Page 25 of Shelter for Shay (Broken Heroes Mended Souls #2)

Patrick Dunn, the defense attorney, wore a dark-blue suit and a crisp white shirt.

He leaned toward the defendant and whispered a few words.

She’d known Patrick for years. He’d graduated two years before her, but they’d been friendly.

He’d gone to SUNY Albany, where she’d attended.

They’d gone out on a date. He was a decent man.

Kind. But boring and a little too focused.

All he ever talked about was his career, which she honestly respected but didn’t understand.

Defending criminals had been his life’s dream, and working for a firm like Donovan, Hillard, and Tate, which happened to be Jacob’s father’s old firm, had always been the end game.

And now he’d been handed his first big case. The case that was probably going to make or break his career.

Blake Edmonds, the defendant, leaned forward, hands folded on the table, eyes focused—on her—as if to taunt her.

And there was something oddly familiar about the man, but she figured that’s because his face had been plastered on the news morning and night.

He’d been a tech consultant. Respected. Wealthy.

Polished. Although she’d never heard of him before the murder.

She didn’t follow such things. She’d always been more interested in the outdoors than technology.

She didn’t use social media, which her mother had appreciated.

Instead, they would share photo albums through a private app.

That way, her mom could see all the pictures she took during her adventures.

God, she missed her mom, but at the same time, she was angry.

No, frustrated.

Shay stole another glance at Blake Edmonds, accused of murdering his own assistant in a parking garage stairwell. She tried to quickly tear her gaze away, but it was impossible. He commanded attention and seemed to bask in it, even though he was on trial for murder.

Jacob rose and stepped forward.

“Ms. Whitaker?”

Shay cleared her throat. “Yes?”

“I have just a few questions,” he said gently, with a small smile that felt too kind for the setting. “First, I wanted to express my condolences regarding your mother’s passing. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Shay blinked, caught off guard. “Thank you.”

Jacob’s gaze lingered for a beat longer, as if measuring the truth of her answer. “You’ve lived in Lake George most of your life. Is that correct?”

“Born and raised.”

“Any familiarity with the defendant?”

“No.”

“The victim?” Jacob asked.

“No, sir.”

He nodded. “Have you followed the case in the media?”

“I watch the news,” Shay admitted. “It’s hard to miss.”

“Can you set aside what you’ve seen or heard and focus only on what’s presented in this courtroom?”

“I believe so.”

Jacob inched closer, leaning against the jury box.

“Ms. Whitaker. Do you know who I am? And I don’t mean because you’ve seen me give statements on television before.

I mean… have we met before? Have we ever spoken to each other?

Do you know my wife on a personal level? Met my kids? That kind of thing.”

“We’ve met,” she said. “I wouldn’t say we know each other well, but it’s a small town, and our paths have crossed a few times.”

“And my wife? What’s your relationship with her?”

Shay swallowed her breath. “I’ve retained her services before, but again, I don’t know her personally all that well.”

“Would you say you have a positive opinion of me? Of my wife?”

“Yes,” Shay said.

“Do you think your personal opinions of us might taint your ability to see this case with an unbiased eye?”

“No,” she said, wishing she could’ve lied.

“It’s also been brought to my attention that you went to high school at the same time as Patrick Dunn, the defendant’s attorney,” Jacob said. “Do you have positive or negative feelings toward him?”

“He’s a nice man,” Shay said.

“Would you say you were friendly in school? Still friendly?” Jacob asked.

“We were friends during our youth but haven’t spent that much time together in the last six years or so.”

“Do you believe him to be a good lawyer?” Jacob asked.

“He works for the firm your dad started, which is supposed to be one of the best in the state, so I’d say so.”

That caught a chuckle from everyone in the room, including the judge. Not really the response Shay was going for. But she really hoped these personal questions got her kicked off.

“Your honor, I have no issue with this juror.” Jacob sauntered back to his table and took a seat. He gave her a weak smile as if he understood the hell he might be putting her through. But he did have a job to do, and she had to respect that.

Patrick rose, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a folder. He looked her up and down like he was picking apart a résumé.

“It’s good to see you again, Ms. Whitaker,” Patrick said. “Since the DA ended on the notion we have a history, let’s get that out of the way. Do you harbor any ill will toward me that might interfere with your ability to be fair and impartial?”

“No,” she said.

“Ms. Whitaker, you mentioned you’ve watched the news and seen the footage.”

“Yes.”

“Have you formed any opinions based on that?”

“I’ve tried not to,” she said carefully. “I understand that media coverage isn’t the full story. That not all the evidence has been released. I do get how the system works.”

“Innocent until proven guilty.” He arched a brow. “Fair point. Your mother was a school counselor,” he said.

“She was.”

“Do you think growing up with someone in a helping profession has shaped your opinion about authority figures or law enforcement?”

“I’m sure it has,” she said honestly.

“So, would you say you’re inclined to believe everything a police officer says? That you’d take his or her word over someone else’s?”

“To be honest, that’s not a fair assumption because it would depend on the situation,” she said. “People are human. Cops are human. And while the majority of them are good, there are one or two that might not be. That rings true for every profession.”

“What you’re saying is that you can keep an open mind while testimony, evidence, and facts are presented and make a judgment later.”

Well, crap. She walked right into that one. “Yes,” she said.

Patrick nodded. “Your honor, I have no problem with this juror.”

She exhaled and fiddled with her nails while the lawyers asked questions of other potential jurors. Then the judge asked both sides to approach, voices muffled beneath the static buzz of white noise from the speakers.

After a long minute, names were called.

Her name was third.

Shay felt the breath leave her chest. She looked up, catching Jacob Donovan’s quick glance her way. Not smug. Not apologetic. Just neutral.

The judge’s voice echoed through the room.

“Jury selection is complete. The trial will begin one week from today.”

Shay’s hand shook. She had no idea what was coming—but she could feel it, just beneath the surface.