brought in last night.
A note on it said: Allie’s relaxation supplies.
Curiosity piqued, she looked inside only to swallow hard. How in the world had Caleb remembered?
Her favorite way to wind down after a really tough day was with a guilty pleasure she hadn’t indulged in since…
Well, since leaving him.
With reverence, she removed the jumbo bag of mixed-flavor Jolly Rancher candies and a movie-star gossip magazine. She sniffed the bag. Her favorite green apple flavor shone through.
Running her hand over the magazine’s glossy cover, she drooled over Catherine Zeta-Jones’s latest premiere gown—stunning. She snuck a quick peek inside….
Aw, Gwyneth’s baby, Apple, is adorable.
Mmm…could Jude Law be any hotter?
Could Caleb be any sweeter?
Cal bounded down the stairs. “Mom? What’re you doin’? It’s time for us to go.” He’d been so bored at the house by himself the day before, that today she’d decided to take him with her to the office. At least there, with her mostly female staff fussing over him, he wouldn’t lack for attention.
“I know,” she said, tucking the magazine and candy in her satchel. Just having the contraband goodies tucked beside her felt akin to taking part of Caleb to work with her—the best part. His fun side!
She was feeling good about her day ahead—how could you not feel good when gazing at Jude? Then, on the trip out of her garage past the front yard and onto the street, her day wasn’t just ruined, but pulverized.
Gaping at the house, she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
How could someone have done that?
“Mom, what—”
“Look away,” she said, covering Cal’s eyes, glad for once to be in the back of the government-owned SUV. Why hadn’t she left Cal inside, where he’d be oblivious to the malicious vandalism that’d gone on right under their noses?
On the flip side, what if he’d still be in danger inside their house, across the front porch of which someone had scrawled in blood red, Die Commie Bitch!
On the front steps lay the bloodied carcass of what, she didn’t want to know.
“I—I thought there was round-the-clock protection?” she said to the driver. “How did those guys get so close?”
The man sighed. Rubbed his forehead. “There was a diversion, ma’am. They were in and out in a matter of seconds. Trust me, this will never happen again.”
Allie hugged Cal close, the marshal’s words offering no comfort.
Chapter Four
Upon arriving at Allie’s house, fury didn’t begin to describe Caleb’s cold rage. “Someone mind telling me what the hell happened here last night? ’Cause unless I’m mistaken, not a damned one of you was doing your job.”
Adam said, “Peterson, Juarez and Franko got sick. Food poisoning. We’re guessing from that crappy convenience store on fifty-first. Old hot dogs and chili.” He shuddered. “Lethal combo. Anyway, we had to call in local guys till help gets here from New Jersey.”
“New freakin’ Jersey?” Caleb said, eyebrows raised. “You trying to tell me the closest marshal we could get was all the way from out east?”
“Sorry, man.”
“Sorry? That’s not gonna cut it. Adam, bro, I trusted you.” Lowering his voice, he said, “Allie is more than just a case to me. I mean, I’d protect any ordinary assignment with my life, but for her—”for my son, I’d give my soul.
“I get it,” Adam said. “It won’t happen again.”
“It better not.”
JUST WHEN ALLIE thought her current case couldn’t get worse, it did. Mr. Foster, the sweet old man who lived across from the post office, was dead. The initial coroner’s report said heart attack. But there were a lot of unnatural ways a so-called natural death could be caused.
“Ordinarily,” she said from her bench, the courtroom again bursting with reporters and victims’ families, “I’d want to recess in light of last night’s events. But in this case, I think it’d be best for all concerned if we forge ahead.”
The defense attorney launched into a showboat cross-examination leading to a series of sustained objections, during which, Francis’s expression grew steadily darker.
“Damn commie bitch,” the defendant eventually mumbled.
“Mr. Ashford,” she said, slamming her gavel against the bench. “Congratulations. You’ve just earned a oneway ticket back to your cell. Bailiff.”
From the gallery came a smattering of applause.
“Order,” Allie said with another slam of her gavel while the defendant was escorted out of the room. When the gallery finally settled, she turned to the defense, starting to feel like the proverbial broken record. “One more stunt like that, Mr. Bennett, and you’ll be fined.”
The defense attorney sputtered, “But all I was doing was pointing out to the jury that my client loves to receive mail, so therefore, he couldn’t have even conceived of performing a stunt so heinous, as to destroy that sainted facility from whence his beloved mail flows.”
“Mr. Bennett, congratulations. You’ve just donated five hundred dollars to the victims’ memorial fund.”
The gallery erupted in still more applause—with the frequency of fines and/or courtroom removals a now regular occurrence.
By the time she’d called it quits for the afternoon session, Allie was beyond tired. With any luck, they’d be adjourned for good within a week—two at the latest.
“MOM, YOU SHOULDA’ SEEN Caleb at your office today! While you were in court, he was crazy. We turned your desk around backwards and made it into a soccer goal. He got more goals than anyone ever in the whole world!”
“That’s awesome, baby.” Allie gave the Italian sausage and onions she was frying for spaghetti a stir.
“And then at lunch he taught me how to make a cookie Frisbee.”
“And that’s a good thing?” She opened a can of stewed tomatoes.
“Yeah. It was awesome. All my friends are gonna love him. ’Specially Billy.”
“Who is this Billy?” Allie asked. After shaking salt on the meat, she grabbed some canned mushrooms. She’d have rather used fresh, but in light of all the recent excitement, she hadn’t exactly had time for shopping. “I’ve never heard you talk about him.”
“I dunno.” From his seat at the table where he was writing his weekly spelling words, Cal
