One month later…
Marc looked so handsome in his suit and tie, his FBI badge clipped to his hip. He stood straight and tall, his hands tucked into his pants pockets as he waited for court to be called into session. He was outside the courtroom as Lauren entered, her heels clicking on the linoleum floors of the courthouse. His gaze was upon her almost immediately, his eyes darkening in visible lust before he was able to compose himself and look away.
Lauren had caught the heat in his gaze—and she could feel the same in her own—but all she gave him was a tiny grin as she followed her lawyer into the courtroom. She could feel his eyes watching her and she put an extra swing in her hips, just for him. She was feeling confident, finally ready to face the man that had made the last two years of her life a living hell. She could do this.
The courtroom looked exactly like the ones you might see on a procedural crime show. Lauren had spent many a night, alone, with takeout and Emma cuddled on the couch next to her, drinking in every second of action. She wondered if it would be like that today; if the defense lawyers would be as slimy as they were on the shows she watched. She wondered if the prosecutor would have to coax Jack’s final confession out of him. The jackass had pleaded Not Guilty, thinking that he’d be able to get away with it—again.
But she was not going to let that happen. And neither, Marc had promised, would anybody on her team. They were taking Jack Snyder down if it was the last thing they did and that gave Lauren some comfort. But her memory of the last two abuse cases he was involved in made her stomach churn with nerves as her lawyer sat her down behind the prosecution side of the courtroom.
“Just breathe,” James Harrison—a well-respected attorney from Slightuckett—said, his hand on her shoulder. “This will all be over before you know it.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Lauren muttered in response and he frowned, but nodded in understanding, sitting down next to her.
It was only fifteen minutes later when they were asked to stand again for the Honorable Judge Stacy Kensington. She was a tall woman, with tight curls and a pair of glasses at the end of her nose. Her skin was as dark as midnight, but her eyes were a clear blue that seemed to spark with intelligence as she perused the gallery before her, her chin held high. Her hands were slender and her fingers graceful as she used them to push up her glasses.
Judge Kensington took a seat at her podium and spoke in a voice that was clear and strict and demanded respect.
“Be seated.”
Like everybody else in the room, Lauren didn’t dare refuse.
“We are gathered here today to hear the case of one John Martin Snyder, also known as ‘Jack’ Snyder. Will the defendant please rise?”
Lauren kept her eyes forward so she wouldn’t have to see Jack’s face as he stood up. She didn’t think she could handle seeing him right now. She was reserving all of her strength for the stand and she didn’t want it sapped from her body too quickly. She took a deep breath as his voice echoed around the room.
“Present, Your Honor,” he said, his voice oozing with charm. The judge didn’t look the least bit impressed and Lauren had to hold back her own grin at that. She liked this woman already.
“Mr. Snyder,” she said, her voice more clipped than before, “you have been thrice accused of domestic violence and stalking and attempted murder. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Jack said, his voice not wavering the tiniest bit.
“And how do you plead?”
“Not Guilty, Your Honor.”
“Even though three women have come forward with such accusations in the last three months?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“And I see here that you’ve moved to have the former two sets of accusations dismissed. Is that correct?”
This time, it was a different voice that spoke. A woman’s voice.
“That’s correct, Your Honor.” It was sultry and clear and almost lyrical.
“Why, Counselor?”
“Because, as the law states, if a crime did occur at the time it was claimed, then the statute of limitations would have already ended, making it impossible to convict.”
“So be it,” Judge Kensington said, with a sharp nod. “The defendant is down to one count of domestic violence, one count of stalking, and one count of attempted murder. And he pleads Not Guilty. Is this all correct, for the record?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” the woman said.
“Very well. Let us proceed. Prosecution may make the first opening statement.”
The prosecutor—a man with gray hair and a sharp suit—stood and made his way to face the jury. Lauren couldn’t remember his name for the life of her, but his speech was powerful enough to move her to tears. When she felt a tap on her shoulder, she turned to see Marc sitting behind her, a barely-there smirk on his face as he handed her a small packet of tissues. She took it with a smile and mouthed a silent thank you, before turning forward. She dabbed at her eyes, but found that the tears were miraculously gone.
They returned, full-force, when Jack’s lawyer—who Lauren finally chanced a look at—stepped up on her long legs, practically doing a catwalk to the jury and practically spilled venom all over Lauren’s good name. She painted Lauren as a vindictive ex-wife who was angry at her husband for not being as affectionate as she would have liked. She made Lauren seem like the abusive one, who would yell at Jack and hit him when he didn’t give her everything she wanted. She made Lauren out to be a gold-digging whore who had only married Jack for his money and cheated on him with every man she could find. She even claimed that Lauren had paid men to rough her up so that she could claim that Jack had beaten her and tortured her; that she had paid off the neighbor who had finally called the cops to make it look as if Jack had hurt her, when he hadn’t even come home until just moments before the police arrived.
Lauren’s nervous hands began to tear at the tissues, making them look like snow by the time she was done with them. She glanced up at the judge’s face throughout the defense lawyer’s speech, checking to see if she was buying any of it, but the woman’s face was like stone. She gave nothing away.
By the end, Lauren was shaking and her lawyer attempted to console her, but she inched out of his touch, shaking her head and batting his hands away from her body. When she felt Marc’s hand on her shoulder, however, she relaxed instantly and let out a deep breath, leaning into his warmth.
“It’ll be okay,” Marc whispered into her ear, so low that she almost didn’t hear him. “We’re going to get the bastard. One way or another. Just relax.” She nodded, imperceptibly, and faced forward, brushing the ripped-up tissue off of her lap, clasping her hands together as she schooled her features.
As the proceedings went on, Lauren found herself glancing at the jury every now and again to garner their reaction to what was being said. The prosecution went first and as she waited for her turn to go up and speak, she watched the disgust light up their features as they took in the photographs of her injuries, which had been mapped two years ago, just after it happened. Her fists clenched at the sight of her own body, lined in red, runny strips that covered her body in dark, red bloodstains. Her own wrists, which were red with rope burn. Her face, bruised beyond recognition.
Everybody could see it, for the first time. They could all see the evidence of what he did to her, could witness her darkest moments, could see how broken she was then. How broken she still was, even now. She tried her best not to look broken. Lauren forced her spine to stay straight as she turned her gaze forward, toward the stone-faced judge.
She swore she could see something glisten in the older woman’s eyes, but it was gone before she got a closer glance.
When it was the defense’s turn to go up and refute the story given by their expert witness (the EMT who had arrived to save Lauren’s life that night, and who had catalogued every injury for the first court case), Lauren found herself holding back her rage as the female lawyer did her best to make every injury seem self-inflicted, pointing out that one side of her body had more even lines than the other. Lauren wanted to stand and tell everybody that that was because she had been struggling at that point, that her—Jack had started on that side and slapped her every time she refused to stay still until she had all but given up fighting him off of her. She wanted to show them all the faded lines on her body, show them that she still had them, that she saw them every day she looked at herself in the goddamn mirror. That she couldn’t bring herself to go to the hospital to have them hidden, because she knew the recovery period would make her a sitting duck if he ever decided to return and finish what he started.
But Lauren stayed silent, clamping her lips shut as she waited, impatiently, for her turn to approach the stand. Her lawyer nudged her shoulder and gave her a questioning look, as if asking if she’d like to step outside and compose herself. It was at that point that Lauren realized that she’d been clenching her skirt in her hand so tightly that, when she let go, there were creases in the fabric.
“I’m fine,” she whispered back, smoothing out her skirt the best that she could. She glanced up at the jury again and watched a few of them nodding as the lady lawyer made her case, her hands gliding almost effortlessly through the air as she spun a web that threatened to trap Lauren into it and ruin her life.
It was so easy to believe her, too. The woman was slim and tall and gorgeous. She had dimples in her cheeks, as well as high cheekbones and a heart-shaped face. Her neck was slender and her body had some curves in all the places a supermodel’s might. Lauren wondered where Jack had found her. She imagined that they were sleeping together, that this poor woman would be his next victim.
Try as she might, though, Lauren couldn’t feel sorry for her at that moment; not when she was tearing down the life that she knew with her lies. Not when she was putting Lauren’s life in even more danger just by pleading her client’s case.
When the defense lawyer sat back down, the prosecution rebutted with a question to the EMT about the possibility of Lauren making these marks herself when her wrists were bound as tightly as they were.
“It’s not possible,” he replied. “Based on the angle, these are definitely defensive wounds.”
“So why are the wounds more uneven on one side?” the prosecutor asked.
“Because Mrs. Snyder was fighting off her husband, I suppose,” the EMT responded.
“But she wasn’t fighting when he got to the other side?”
“She had probably lost so much blood that she was already feeling weak,” the young man said, his gaze lowering to the ground. Lauren could see the clench of his jaw and it was like she could feel his memories of that night. She empathized with him; she remembered it far too vividly, as well. “She must have stopped fighting.” Lauren nodded, before she could stop herself and she suddenly locked eyes with a member of the jury, who made a note. She took a deep breath and looked away.
The next witness was Sheriff McNally, who wore a dress uniform, complete with the hat under his arm. He squeezed his way into the witness stand and sat down with a deep breath after making his pledge to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
“Sheriff Caleb McNally,” the prosecutor said, “of the Slightuckett, RI, police force. How are you today, sir?”
“I’m well, thank you,” McNally responded. His cheeks were pink and his breathing was heavy. Lauren didn’t know if he was warm or nervous. Probably a bit of both, she determined.
“Good,” the prosecutor said. “So, what do you remember of the night Agent Marc Kelly came to see you?”
“Not too much,” he replied. “It was just another ordinary day. We don’t get much crime in Slightuckett, so that entire morning was just a blur. But then this guy walks in, all leather and denim and facial hair. I thought he was there to pay a fine or turn somebody in for reward money or whatnot. When he placed his badge down on my desk, though…well, I was shocked, to say the least. But I knew exactly who he was lookin’ for.”
“And who was that?” the prosecutor asked.
“Dr. Stanton,” McNally said, his eyes finding her. He gave her a small grin. “She was still the newest member of our community; kept to herself, but always said hello if you happened to run into her on the street. She lived in one of the tiny beach houses on the south end of town. Nobody knew much about her, except she was—is a mighty fine doc. She cares about her patients.”
“Thank you, Sheriff McNally,” the prosecutor said. “For the record, Dr. Stanton’s legal name is Lauren Stanley. It was changed by Witness Protection for the purposes of protecting her from her ex-husband, Jack Snyder. She has made it very clear, however, that she would like to be known as Dr. Stanton.”
“Noted,” the judge said, banging her gavel. “Please proceed with the questioning.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” the prosecutor said. “Sheriff McNally, what was Agent Kelly’s reason for seeking out Dr. Stanton that night?”
“He told me that her ex-husband was looking for her and that it was his job to protect her.”
“And did you believe him?”
“Not at first,” McNally admitted. “At first, I thought that the doc was in trouble with the law or something and that he was just lying to get me to give her up.”
“And what was your response to that?”
“I refused to give him any information until he could prove, unequivocally, that he wasn’t there to arrest her.”
“And how did he prove that?”
“He called his superior and had official FBI documents faxed to my office,” McNally informed them. “They were about an investigation into some jackass named Jack Snyder. Excuse my language, Your Honor.” The judge waved him off, but Lauren could see the glimmer of a smile on her lips before it was replaced by stone once more.
“And what was the investigation about?”
“Well, according to the official documents, Jack Snyder was accused of domestic abuse—by three different women, no less—but they were never able to pin anything on him. Everything was always circumstantial and he always had these great lawyers and—”
“Objection!” Jack’s lawyer said. “The jury doesn’t need to hear all this. It may cloud their objectivity.”
“Sustained,” the judge sighed, banging her gavel. “Stick to the basics, Sheriff.”
“He was under investigation for domestic abuse,” McNally repeated. “They were looking for Dr. Stanton because they wanted her to be protected in case he violated a restraining order that she placed against him.”
“And you helped?”
“Of course I did,” McNally huffed. “My wife and I happen to be quite fond of Dr. Stanton. She’s helped with my wife’s health problems and my own. And she saved my daughter-in-law when she went into anaphylactic shock in the grocery market last year after getting too close to some strawberries—which she is highly allergic to.” He took a deep breath and met Lauren’s eyes. “She’s a lifesaver and it was the least I could do to possibly save hers in return.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” the prosecutor said.
When it was the Defense’s turn to question McNally, Lauren found herself cringing at the questions the tall lawyer was asking, her voice sultry and smooth and her eyes calculating as she took in the entire courtroom. Her eyes rested on Lauren for half a second longer than everybody else and she smirked before turning back to McNally.
“So you sent Marc Kelly straight to Lauren Stanley’s address?” she asked. “Even though he could have been there to harm her?”
“I knew he wasn’t by then,” McNally argued. “As I said—”
“That phone call could have come from anywhere,” the lawyer interrupted, not allowing him to explain. “Those documents could have been faked.”
“He had a badge.”
“It’s not hard to replicate those, either,” she retorted.
“I knew he was genuine,” McNally insisted. “I knew that Dr. Stanton would be safe.”
“But how?” the lawyer asked. “How, without a doubt in your mind, did you know that Lauren would be safe with Marc Kelly? He could have been stalking her. He could have been the one who caused the injuries on her body. The one that helped her frame Mr. Snyder.”
“Objection!” the prosecutor said, standing.
“Withdrawn,” the defense lawyer replied. “No more questions, Your Honor.”
“Prosecution,” Judge Kensington sighed, “call your next witness.”
“Prosecution calls Special Agent Marc Kelly to the stand.”
Lauren’s back straightened at that. She felt Marc stand up behind her and shuffle out into the aisle, walking up to take his oath before sitting down in the witness stand. He was all broad shoulders and stony features—just like Judge Kensington. His arms were at his sides, but Lauren could see the flex in his muscles, which told her that he was clenching his fists as he glanced toward Jack. She still didn’t dare look at her ex-husband.
“State your name for the record, please,” the prosecutor requested.
“Special Agent Marc Anthony Kelly.”
“Marc Anthony?” the prosecutor chuckled. “Alright then. Agent Kelly, when did you first arrive in Slightuckett, RI?”
“I don’t know the exact date,” Marc admitted, “but it was in July, over the summer.”
“And how long were you in town before you went to talk to Sheriff McNally?”
“About an hour,” Marc said. “I stopped to eat, first. And I called my superior so he would know that I made it there in one piece.”
“And how long after your meeting with the sheriff did you wait to head to Dr. Stanton’s block?”
“A few more hours,” Marc informed him. “I had to make sure that she was home and I also went by the local garage to switch out my bike parts for crappier ones. The mechanic was also informed about our plans to protect Laur—Dr. Stanton. He was happy to help.”
“The mechanic is also known as Joseph Hardy. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And then you headed to Lauren’s and feigned injuries to gain her attention?”
“Yes.”
“Why not just tell her what was going on?”
“We didn’t want to scare her into running,” Marc admitted, and there was remorse in his tone as he locked eyes with Lauren in the crowd. “We wanted to catch Jack in the act, so we kept her in the dark about what was going on.”
“Do you regret doing that?” the prosecutor asked, noticing the way Marc and Lauren were looking at each other. He stepped in the way of Lauren’s view of Marc, locking eyes with the other man and reminding him why he was there.
“Yes and no,” Marc replied.
“Care to explain?”
“Well, no, because otherwise we never would have caught Jack Snyder in the act,” he explained. “And yes, because we shouldn’t have had to lie to Dr. Stanton in order to do it.”
The prosecutor nodded. “Agent Kelly,” he said. “You had a tape recorder on you that night, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind if we played the recording you took for the jury to hear?”
“Not at all.”
The prosecutor thanked him and walked back to his table, picking up a slender tape recorder that Lauren didn’t recognize. It looked professional-grade. When the prosecutor pressed a button on it, she heard a bit of static before Jack’s voice saying her name and she immediately began to relive that night. Her lawyer reached for her hand and allowed her to squeeze it as hard as Jack had squeezed her neck, hoping that it would give her some kind of comfort. She could only imagine her ex-husband’s face right now; he must have either been smiling or showing no emotion, whatsoever.
The jury’s faces were a mix of different emotions—from disgust, to grief, to disbelief—and Lauren took comfort in the fact that many of them had gone white with what they were hearing. When the recording was over, even the judge’s stony expression had slipped for longer than she’d seen it, thus far. She looked a bit green around the gills, as well.
The prosecutor looked like he was caught between smiling triumphantly and shaking his head in disgust. Instead he sighed and thanked Marc, before allowing defense to take over.
“Mr. Kelly—”
“Agent,” Marc corrected, harshly, narrowing his eyes. “I worked hard for that title.”
“Of course,” the lawyer responded. “My apologies, Agent Kelly.” She cleared her throat. “What is the nature of your relationship with Dr. Stanley.”
“Stanton.”
“Excuse me?”
“They said before that she would like to be known as Dr. Stanton; not Stanley.”
“Oh, yes. But her legal name is Stanley, and this is a court of law.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s already been cleared by the court. Her name is Dr. Stanton.”
Lauren took some kind of pleasure in the fact that Marc seemed unmoved by the lawyer’s charm. She was obviously trying to entice him with the swing of her hips and her flirty, pointed smile. He wasn’t buying it.
“Fine. What is the nature of your relationship with Dr. Lauren Stanton, then?”
“Could you please clarify?” Marc requested.
“Is your relationship with Dr. Stanton of a sexual nature?”
Marc’s jaw clenched for a moment and he glanced at Lauren for a second, asking with his bright blue eyes a question that went unvoiced until now. She nodded, discreetly, telling him that it was fine.
“Yes,” he said. “We did sleep together.”
“How many times would you say?”
“Objection! Inappropriate!” the prosecutor said.
“It’s relevant to the investigation, Your Honor,” the lawyer argued.
“How so?” Judge Kensington asked.
“Well, the sexual relationship between Marc “Angelface” Kelly and Dr. Lauren Stanton, who, it seems, has been very unlucky in lust, could point to a different attacker on the night in question. Like, say, Agent Kelly himself?”
“I would never,” Marc hissed, barely moving from his seat, though his eyes screamed murder. “I’m not an abuser.”
“But you are known as ‘Angelface’, isn’t that correct?”
“That was a persona I played,” Marc huffed. “It’s not real.”
“Oh? Because several women have come forward, claiming to have had, quote, ‘rough sex’ with you, in your time undercover with a particular motorcycle gang, known as the Hell’s Seven. Is that correct?”
“You’re simplifying it,” Marc argued. “That wasn’t.”
“Is. That. True?” the lawyer asked, again, her tone clipped. “It’s a yes or no answer, Agent Kelly.”
Marc sighed. “Yes,” he growled.
“Thank you, Agent Kelly. No more questions, Your Honor.” She sauntered back to her seat.
“Your Honor, if I may?” the prosecutor said, standing up. She nodded and he addressed Marc. “Agent Kelly, would you have ever been rough with Lauren Stanton during sexual relations, knowing what you know about her?”
“No, of course not,” Marc replied.
“And why not?”
“Because I could already tell that that wasn’t what she liked,” Marc said.
“How could you tell that?”
“From the scars on her body,” Marc admitted. “And from the way she sometimes flinched around loud sounds and kept herself in a personal bubble whenever we were out. She doesn’t like being touched that way.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“Because of how badly her ex-husband abused her.”
“Objection!” the defense lawyer exclaimed. “Conjecture!”
“Sustained.”
The prosecutor sighed. “Agent Kelly, this was all in your opinion, yes?”
“Yes.” Lauren could see that his jaw was clenched, though.
“But you’re able to discern such things due to your training, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Agent Kelly. You may step down.”
Marc stood and walked back to his seat behind Lauren. His hand brushed her shoulder and she felt the shiver of pleasure go through her at the heat of his touch. She wanted nothing more than to drag him somewhere and let him have his way with her. But she couldn’t.
It was her turn.
“The prosecution calls Dr. Lauren Stanton to the stand.”
She stood and brushed down her slightly wrinkled skirt, composing herself as she started the long walk to the bench, where she placed her hand on a bible and repeated the words that the bailiff fed to her, before sitting down and waiting for the first question to be asked. Lauren was certain that everybody in the room could hear how hard her heart was beating inside her chest. Her fingers played nervously with the hem of her dress.
“Dr. Stanton,” the prosecutor said, his voice noticeably softer as he approached. “How are you today?”
“Fine, thank you,” Lauren replied, calmly. She forced her shoulders to relax, hoping that she wouldn’t come off as too stiff to the jury. They had warned her against that earlier.
“Good,” the prosecutor replied. “That’s good. If you feel up to it, would you explain, in as much detail as you’re capable of, the events of the night your ex-husband...” he cleared his throat and gave her a consoling smile, “allegedly,” he glared over his shoulder at the defense lawyer, whose lips pressed together in a wry grin, “covered your body in those scars?”
Lauren nodded and started the speech that she, and her lawyer and the prosecutor standing right in front of her, had practiced for the past month straight. She had recited it in the mirror every morning as she got ready for work. She had practiced the way she was supposed to phrase her sentences so that the defense could have no objections and interrupt anything she was saying. She stated each event clearly, so there would be no doubt in her mind what had happened that night and how she was affected by it. She allowed her voice to break a bit at some points, taking the offered handkerchief from the prosecutor to dab at her eyes. She had to stop at a few times as flashbacks flooded her vision and she had to shut her eyes tightly for several seconds before continuing.
Only when she was finished did she chance a glance at Jack, who wore a slight smirk, his blue eyes shining mischievously—almost triumphantly—as he stared back at her. Lauren felt rage bubble inside her chest and she straightened out her back as she locked eyes, boldly, with him, though tears continued to stream from her eyes and the tip of her nose remained red.
Her testimony was more torturous than she ever could have imagined.
When it was the defense’s turn to refute all of her claims, she didn’t hold back for a second. She made Lauren out to be a cheating whore, who called men over to her husband’s apartment when he was hard at work, and lied about being at the hospital, even when she had asked for the night off. Lauren tried to argue with her—to call her out on her lies—but the lawyer wouldn’t give her the chance. The prosecutor tried to help as much as possible, but the damage was already done where the jury was concerned.
She could only hope that they had enough proof to convict. She consoled herself with the fact that Jack would be sentenced to at least a year in prison for violating the terms of the restraining order and by the time he got out, she and her mother—and possibly Marc, if he was willing to go with her—would all be as far away as possible.
But how long with it be then, she thought, before he found her again?
*****