Gideon, Robin - Desire of the Phantom [Ecstasy in the Old West] (Siren Publishing Classic) (56 page)

* * * *

The jurors entered the courtroom, and Garrett unconsciously held his breath. How did they look? He studied
the faces of the men. Were they pleased with the decision
they’d come to?

Beneath the table, Garrett reached over, placed his hand
upon Pamela’s, and gave it a confident squeeze, and then he smiled at her.

“Everything is going to be just fine,” he said.

She closed her eyes.

Judge Dahlmann turned a grave face toward the jury. Garrett
looked at the judge, remembering how confident he’d ap
peared when he had accepted Jonathon Darwell’s bribe. It
seemed so unjust that such a man should have power over
so many honest people.

“Has the jury reached its verdict?” the judge asked.

Andy Fields rose to his feet. Garrett noticed that his hair
was sticking to his forehead, plastered there by perspiration. It was hot, but not that hot. And then Fields glanced
from the judge over to Garrett, and Garrett’s fear level soared.
Fields looked absolutely lost.

“The jury has reached its decision,” Fields said, his
voice soft
.

“Please speak up,” Judge Dahlmann said.

“You bet, Judge,” Fields replied.

There was a moment of laughter from the spectators in
the audience at Andy Fields’s disrespectful reply. The
spectators were silenced instantly when the judge glared
at them. He had the power to intimidate an entire room
full of people with just a look.

“Ah, sorry, Your Honor,” Fields replied. He pulled at
the collar of his shirt to loosen it then cleared his throat three times in succession. “The jury…” he began then
stopped. His gaze darted from Judge Dahlmann to Garrett Ran
dolph then over to Jonathon Darwell.

Garrett’s stomach tightened into a knot. He couldn’t
breathe.

“Well?” Judge Dahlmann prodded, leaning toward the jury
box, clearly annoyed that Fields was taking so long.

“The jury finds the defendant
…
not guilty.”

Robert Simms, sitting in the back row of the jury box,
bolted to his feet, exclaiming, “What the hell?”

Angie Darwell also rose swiftly at the verdict, shouting,
“She’s guilty! Hang that bitch or I’ll kill you all, you stu
pid bastards!”

Her father and brother moved to restrain her, but the jury was clearly stunned by her outburst. Angie’s face turned crimson as she struggled to extricate herself from
Jonathon and Michael. She was trying to get to Pamela, and
from the look in her eyes, one would conclude she intended to kill Pamela Bragg herself.

Garrett guessed what had happened during the jury deliberations. Deception could be the only explanation for Robert Simms’s exclamation. Garrett knew that if Simms had a chance to explain, everything was lost.

All his life, Garrett Randolph had loathed chaos, confu
sion, disorder. Now, he had to create what he hated to protect the woman he loved.

He exploded to his feet, intentionally striking the table
, causing it to topple over, sending all his notes and papers to the floor.

“This jury owes my client an apology!” Garrett declared
at high volume, rushing toward the judge’s bench. He wanted Dahlmann paying attention to him, not to Robert
Simms. “This trial has been a mockery of justice. A trav
esty. I want an apology for my client.”

Judge Dahlmann pounded with his gavel. “Order! This court will come to order immediately, or I’ll find each and every one of you in contempt.”

Angie was trapped between her father and brother.
Though she couldn’t free herself from them, they couldn’t
silence her vindictive tongue either.

“Judge, kill that tramp!” Angie shouted. “My father paid you
good money, goddamn it, so it’s time you earned some of it!”

Garrett heard those words and thought,
Thank God she’s
a lunatic!

Dahlmann reacted to Angie’s words by pounding his gavel
with all his might. He couldn’t afford to have Angie saying
such things. He shouted, “Bailiff, arrest that woman for
slander. I want silence in this court this very instant. Court
adjourned. The verdict is not guilty.”

Angie was still screaming. “Arrest me? You insignificant
fool.” She turned to Jonathon and shouted, though his
face was close to her own and he was trying his level best to place his hand over her mouth. “Papa, kill that
man. Have him killed right now.”

Amidst the confusion, Garrett watched Andy Fields slip
out the side door of the courtroom. Then he rushed to
where Pamela was seated, looking upon the chaos in stunned
silence. He took her hand and literally jerked her to her
feet.

“Time to go,” he said above the rising din in the court
room.

* * * *

Two years later

Pamela sat in her rocking chair, sipping tea sweetened with
honey. She looked at her husband, wishing there was
something she could say that would ease his mind, something she could do to turn the clock backward so that the
past could not haunt Garrett Randolph.

The burden of guilt, she knew, rested squarely on her
own shoulders, though Garrett was the one who had to carry
its weight. For a second, she closed her eyes, loving her
husband more than life itself, wishing there was some way
she could erase what had gone before so his reputation
would be as spotless as it had been when she’d fallen in love with this enigmatic man.

“Why don’t you have a brandy, dear?” she suggested softly. “It’ll help soothe your nerves.”

“I’m not nervous,” Garrett replied much too quickly,
stopping his pacing of the library for the first time in the
past three hours. “Besides, I need to keep my wits about me.”

“Of course, darling,” Pamela replied softly.

It had been a difficult mayoral campaign. Garrett’s op
ponent had never let the voters forget he had married
a woman who had been tried for murder. Added to this
were the varying accounts of what had truly transpired at
the trial. The head juror, Andy Fields, had disappeared immediately after Pamela had been found not guilty. Six months later Fields had broken his neck falling down a
flight of stairs in a bordello in San Francisco. When the
authorities had checked Fields’s hotel room, they’d found
almost three thousand dollars in currency and gold coin. There was no
official
explanation as to how a man like Andy Fields was in possession of that kind of money, though rumors suggested a link to Garrett Randolph and his vast fortune.

When Garrett’s opponent had suggested that Pamela be
brought to trial again—after all, the conclusion of her first trial was not exactly by the book—Garrett had pointed out she
couldn’t
be brought to trial again.

Pamela thought about all the things that had happened to
the Darwells since the trial, and even though she tried to hate the family, she could not wish what tragedies had befallen
them upon anyone. Michael Darwell had been the first to fall vic
tim. The once-proud and even arrogant young businessman, who strutted through the streets and boudoirs of
Whitetail Creek as though he owned the entire city and the people in it instead of just its largest casino, was now pushed daily
along the boardwalks in a wheelchair. A thief, the news
papers had reported, had broken into the Cattleman’s Para
dise to steal money from Michael’s personal safe. A
scuffle ensued, and then a shot rang out, striking a glanc
ing blow to Michael’s temple. At first the wound did not
seem too serious. But though his eyes opened and closed,
he had lost the use of his limbs. He could not speak or
communicate in any way, though there were those people
who said there was fear in his eyes whenever Angie was
nearby.

Angie was the only person who’d heard the late-night
gunshot ring out, and she was the one who had found
Michael and supplied the “facts” of the break-in and
shooting that had been given to the newspapers. She was,
the newspapers had reported, “heartsick” over the inci
dent involving her brother, though after the tantrum she’d
thrown in court, there were many people who doubted she
could be heartsick over anything.

Jonathon Darwell, with his beloved son now in a vegetative
state, slipped deeper and deeper into an all-pervasive de
pression. He was rarely seen in public now, and rumor
had it that he now refused to see his daughter alone. He
had a standing order among the servants that, whenever
she asked to see him, at least one servant was to be in the
room with them at all times.

But that was another family, one that Pamela no longer
had much to worry about, though it did seem as though justice had been cheated because Angie was still dashing
about the streets of Whitetail Creek, her heart as untroubled as
it ever had been
. Political scandals, murder, maiming—none of it
had actually touched Angie deeply, and Pamela suspected that
nothing could.

Though Garrett had tried to make sure his life was
free of scandals during his first political campaign, many
voters were questioning just exactly how honest a man he
was.

Even Pamela had asked him how he’d managed to get her
set free, and he looked her straight in the eyes and said,
“I’ll tell you this once, and then we’ll never speak of it
again. You once told me we couldn’t win the case because
Jonathon Darwell doesn’t play by the rules, but I do. The more I thought about that, the more I realized you
were absolutely right. So, for once in my life, I
didn’t
play by the rules. I used Jonathon Darwell’s methods and Michael
Darwell’s money to defeat Angie Darwell’s wishes.”

Pamela wanted to ask more, but she’d promised Garrett she’d
never again bring the subject up, and she had kept that promise.

Almost one year to the day after the trial, after a six-month engagement, Pamela and Garrett had been married. Their life together had been blissful until Garrett had decided
to run for mayor of Whitetail Creek. That was when the past, and
all the rumors, came back to haunt them.

The clock chimed softly. Ten times. The voting booths
had been closed for three hours. That meant the counters should have the total very soon.

Pamela watched Garrett pacing the length of the library, and she thought,
If I’ve destroyed his political career, I’ll never
forgive myself.