of each other.
To their surprise, the judge had sequestered them. The trial was too public, he’d said. The media was all over it. He wasn’t going to risk a mistrial.
He’d instructed them that they could either have a family member bring them clothing or go to their home accompanied by a court official to pick up their things.
Lily had been given five minutes to gather her makeup, clothes and toiletries. No mail. No newspaper. No laptop.
The foreman stood at the head of the table, waiting. “Well, Ms. Raines? Did you hear me? We still have eleven guilty votes. I trust that now, after you’ve had several hours to review the evidence, you are prepared to admit that Sack Simon is indeed guilty?” The insurance salesman managed to sound irritable and defeated at the same time.
Lily glanced at her watch. Bill Henderson should have picked up her father hours ago. It was scary as hell not being able to talk with him to be sure everything went as planned.
The slight bulk of her cell phone pressed against her thigh. She’d hidden it in a secret pocket of her handbag, and had stuck it in the pocket of her black suit skirt this morning with the ringer turned off.
She knew she’d be in legal hot water if the bailiff discovered that she had it, but she couldn’t afford to be without some means to contact Bill Henderson. She’d given him her number. Of course, she’d had no time alone to call out or check for incoming calls. Even during the two hours she’d requested to go over the evidence again, stalling for time, a security guard had sat with her.
It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Bill. He was as reliable as they came. He would never let down a fellow officer. Plus, he and her father had been good friends.
By this time he and her father should have arrived in Jackson safe and sound.
As soon as she got out of here, she’d call and be sure everything had gone smoothly. Then she’d run home, pick up her important papers and the small stash of cash she kept hidden in her closet and head north to Jackson.
She’d pick up her dad and keep going north until she got to Memphis or even farther—so far away that Castellano’s influence wouldn’t reach them. She’d change her name if she had to. She’d started over before. She could do it again.
She looked at each of the jurors in turn, hoping the desperation and uncertainty she felt wasn’t reflected on her face.
It all comes down to what’s right, Lilybell. You can’t outrun your conscience.
I know, Dad. I’m doing it. You’d be proud of me.
“Ms. Raines, please don’t make us stay here another night. It would be a travesty of justice if we had to go out there and report that we’re deadlocked. Surely even you can’t still believe the evidence is inadequate.”
Lily took a deep breath, praying that Bill hadn’t had any trouble, wishing there was a way she could know for sure. But he had promised her he wouldn’t let her down. He was a former police officer. He could take care of himself and her father.
She had to trust him. She wasn’t sure she could live with herself or face her father again if she let a killer go free.
She clasped her hands together in her lap and took a deep breath. “I’ve studied the DNA evidence and the fingerprint, and the testimony,” she said, her voice trembling with anxiety. “I vote guilty.”
BRAND AND FOSHEE were waiting on the courthouse steps when someone shouted that the jury was back. Foshee dropped his cigarette and stomped on it.
“Let’s go. This oughtta be good.”
Brand’s phone rang. He stiffened.
Foshee turned. “Who’s that? Your ex-girlfriend again?”
Brand forced a smile. “Yeah. Go on. I’ll catch up.”
Foshee’s black eyes narrowed. “Nah. I’ll wait.”
Brand looked at the caller ID and felt his heart rate pick up. It was Pruitt.
“You know I’m busy, sweetheart,” he growled, turning the volume on the phone down. Foshee was standing uncomfortably close.
Pruitt laughed shortly. “Okay, I get it. You can’t talk. Got a report that an ex-cop buddy of Raines’s was shot in his van on Lindon Road earlier. The road to Beachside Manor.”
“Damn it!” So that’s what Lily had done. She’d tried to get her father away from the nursing home, away from the long reach of Giovanni Castellano.
She was going to vote guilty!
Sweat prickled his scalp and stung the back of his neck. He racked his brain for a way to give Pruitt a clue. “You know what that means, don’t you? Is everything else all right?”
“Yeah. A car came along and interrupted the killers. The driver called 911. The killers took a couple of potshots at the Good Samaritan, but he wasn’t injured. He got a partial tag number, too.”
“Well, that’s good, I guess. So what are you going to do now?”
Foshee’s curious black eyes snapped as he did his best to eavesdrop. Brand turned away.
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