Page 42 of White Raven
Fifteen minutes later, Brent sat next to C.J., across from the prosecutor, and the victim, who looked terrified to even be in the building. He tried his best not to see Wren sitting in that chair, with fading bruises and a void look of apprehension in her eyes. Arya Brenwick. That’s who they were going up against? He’d have his limits pushed in this battle. She was ruthless. Maybe a bit more ruthless than C.J., and a lot more intimidating. Her short black bob was blunt-edged, framing her sharp jawline, and those lips were painted dark, pursing when he rested his elbows on the table.
“Stratford. Good to see you healthy.”
Brent dipped his chin in thanks. “Appreciate it. Shall we?”
“Ready to work.Good. We’ll keep this simple. We’re seeking life in prison. Shouldn’t be too much, seeing as your client just made her a widow.” Brenwick tilted her head towards the woman seated next to her.
“I don’t think that’s gonna happen, Brenwick. You’re missing evidence, here. While I more than understand what your client is going through, to get a life sentence, there’s gotta be sufficient evidence to condemn him.” Brent tried to keep his expression firm, but the sympathy for that woman staring at him like she could burst was almost too much. “There’s no murder weapon, no witnesses that can testify, and other than the obvious assault he supposedly inflicted—”
“Supposedly?!” the woman shouted, her voice breaking like she’d lose it at any moment. Brenwick placed her hand on her elbow to calm her. “That man robbed us! He shot my husband in cold blood! He beat me half todeath!”
“I’m not arguing that ma’am,” Brent offered. “And don’t mistake my wording of that for my lack of sympathy, or that I agree with anything he’s done. But to get a conviction for murder, there has to be enough evidence. The best that I’m able to give you without it, is a plea deal for robbery, and assault with a deadly weapon.”
“That’s bullshit!” she yelped, tears sliding down her bruised face.
“Carmen, please…” Brenwick soothed, “let me do my job.” She shifted in her seat and leaned forward. “Your client is a murderer. I know you don’t usually do criminal cases, Stratford, and I’m not blind to the fact that this particular case may not sit well with your conscience to defend this piece of shit. But if you don’t find a way to give this woman what she deserves, even for her own peace of mind? I’ll bury you in court. I’ll throw everything I’ve got at youandthis firm. So you better go warn your client. He’s gonna rot in that prison for the rest of his life…one way or another.”
“We’ll see what the judge has to say,” Brent argued.
“I’ll make sure this case goes to trial. Don’t test me. You’ve already lost this battle.” She rolled her chair back and stood, her client following suit while she wiped her nose. “We’re done here.”
“See you in court.” He flashed a smile, and C.J. shook her head as she got up from the long table. Carmen looked over her shoulder on her way out the glass door as if he were the lowest piece of shit in the world. That’s exactly what he felt like. Had that been Wren in that chair, he would have beaten the pulp outof anybody that made any excuse not to give her justice. That woman was terrified and grieving. She deserved better than this.
“Must have taken a lot for you to hold it together. They might have missed it, but I know you well enough,” C.J. said, walking past the back of his chair with her file and moving around the end of the table towards the door.
“I’m fine,” Brent ground out, gripping the arm of the chair.
“Keep telling yourself that, Brent.”
And she walked out.
The tip of his pen tapped against the edge of his desk as Malcolm Foley chewed his bottom lip and watched his fellow werewolf exit the elevator and blatantly ignore him as she walked past his office window. Northwood was avoiding him. Something was wrong. And it was something that held a completely different reason than the fact that no one in Ryan Sykes’ entire previous precinct could recall a single thing about her when he went to them for answers about where she could possibly have disappeared to. That could only mean one thing as far as he was concerned. Detective Sykes was indeed not who she claimed to be. And he let her walk right in. It also meant he was wrong not to trust Rhaena’s instincts when she practically begged him not to partner her with the fraud. He’d been a callous asshole, and Gloves was making him pay dearly for it. Now he was battling with another problem—does he, ordoesn’the—tell her what he’s found since digging into the small file she shared with him about what they were?
Regardless of whatever animosity was clearly stirring between them, Foley rose from his chair, dropping the pen tothe stack on his desk, and making for his office door to confront her. Jenkins gripped her shoulder and nodded to him on his way towards his own desk down the hall, and Rhaena made a good show of pretending that she didn’t see him approaching as she swiveled in her chair and sipped from the straw in her tumbler.
“Morning, Gloves,” he said softly, trying not to sound too much like he was questioning his leadership.
“Captain,” she replied without looking away from her computer screen.
So it was gonna be that kind of conversation. Fine. “If you have a moment, I’d like—”
“I’m a little busy.”
Frigid. She was giving him the iciest shoulder she could muster. Fuck this. “My office, Northwood.Now.” He didn’t look back as he stormed toward his office, earning several pointed looks around the precinct at his tone. Rhaena’s heels clacked softly behind him, and he rounded his desk, nodding towards his door as she entered. “Close that.” She stood silently for a moment after the door clicked shut and folded her arms across her chest. “Have a seat.”
“Is that an order,boss?” she asked, raising a brow.
He scoffed, “Fine. Don’t. This conversation will only be as uncomfortable as you decide to make it.”
“Let’s get on with it, then.” She didn’t move from the spot she was standing and tightened her mouth as if she were preparing for the worst.
Foley leaned back against his chair. “You know where your partner is?”
“Yes. He’s packing for a trip with his girlfriend.”
“You know that isn’t the partner I’m talking about, Rhaena. Are you withholding information about Ryan Sykes?”
She smirked and leaned against the door. “Are you withholding information aboutyourold partner? Some thingsabout what really happened with my uncle, or any other tidbits I might have deserved to know?”
