Courting Trouble (18 page)

The room sucked the air from Cade’s lungs. He looked at his father. The old man was right in theory, and in practice. Hudd was right. Cade closed his eyes for the briefest second and his palm settled flat on the cool, hard surface of his desk. “You want me to ask for a restraining order against Savannah McGrath on behalf of Bobby Hopkins,” Cade said softly.

He turned and faced his father, his voice bolder, his gaze sharper. “You expect me to ask for a restraining order.” Cade squinted his eyes and shook his head. “This is
Savannah
. I don’t think it’s appropriate—”

“
You
don’t think it’s appropriate?” Hudd shot out. He lifted his cane and jabbed it toward Cade. “Who in the hell made
you
the judge? If it was any other case with any other client you’d be over there faster than a jackrabbit running from a bear. It’s a damn custody case and the mother unloaded four rounds—”

“Two rounds,” Cade said. He’d read the police report.

“Savannah McGrath blasted your client’s roof.”

Cade didn’t want to do this. Tulsa would kill him for doing this.

“You wanna get yourself disbarred because Wilder thinks you’re tossing softballs at Savannah? Or you wanna do your job on the case you took?”

“I didn’t
take
the case,” Cade said. “This case was assigned.”

“Well, it’s your case now,” Hudd said. He tapped his cane against Cade’s shoe. “Listen to me, boy. Wilder will kick your ass from here to the other side of the world. He knows you and he knows your history. Wilder’ll expect you to ask for the restraining order. And if you don’t, he’ll think you went soft on Savannah because of Tulsa.”

Cade looked up at his ceiling. Muscle clamped to bone and Cade’s shoulder raged with pain. He let a blast of air out of his mouth, hopeful every frustration, every irritation, every resentment could blow from his body with that one simple breath. Not a chance. Just when he thought today would be an easy day.

Chapter Eighteen

Judge McKittrick’s criminal courtroom was similar in size and shape to Judge Wilder’s, but the energy was different, as was the smell. Desperation hovered in the air and with it the sour scent of fear. Defendants with scrunched brows and hunched shoulders huddled with their criminal-defense counsels and discussed the offers the Powder Springs DA doled out to dispose of cases. The charges facing most defendants were misdemeanors, but every defendant in this courtroom had run afoul of the law and was now—today—going to face their judgment.

Still present in both courtrooms was the wood paneling, the U.S. and Colorado flags, a clerk, a bailiff, a bench, and a bar. The only physical difference between Judge Wilder’s and Judge McKittrick’s courtroom was that beyond the bar and to the left of the judge’s bench was a door and on the other side was the lockup cage. Prisoners in orange jumpsuits, chauffeured in from jail, waited behind those bars until it was their turn to appear before the judge.

Savannah, Tulsa, and Bradford stood in the center aisle of the courtroom. Bradford didn’t usually practice criminal law, but he’d graciously offered to represent Savannah in the disposition of her illegal discharge case.

“We’re in agreement?” Bradford looked first to Savannah and then to Tulsa.

Both women nodded.

Savannah would plead guilty to illegal discharge of a weapon and, thanks to her clean record (not even a traffic ticket), she would receive a suspended sentence and a fine. If she kept out of trouble for a year the charge would be dropped from her record.

“It’s a good deal,” Tulsa said to Savannah.

Savannah nodded but the corners of her mouth pulled down and she squinted. “I don’t want a ‘good deal.’” She settled her hands on her hips. “I want the judge to understand why I shot at the bastard’s roof.”

Tulsa blew out a stream of air between her lips, then licked each one. “While all of Powder Springs understands why you shot at Bobby Hopkins’s roof, that still doesn’t make it legal.”

“I’ll tell the DA we’ve got a deal,” Bradford said. He turned and walked past the bar.

Tulsa, with Savannah behind her, scooted sideways down the row of seats just behind the bar. They sat on the wooden pew-like benches.

Kyle Edwards, the Powder Springs district attorney, had a pinched face with hard angles and sharp lines. His milk-colored complexion was made paler by the contrast of his black mustache and receding hairline. He moved from one small cluster of people to the next. Never pausing, never stopping, constantly moving, like a ground squirrel in single-minded pursuit of a new burrow.

Kyle came to an abrupt halt in front of Bradford, who leaned toward Kyle. The DA was juggling Savannah’s case file in one hand and with the other he stroked his dark-haired mustache as if a long-favored feline. Tulsa couldn’t hear the conversation but she witnessed both Bradford and Kyle nod. Bradford—the all-American-looking boy next door—slapped Kyle on the back to solidify Savannah’s plea-bargain agreement. The manslap jostled Kyle so far forward he took two steps before recovering from the stumble. A pinched smile aimed at Bradford ate up Kyle’s face.

On his way back toward the defense table, Bradford turned to Tulsa and Savannah with one thumb up. Tulsa’s diaphragm loosened, the knot that tightened her throat dissolved, and air rushed deep into her lungs. She relaxed back into the seat and crossed her legs. At least one of Savannah’s cases was finished. Tulsa glanced toward her heels and in so doing saw the shoes on Savannah’s feet. Work boots. Dirty. Ugly. Work boots.

Yes, Savannah was a sculptress. And yes, Savannah worked with metal and dirt. And yes, as an artist, different social mores attached to Savannah, but this was a courtroom—a criminal courtroom. Savannah could have at least put on a skirt.

“Nice shoes,” Tulsa said, her lips pursed. She hitched her bag up higher on her shoulder and crossed her arms over her chest.

“What?” Savannah held her upturned palms out and squinted her eyes. Her cheeks tightened as irritation fused to her face. “I was working out back in the shed burnishing copper while you were still dreaming of Cade.” “I wasn’t dreaming of Cade,” Tulsa whispered. She shifted her weight and leaned away from Savannah.

“Was too,” Savannah whispered. The teasing lilt in her sister’s voice meant to annoy Tulsa.

“Was not,” Tulsa said.

“Was too.”

“Was not,” Tulsa said with finality. She turned her head and gave Savannah her best I-am-the-older-sister-stop-messing-around look, but Tulsa knew that Savannah’s teasing and the back and forth—so inappropriate in the courtroom—was her sister’s way of defusing her nerves. Some people chattered, some yelled, some joked, and some withdrew. Savannah might do any one or all of those behaviors. Today she settled on cross between teasing her older sister and joking like an eight-year-old.

Savannah leaned in close toward Tulsa’s ear. “Was too.”

Jeez! Not eight years old, maybe five.

“All rise,” the bailiff called out. Judge Tilly McKittrick entered the courtroom from her chamber door. Everyone in the courtroom stood.

“This court will be in session,” the bailiff continued. “The Honorable Tilly McKittrick presiding.”

“What’s our first case?” Judge McKittrick asked Kyle.

Kyle took a loose-limbed step toward the bench. “Your Honor, I believe all the parties are present for State vs. McGrath.”

Panic bulleted through Tulsa’s stomach. There was no reason for the anxiousness that churned through her belly, clumping and coagulating and then thinning out to a low pulse. Savannah had a deal with the DA. A good deal, a fair deal, a deal that got rid of the illegal discharge case.

Savannah stood and scooted past Tulsa. Before she exited the row, Tulsa squeezed her sister’s hand. Savannah’s fingers were limp and cold while her palms were warm, slick, and clammy. Savannah was scared.

Tulsa didn’t hear the door at the back of the courtroom open, but she recognized the man who blew past her. Her heart fluttered—fear fought with desire. His steps hard against the wood floor, he pushed past the bar without a glance at Tulsa.

Cade walked straight to the DA and whispered into Kyle’s ear. Savannah tilted her chin toward the floor, the color fell from her face, and her chin trembled. Tulsa fought the urge to jump up and rush to her sister—to stand beside Savannah and protect her from whatever Cade was saying to Kyle. The DA pulled his head away from Cade and straightened his tie.

“Your Honor,” Kyle said, “Mr. Montgomery is here on some business for Mr. Hopkins. You’re aware Mr. Hopkins is the person that Miss McGrath shot at—”

“Allegedly shot at,” Bradford interrupted.

“Excuse me, Your Honor.” Kyle settled onto his right foot, jutted his palm up, and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “According to fifteen witnesses,
allegedly
shot at.”

“Your Honor, if I may,” Bradford said. “According to the police report, Miss McGrath didn’t shoot at Mr. Hopkins. In fact, the gun may have accidentally fired—”

Kyle interrupted. “After she raised the gun, aimed the gun, and shot the gun—”

“Those are all contested facts,” Bradford continued. He flashed Judge McKittrick his winning lady-killer of a smile. “Nothing, absolutely nothing, has been proved. And also, the court shouldn’t forget—”

“As if I could,” Judge McKittrick mumbled.

Bradford continued to direct his swoon-worthy smile at the judge. “This accidental discharge didn’t take place at Mr. Hopkins’s house; it was at his mother’s home.”

Judge McKittrick looked up from the file and her brown eyes examined the attorneys before her.

“Gentlemen, I know what’s contested and what’s not. What I don’t know is why Mr. Montgomery blew into my courtroom on a case in which he has no part.”

Kyle shifted from side to side as if weighing his words. “Your Honor.” Kyle settled, his arms crossed over his chest and his hands thrust into his armpits. “Mr. Montgomery is here because his client, Mr. Hopkins…” In a quick burst of words, as if ripping a Band-Aid off a wound, Kyle said, “Seeks a restraining order against Savannah McGrath.”

Anger thrust upward into Tulsa’s throat. A pulsing sensation beat out behind her eyes as her gaze narrowed on Cade, standing beside Kyle: calm, not meeting her gaze, the collected attorney with complete disregard to how his actions impacted Tulsa and her family. Betrayal burrowed through her mind. These feelings, these emotions—they made little sense. There was no logic involved but they flooded her and she was unable to will them away.

There was one simple reason that Cade asked for a restraining order for Bobby. Cade was putting the screws to Savannah so she’d make concessions on Ash’s custody agreement with Bobby.

“Your Honor, may we approach?” Bradford asked. His voice less jovial, contained an edge.

Bradford, Cade, and the DA huddled at the bend. Tulsa strained to hear what they whispered to the judge, but she couldn’t catch a word. She grasped her hands tightly in her lap and pressed her nails into her palm. She hated being left out of the discussion.

Savannah sat behind the defendant’s table. Her shoulders slumped forward and she pressed her hand to her forehead. The three attorneys stepped away from the bench.

“We are at an impasse,” Judge McKittrick said. “We need to have a hearing regarding Mr. Montgomery’s motion for a restraining order.” Judge McKittrick looked at Bradford and then the DA. “I’m guessing the request for a temporary restraining order means no resolution on the illegal weapons charge for Ms. McGrath?”

Kyle looked at Bradford, who shook his head no.

“No, Your Honor, I’m afraid we do not, at this time, have a disposition.”

Today there would be no quick and easy disposition of Savannah’s criminal case. Savannah couldn’t plead guilty to the misdemeanor until the custody case was decided because if she did plead guilty, even to a lesser charge, Cade would use Savannah’s plea of guilt against her in Ash’s custody battle and as a piece of evidence to establish a need for the restraining order.

“Since we did not reach a disposition on the illegal discharge of a weapon case, you folks need to get ready for trial. Set this matter over once more for a pretrial conference and if nothing’s resolved on the illegal discharge case at that date, then we’ll have a jury trial two weeks after.” Judge McKittrick looked at Bradford. “I’m assuming, Mr. Bradford, that if your client’s case goes to trial, she wants a jury?”

“Of course, Your Honor.
Absolutely
,” Bradford said.

“I’m setting the hearing on the restraining order for
after
the hearing on the contested custody case.” Judge McKittrick squinted at Cade. She tilted her jaw toward the ground and perked one eyebrow up toward the ceiling. “I will not allow you, Mr. Montgomery, to utilize my courtroom in an attempt to strong-arm Savannah McGrath into a custody agreement.”

Cade nodded at the judge. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“You will reach an agreement on the custody case with Judge Wilder and not because of questionable tactics within my courtroom. Do I make myself clear?”

Cade nodded.

“Bring me some proof, Mr. Montgomery, that your client, Bobby Hopkins, truly feels in danger based on Miss McGrath’s actions or your restraining order will most assuredly be denied.” With that, Judge McKittrick pounded her gavel.

*

Tulsa didn’t wait in the courtroom for Savannah or Bradford. She blasted through the courtroom doors and pulled up short at Cade’s wall-like chest. His cheeks cut deep and dark circles ringed his eyes. For a moment his hard-nosed litigator facade dropped and Tulsa witnessed the tiniest glimpse of pain.

“Tulsa, I don’t have a choice.”

She twisted her head upward and locked her gaze onto his beautiful blue eyes.

“You always have a choice,” she said, her words just above a whisper. She didn’t need to be loud; her face, her tone, the set of her jaw, conveyed every feeling Cade needed to know. “You don’t
need
the restraining order. You could have gotten the joint-custody agreement without rolling around in the muck.”