style="font-size:15px;"> “You aren’t going in?” Caleb asked after him, surprised.
“No, I’m only here to wait for a friend,” he said. “I’ll do that outside.”
The man smiled, adjusted his glasses and was out the front doors in a flash.
Caleb would later pinpoint that smile as the moment he knew something bad was about to happen. But in the present he would try to pretend everything was all right, dismissing the feeling in lieu of doing his job correctly. He’d already almost lost his career because he’d let himself get carried away once. Plus, like he’d told Robbie, he was new in town. That man, and his out-of-place smile, could have been one of the nicest locals he’d ever meet. Who was he to judge? Especially after what he’d done?
So he’d let his mind swim back to dry land and stood diligently at his post. This was just another job he had to do—and do well—to get back to where he should be. Back in Portland, away from small towns and their problems. Away from everyone knowing your name. Away from the humidity, droves of mosquitoes and copious amounts of sweet tea. He didn’t have time for distractions. He needed to focus on the end goal.
But then no sooner had he gotten the thought than the fire alarms started going off.
* * *
THE JUDGE WASN’T even in the room before Alyssa and the rest of the courtroom were being ushered outside.
Just when I was getting up my nerve, she thought in the middle of the group. Together they all created a blob of people talking loudly to one another, to the point where even her thoughts became muddled. She tried to look for someone in charge to ask them if it was a false alarm or if the fire was real but couldn’t see anyone other than her courtroom companions. At least there was a smiling one among them, looking right at her.
Robbie picked his way through the crowd to stop in front of her.
“It’s always something, isn’t it?” he greeted, motioning back to the building. The sirens screeched something awful. While Alyssa had been itching to get everything done with, she was at least thankful to be out of that noise. The beginnings of a tension headache were starting to swarm in the back of her head.
She snorted.
“We spent a year waiting for this day,” she said. “What’s a few more minutes?”
“Your optimism is always refreshing,” he said, knowing full well she’d been sarcastic.
She smiled up at him.
In the last year, she’d grown close to Robbie and his wife, Eleanor. She’d made sure they both knew that they owed her nothing in trying to protect Robbie at the bank. Mostly because she hadn’t done a thing to actually protect him. With or without her body covering his, he’d still almost died. But then they’d point out that if she hadn’t been where she was, Dupree might not have shot her.
“Nowhere in that bank was safe as long as Dupree and Anna were inside,” she had often countered.
They would quiet then, remembering Larissa and Carl had been shot too. And nowhere near where Robbie and Alyssa had been.
Still, Alyssa and the Rickmans had grown close through more than any sense of warranted or unwarranted life debt. Which made her feel more comfortable being candid around either of them. She lowered her voice and admitted something she wouldn’t have said otherwise.
“I’m a little glad I get a break from seeing Dupree, though. Between the newspapers, the local news channels and the occasional nightmare, I’m tired of seeing him.”
Robbie nodded.
“Even Eleanor can’t stand to turn the TV on lately. But, like I tell her, this is our last hurdle and then we’re done,” he said. He reached over and patted her arm. “After this we can all move on and live happy, full lives with a completely rational fear of banks for the rest of those happy, full lives.”
Alyssa gave him a smile for his attempt at humor and hoped that was true. Closure for her would be when the Storm Chasers landed behind bars for life, never to hurt her or anyone else ever again.
“Can I have everyone’s attention?”
They turned to none other than Judge Anderson, the judge for this case. Her robes moved in the stiff breeze as she descended the entrance stairs and came to a stop in front of the crowd. Another courtroom deputy, an older man Alyssa recognized but couldn’t recall his name, stood at her side. Alyssa wondered where the other man was. The golden-haired deputy with the muscled body in no way hiding beneath his uniform.
A little bit of heat started to swirl behind her cheeks at the thought of that muscled body. Why she never met men like him during the everyday routines of her life, she’d never know.
“I wanted to personally tell you all that we’ll be taking a recess until this afternoon at one o’clock,” she said, her voice carrying clear across the distance. “I am sorry for the inconvenience.”
A series of groans erupted through the crowd, followed by the clash of everyone talking at once. Alyssa was one of them.
“Speaking of hurdles,” she deadpanned.
Robbie let out a hoot of laughter.
“Why don’t we turn that frown upside down and take my beautiful wife out for some coffee and cake?” he said with a pat on her back. “Because I know she probably needs some caffeine considering how late she’s running anyways. My treat. What do you say?”
Alyssa felt her lips upturn in a smile.
“You had me at coffee,” she said, nodding. “But isn’t it a little too early for cake?”
Robbie laughed again. “According to my wife, there’s never a wrong time for cake.”
Caleb was pacing. An action he actively tried to avoid doing.
For one, people who paced were not in control of their current situation. Hence the nervous movement edged with anxiety and uncertainty. His career—and his personality if he was being frank—had made his desire to be in control, well, desirable. So he wasn’t a fan of walking back and forth trying to burn anxious energy. Second, pacing usually meant someone was waiting for something to happen, and patience was also not Caleb’s strongest suit.
Yet here he was, moving back and forth just inside the entrance of the courthouse on repeat. Burning a hole in the lobby’s faded carpet.
It had been three hours since the fire alarm went off. Since there was no fire in the building, or even smoke, Caleb had put his bet on the culprit being a punk kid or a disgruntled attendee. Someone who wanted to break up their day with a little excitement. That is, until he’d seen the alarm that had been pulled.
Smashed beyond recognition. Obliterated. It had been a miracle the sirens had managed to keep blaring after the alarm had been pulled and then destroyed. They’d had to wait for the fire department to shut it all down. One firefighter had whistled low at the broken shell of the alarm and asked what was the point of
