associates. They’re younger than the man on trial but following in his criminal footprints.

My goal was to exit behind them so they wouldn’t see me coming but as I enter the lobby, a squat middle-aged woman with harsh highlights stops me, nearly putting a hand on my chest. “Sheriff, I have been hoping to run into you.” Vanessa Porter, the late Sheriff Donahue’s widow, steps into my path.

“Ma’am. What can I do for you?” She’s been calling me incessantly for months and I’ve been avoiding her.

“Ma’am, oh so formal. I have wanted to bend your ear about some projects I was working on when my husband was in office. God rest his soul.” She motions the shape of a cross over her heart.

Over her head, I can see Natalie and Zachariah Keller, street name Zeek, arguing again. I believe she can handle her own, but I don’t like disturbances in my courthouse and Zeek has a warrant.

“Right, I’ll have to get in touch to set up a time to meet. Excuse me, I have business to handle.” I skirt past her, dismissing whatever response she has. Bee lining to the raised voices.

“It’s only a matter of time before Declan is out of here and we’re getting the boy back from you. You might as well stop fighting it!” Zeek barks at her, mere inches from her face.

“I will fight for Dec until the day I die you rat bastard,” she replies calmly, with all the malice in her small body.

As entertaining as it is to watch her, I’ve heard enough.

“Zachariah, you’re under arrest.” I pull out my cuffs, grabbing his wrist in a vice grip and twisting it behind his back before he can pull away.

“What the fuck? Why?” He cries, tugging his arms anyway with no success.

“You have a warrant, failure to appear.”

“Good going, dumb ass,” Natalie goads him.

“Not helping,” I grunt as I cuff his second wrist.

The huff that leaves her chest is razor-sharp. “I’m not here to help you, Sheriff Small Dick. I don’t care if he fights you.”

I have him secure so there isn’t anything stopping my focus from settling completely on the woman who just snapped a heinous insult at me. I don’t know whether I’m shocked or offended, but I’m too dumbfounded to respond. Sheriff Small Dick? What did I do to deserve that?

It doesn’t matter, she turns on her heel and struts away without a care in the world. The confidence oozing out of that woman is something else.

“That’s why we call her the Ice Queen. She’s a fucking bitch,” Zeek whines. I jerk his hands so he has to move along with me. I don’t like that type of language. Not toward her, not toward anyone.

Plus, even I can tell there isn’t anything icy about her. She’s full of fire.