Berry took a deep breath and stepped down from the witness stand. Unfortunately, her expert testimony as a forensic artist in the murder trial of businessman Kevin Diaz wasn’t over. She’d have to come back tomorrow and testify about her sessions with the eyewitness and the drawing she’d created of the suspect. The goal—to get the sketch of the suspect introduced into evidence. It would bolster the eyewitness testimony to have the contemporaneous drawing in front of the jury.
If the defense attorney was able to tear apart her testimony, the prosecution’s case would be severely weakened. And a guilty man likely would walk free. She refused to let that happen.
She walked out of the courtroom doors, and then the other bailiff standing outside nodded to her, indicating she was on her own. Dear God, please give me the strength to get through this. Let my testimony help the jury so that justice may be done for the murder of an innocent woman.
“Ms. Berry!” A male voice rang out down the courthouse hallway.
The last thing she wanted to do right now was deal with the press. She’d refused every media inquiry thus far, and she would do the same again today. Because of Kevin Diaz’s position in the community, the local Atlanta media were having a field day covering the trial.
“No comment.” She turned around and came face to face with a tall man in a dark suit and a navy checkered tie. No, he didn’t look like the press. He had to be a Fed. His dark brown hair was cut short, and his eyes were a striking deep green.
“I’m not a reporter,” he said. “Please let me escort you to your vehicle, and I’ll explain.”
She took a step, and he followed her.
She turned to him. “Who are you?”
He looked her in the eyes. “I’m US Marshal Max Preston.”
Close. She had figured him for FBI. Having dealt with the FBI quite a bit in her line of work, she knew its style, and he fit it perfectly down to the gun she caught a glimpse of on his right hip. Though she wasn’t accustomed to consulting for the US Marshals, they were obviously built from the same mold.
“As you can tell, I’m a bit preoccupied right now with this trial.” She reached into her pocket for her business card. “Here’s my card. Contact me and we can set up a consultation. But it will probably be a few weeks before I can fit it into my schedule.” When he refused the card, she pocketed it and pushed open the courthouse door. The summer heat of Atlanta hit her, and she already felt her hair starting to frizz.
“I know this is bad timing, but I need five minutes,” he said, following her outside.
The persistent marshal wasn’t taking no for an answer. They walked down the courthouse steps on to the sidewalk.
“Really, sir, this isn’t a good time.”
He touched her arm. “It’s important, Ms. Berry. I wouldn’t come to you like this otherwise, but I really need to talk to you. Now.”
Then she heard car wheels screeching loudly. Looking toward the street, she saw a dark SUV barreling down the road in their direction at top speed. Instinctively, she took a step back.
The tinted window rolled down, and the sound of gunshots exploded through the air. Before she could duck, she found herself hitting the sidewalk hard with the faint taste of blood in her mouth.
Screams and mass chaos erupted around her. As she looked up, trying to determine what had happened, she realized that the US marshal with the bright green eyes was on top of her, shielding her body with his own. He had knocked her down. Probably saving her life.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said quietly in her ear. “Are you okay?” He lifted his weight off her and his eyes scanned her from head to toe, as if looking for signs of injury.
“I’m fine.” She paused, trying to catch her breath. “Wait a minute. You think those bullets were meant for me?”
He gently pulled her up off the ground and wrapped one arm around her shoulder to steady her. “Unfortunately, I do. I need to get you to a secure location. Now.”
As police officers swarmed around them, he flashed his marshal’s badge and was able to get through the crowd. He pulled one of the officers aside. “Neil, we need to talk.”
“What happened here?” the officer asked him.
“Drive-by shooting. Approximately five shots fired. Two men, driver and passenger.”
“Did you get a visual on either?”
“Negative, but they were in a black Chevy SUV—model year late nineties. I’m assuming it was stolen, and they’re probably dumping the vehicle as we speak.”
“You’re probably right about that.”
“Look, Neil, call me if you need anything else, but right now I need to get this witness out of here. When it’s safe, we can provide official statements. Please keep me in the loop. You have my info.”
The officer nodded at Max and then looked at her closely. Recognition spread across his face. He must have been following the Diaz trial. “Of course. Whatever you need, Max.”
Max took her arm and led her down the street away from the courthouse. “I should try to explain why I came here today. I think you’re in more danger than you could know.”
“With that lead in, I guess you already know me pretty well.”
“Yes, I do, Ms. Berry.”
“Please, call me Sydney. After you saved my life I feel like the formalities are a bit much. Can I call you Max?”
“Of course.”
“So, what’s going on exactly?”
He gently touched her back and guided her to his car, which he’d parked in the lot down the block from the courthouse. He opened the door, and she got into the nondescript gray sedan. Only then did he start to explain.
“I used to work in the gang unit at the FBI.” He paused. “But I came here today to warn you that there was chatter amongst the gang networks about you. Have you ever heard of the East River gang?”
“Yeah, they’re pretty notorious.” She wasn’t ready to provide her specific knowledge of the East River gang to this man she just met. Even if he had saved her life, she thought it better to proceed with caution. That was the way she lived now.
“Well, I put two and two together and I think the East River gang has decided to go after you because of your testimony here in the case against Kevin Diaz.”
“Kevin Diaz is a businessman with multiple thriving companies. What connection could he possibly have to the East River gang?” She kept her voice steady even as her mind started to play out the implications of this new piece of information.
“Kevin’s cousin is Lucas Jones, who just happens to also be one of the power players in East River.”
She looked over at him. “Wow. I had no idea they were related.” She paused. “And now you think
