Page 33 of The Prey (The Hillers of Barratt County #6)

The TSP wasn’t getting anywhere. He didn’t blame them, the men working the case were damned fine at their job. They just didn’t have anything. Yet.

Hudson had gotten threats as a prosecuting attorney many times before . It went with the territory. There wasn’t an attorney in his office who hadn’t. But most…came at him, considering he was the man in charge.

But life went on—he couldn’t just hit pause and do nothing. He had cases waiting, even though he had either moved most of his cases to Mike and Remi, or had spoken with the judges and Tom Walters personally to get a few days extension. He—and the TSP—were doing all that they could.

But this one—the one with Jason Clarke—no, Hudson was still giving it his full, personal attention.

Hudson stepped into Courtroom A ten minutes early.

He always preferred to arrive before the crowd settled, before the jury shuffled in and the judge took her seat.

It settled him, and always had. Reminded him of the ones who had come before.

Hanans had been instrumental in building the courthouse—his great-great-however many grandfathers had designed the plans for the Barratt County courthouse himself.

That man’s sons had been some of the builders.

Hudson was the first of his family to have earned a degree past high school.

Now, he worked in the building his ancestors had built. That mattered.

The law mattered. And it always would. No one had the right to destroy that. Not in this country. The law was the one thing he had always been passionate about.

Now he had them. The three people who mattered most. The passion he felt for his career was far eclipsed for the love he felt for a certain hazel-eyed woman who should have stayed home today, his little boy, and his sister. His family.

They’d had three days since the fire. The TSP had no real leads, just tire tracks and the broken bottle itself. But Clay was working on it to the best of his ability. Hudson trusted the other man completely—but he was still going to do what he had to do to find answers for himself.

Gia was on her way in. One of her brothers was driving her. Her foot and the burns were still healing—he’d make a point of keeping her sitting down as much as he possibly could. Even if he had to make the judge aware of the situation.

Gia had not taken to staying home for three days very well at all. By the end of day one she was having Shayna bring her the files off her desk. By day two—she had driven him crazy. The woman was a workaholic—just like he was—and it would require him distracting her from that on a regular basis.

Hudson was looking forward to it.

Clarke was already seated at the defense table with his client. The little punk was slouched back, a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. Clarke leaned in, whispering something to him. Then Clarke straightened and looked directly at Hudson.

In other trials, he and he defense attorney would make casual conversation—they often crossed paths on multiple occasions per week. But he had no desire to say a damned word to Clarke.

Hudson didn’t trust he’d be able to control himself if he did.

The doors opened. There she was. The woman he’d been waiting for.

She wore the dark purple suit, but she’d left her hair down.

Hudson remembered her with her hair down just like that—naked in his arms that morning.

He had stayed at the ranch since the fire.

She’d insisted, said it was best for Ryan not to be in their home smelling like smoke.

His little boy had been terrified when he’d learned about what had happened. Ryan had tried to take care of Gia all weekend long. Well, so had Hudson. That woman was their world now, after all. And she always would be.

She hobbled up to him, after saying good-bye to Gene. Her brother left, after a pointed look at Hudson. Hudson had just nodded, words unneeded.

Gia looked at him. “I feel like a package. All nice and delivered from home to you, one-day shipping.”

He pulled the chair back and nudged her into it. “Sit. Off the feet.”

“It’s been three, almost four, days. I’m good. Besides—I wore low-heeled boots. And double socks. I’ll be okay, Hudson. Don’t hover.” There was a real warning look in those eyes. He just smirked at her. He loved making her look at him just like that.

“I wouldn’t dare. But…one little wince and I’m pulling rank.” He leaned closer, keeping it as professional as he could, while still making his point clear. “I want to take care of you.”

“I know, but it’s important that you also let me take care of myself.”

Movement at the front of the courtroom signaled things were about to start. Hudson just shot Gia a look. “I mean it, lady. I am watching you.”

He wanted to touch her, but…that was something he knew better than to do.

She’d eat him alive if he even tried. He contented himself with a casual, co-worker acceptable brush against her arm, as he pulled out the chair for her.

He settled for taking his spot, next to her. Between her and the defense.

“All rise for the Honorable Judge Collins,” the bailiff said.

The room rose.

Judge Collins settled behind the bench, her glasses perched precisely on her nose.

Not a hair out of place. Legal pads lined in perfect order on her desk.

Not a book in sight. He had heard from Hendricks she had three daughters—he suspected she’d had them marching along like little soldiers, no one would dare disobey.

“Be seated.” The court obeyed.

It was time to get started.

Gia had to give the closing argument. Hudson had offered—he’d insisted she stay off her feet as much as possible—but he had cuts on his feet, too.

And she was just fine. She liked giving closing arguments, and in her opinion, she was better at it than he was.

She read juries better than Hudson did. He was very methodical and step-by-step, logical in the closings he’d delivered that she’d observed.

She tended to go for emotional resonance.

They were vastly different, in a lot of ways.

But maybe that was what made them work together?

She looked for him—he was standing in the lobby area between Courtrooms A and B, talking.

He was good at talking. She recognized who he was talking to, too—her own brother George and Hudson’s good friend Mac Barratt.

She’d make a point to talk to Mac today if she could.

She wanted to know how his little sister was doing.

She had plans to go see Powell for herself on Saturday.

Powell had asked her about her dress size…

something to do with planning an epic wedding, once her fiancé was fully recovered from being shot, and another friend was out of the hospital.

Gia was looking forward to it. And she had to make utterly certain Powell did not put her in yellow.

“Members of the jury, you’ve heard the testimony…” They had five women on the jury, something she and Hudson had agreed was a good thing. It was her job to paint them a picture now. “He waited. He watched. He followed. And when they were alone—he attacked.”

A sound came behind her. The chair, scraping across the old wooden floor. Gia turned. And saw the defendant rising. She took a half-step back—he had no business standing right now.

“ You stupid bitch!”

His chair toppled behind him.

And he lunged. Straight at her. She went down, sliding into the jury box. Her head bounced off the floor, her shoulder slammed into the wooden half-wall that separated her from the jurors’ feet. Intense pain unlike anything she’d ever felt had her crying out.

People screamed. There was a roar. Crashing. Yelling.

Gia just stayed where she was, fighting as hard as she could. As the defendant’s hands went around her neck and he started squeezing. Just like Jason had done to her before.

Then…a roar. And she could breathe again. She could breathe. People were still yelling, screaming. She looked up, into dark brown eyes. And reached for him.