Page 39 of One Dark Kiss (Grimm Bargains #2)

THIRTY-FOUR

Rosalie

O n Monday morning, I find myself dressed in my best navy-blue skirt suit, arguing passionately for Alexei to be released on his own recognizance. He stands beside me in new clothing I brought him, black slacks, a salmon-colored shirt, and a black jacket.

He glances at the shirt a couple of times and then at me. I shrug. It was in with all of his other new clothing, and I thought he liked it. He seems to like the old-fashioned black and white look. But I felt like messing with him a little bit.

The prosecuting attorney, a middle-aged woman with very pretty gray and blondish hair piled up on her head, impatiently taps her pencil on the desk.

For some reason, the sound is bugging me. Once in a while a noise other than a mouth or nose sound will feel like a spur beneath my skin.

She keeps tapping. Your Honor. With all due respect, Mr. Sokolov s prints were found on the letter opener, which was still embedded in his half brother s throat.

He was the last one to see the deceased, and there s no love lost in this family.

They completely abandoned the defendant when he was convicted of murder seven years ago.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Falsely convicted. I slam my fist on the table. I want to grab that pencil from her. The verdict has been overturned, and we have evidentiary proof that he was set up. I submitted a copy of the video showing Hendrix Sokolov actually planting evidence at the original crime scene.

Exactly my point, Your Honor, the prosecutor says.

We don t know where Hendrix obtained the knife used to murder David Fairfax seven years ago.

Perhaps he got it from his brother. Or perhaps he killed David.

Either way, Hendrix threw that knife in the pond, and Alexei went to prison for seven years. No doubt Alexei wanted revenge.

I think her name is Vicky Sloth or something like that. I wasn t really listening when she introduced herself, because my mind has been spinning all day.

She keeps tapping that damn pencil. The defendant has an excellent motive for killing his half brother.

Can you imagine spending seven years in prison for a crime because your own brother ensured the murder weapon would be found?

She looks at Alexei on my other side as she hints that he still murdered the victim. I d be angry, Judge.

So would I, the judge agrees. She s an older woman with long white hair named Valerie Flanders. But motive is irrelevant in a criminal case, as you know. Well, legally it s irrelevant, but a jury always likes to know what it is.

He has the means and the opportunity to have killed his half brother, as well, Your Honor, the prosecuting attorney says, slapping the pencil on the table. It rolls an inch my way.

Alexei smoothly steps behind me, leans over, and grabs the prosecutor s pencil.

She jerks.

He quickly steps back into place and leans down to scribble on a notebook.

Mr. Sokolov, the judge snaps.

He pauses and looks up. Yes, Judge?

She blinks. What did you just do?

Alexei has the grace to appear surprised. I thought the pencils were for everybody, and we don t have one. He leans around my front to face the prosecutor. Sorry about that. I thought you were finished with this one.

How had he known the tapping was killing me? I completely kept my cool. Does he know me that well? Your Honor, I say, trying to keep all emotion out of my voice.

The idea that Alexei could have been killed the other day sticks with me and forces me to make several harsh realizations.

The first is that somehow I ve completely fallen for the guy.

The second is that he s in danger all the time.

And the third is that this murder charge is real.

He does have an excellent motive to kill Hendrix for setting him up years ago.

Or just to regain ownership and control of Hologrid Hub now.

Alexei s prints are on the letter opener, of course, as are mine.

I clear my throat and try again. For some reason, Mr. Sokolov was sent from the jail to await a bail hearing, to prison, a place he barely escaped and was immediately attacked.

The judge looks at the prosecuting attorney. I agree with a concern there. Why in the world was Mr. Sokolov removed from the local jail and taken back to prison?

The prosecutor visibly swallows. We re trying to figure that out, Your Honor, and I haven t found a good answer. Orders came from high above, but nobody quite knows what that means.

That doesn t sound suspicious, I retort.

Of course, I must be careful because Alexei engineered the entire situation.

He put himself in a cell with a murderer in order to protect my friend.

He risked his life to save her, someone I consider my sister.

The only reason he gave me the truth is because if there s one hit out on her and it doesn t work, there ll probably be another one.

She hadn t seemed even remotely surprised when I told her the news. I can ask Alexei to keep her safe, but I still have to talk Ella into receiving help. She s a stubborn one.

The judge shakes her head. You know, I have to agree with Miss Mooncrest. I don t know where the breakdown of procedure occurred, but Mr. Sokolov could have been killed. He is innocent until proven guilty, and yet you sent him to a prison.

The prosecuting attorney plants both hands on her desk. I don t know what happened, Judge. I really am trying to figure it out.

Apparently, money can buy almost anything. A fact that I do not appreciate.

The judge reads through several papers. In light of the fact that Mr. Sokolov was nearly killed due to the state s negligence, I m more inclined to rule in his favor in this matter. Bail is set at one hundred thousand dollars. She slams down the gavel.

I look over my shoulder as Garik exits the courtroom, no doubt on his way to pay the entire amount.

A sense of calm settles in my chest. Good. Alexei can come home with me.

One more motion, Your Honor, the prosecuting attorney says.

I glance her way, surprised.

This is based on new information, and we haven t had a chance to notify Mr. Sokolov. The woman hands me several pieces of paper. We have a motion to remove Ms. Mooncrest as the attorney for the accused.

Why is that? Judge Flanders asks as the prosecuting attorney hands her a stack of papers.

The prosecutor steps back behind her table, her spine straight and her posture about perfect.

We just filed these with the court, Your Honor.

We believe Miss Mooncrest is having an affair with her client, and we need to question her regarding this case.

The letter opener is owned by her, and she could put Mr. Sokolov in the same room with it, but we need her as a witness.

Attorney-client privilege does not extend to illegal acts.

I stare down at the documents, which swim in front of my face.

The judge drops the stack to her desk. Miss Mooncrest?

It would be inappropriate for me to decide this on an ad hoc basis like this.

Please prepare a response, and we ll have a hearing— she shuffles through a calendar— a week from today at nine in the morning.

At that time, you may wish to employ your own counsel. She bangs the gavel down again.

The prosecuting attorney winks at me. We re just getting started, Mooncrest. She turns and walks away from the counsel table and down the middle aisle of the courtroom.

I look at Alexei. This is a problem.

It doesn t have to be. He gestures me ahead of him, and he follows me out to where we meet Garik in the hall.

I already paid the bail, he says, handing over an envelope. Here s all your stuff.

I don t object to this uncommon procedure. Alexei should have to go through a discharge procedure and collect his own belongings, but, apparently, they re not finished throwing money around.

We walk toward the doors, and through the glass, a multitude of reporters and cameras are waiting. We ll have to go right through them to reach the parking area.

The back exit is just as bad, Garik says grimly.

I take a deep breath and walk outside with Garik in front of me and Alexei behind me as if they re flanking me.

Alexei s shoulder is damaged, and so I should try to protect him from anybody hitting his arm.

Lillian Sokolov rushes forward, shrieking. You killed my son. You killed my son.

She goes for Alexei, and Garik swiftly wraps an arm around her waist and swirls her away, planting her back on her feet.

Back off, lady, he barks.

You killed him, she screams, tears running down her face, her graying hair a disheveled tangle around her shoulders.

Alexei s jaw hardens, and he looks at all the cameras. I do the same. This is a freaking disaster. Every potential juror we ll receive in a pool will see this.

I feel pity and even sorrow for her. She s lost both of her sons. I can t imagine that kind of pain. We ll find out who killed him, Mrs. Sokolov, I say quietly. But it wasn t Alexei.

She hisses and leaps toward me with her fingers and nails extended. Garik once again pulls her away from me.

You probably helped him. We all know you re screwing him, she screams.

My stomach rolls over.

She sticks her hands in her rain slicker, looking fragile and desperate. Lonely. It was your letter opener. I bet you killed him together to get the company—to get all of the money. I ll take you both down. I promise.

With that, she turns, her light-gray raincoat swirling, and stomps back down the stairs, cameras clicking the whole way. She reaches a running black town car at the curb, opens the back door herself, and gets in. It drives quickly off.

The reporters begin shouting questions at both Alexei and me. Garik pushes people out of the way, and we get to the curb where he also has a town car waiting. He opens the back door, and I hurry inside, scooting over so Alexei can follow me.

The reporters get closer, cameras right up against the windows that, thank goodness, are tinted.

Garik elbows his way through them to cross around and get into the driver s side where he starts the vehicle and guns the engine.

He has to nudge them with the car to force them out of the way, but soon we re miles from the courthouse.

I drop my face into my hands. This is a disaster.

How bad is it? Alexei asks.

My voice is muffled but I don t care. Legally, it s terrible. I will be taken off your case. I ll be made a material witness, and if they can prove the affair, I ll lose my law license. Too bad hiding isn t an option. I sit up. I know what you did for my friend. We can finally speak freely.

I m aware, he says.

Garik looks in the review mirror. There will be reporters at your place, Rosalie. Maybe at the new building you bought, Alexei, if they know about it. That s where I suggest we go.

Alexei leans back and gingerly removes his jacket. I help him, wondering how bad his wound pains him now. He s pale beneath his bronzed skin.

You need a painkiller, I say.

I took some ibuprofen. I ll be fine. Drive to Reno, Garik.

Garik jolts. What? You want to go to Nevada?

I do. Reno s about three and a half hours. Do me a favor and make it in three. Alexei tosses the jacket on the floor.

I pick it up and fold it neatly across my lap. I m not going to Reno. I have a job to save.

This is how we re going to save it, he says.

By leaving the state? I shake my head. Alexei, this isn t making any sense. Why do you want to go to Nevada?

He leans his head back on the seat and shuts his eyes. Because they don t have a wait time to obtain a marriage license there.

I turn more toward him, shock slashing through me. Are you insane? We re not getting married.

His answer is a soft snore.

I shake his good shoulder until he opens one eye. Then he wraps his healthy arm around me and drags me into his side. I m sleeping for a few minutes. We can argue then. He closes his eyes again, sound asleep in less than a minute.

How does he do that? Okay. Fine. I can give him fifteen minutes, and then we re fighting about this. I am absolutely not going to Nevada to get married.

Somehow, I nod off and find myself awakening in Nevada.

Garik pulls the car up to a cute little wedding chapel. I ll go in and make the arrangements, he says.

Take your time. Alexei says, his voice gravelly.

I blink myself awake and look over to see him studying me, his eyes dark.

A shiver wanders through me.