Without Justice Page 2

  But she wasn’t going to die without answers. “What do you want?”

  His grin was feral. “It doesn’t matter what I want. Biermann is a pig. You lie down with the pig. You die with the pig.” He jabbed his gun toward her. She didn’t have time to think. Instinct propelled her forward. She ducked low and ran toward him, praying it would be harder to hit her if she were in motion.

  She was right, but her attempts to dodge the rapid gunfire caused her to stumble. Breathing heavy, she pushed up from the ground and stood to face Fontana who was standing only a few feet away. Sweat poured down her back, and fear rooted her to the ground as she watched the scene play out in slow motion. His grin returned and he raised the gun. Cade flinched in anticipation of the shot, but suddenly Fontana spun around in response to a loud yell.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Cade looked in the direction of the voice and saw a man running toward them. She heard a muffled shot and watched with horror as the man clutched his chest and fell to the ground. Certain she was next, she lunged, determined to take this monster down. Before she could reach him another voice rang out, and another. Fontana looked over his shoulder at more bystanders in the distance headed their way, and then back at her, torn between finishing his work and saving his hide. He fired one last time in her direction and took off running.

  A fierce burn tore through her skin, but Cade didn’t fully comprehend what had happened until she looked down at the fan of blood blossoming across the front of her suit. She grabbed her side and shouted for help, but her words barely registered. She doubted anyone else could hear. Seconds later, she hit the ground.

  Chapter Two

  November

  “Your new last name is Kelly.”

  Cade stared at the driver’s license Inspector Kennedy Stone had just handed to her. The picture looked like they did on all IDs, slightly off-center. The photographer had captured her mouth slightly open when she started to ask if he was finally ready to take the shot, but the finished product looked as authentic as the rest of the papers she held in her hand: birth certificate, social security card, and the lease for the house in Bodark, a small Texas town she’d never heard of before.

  “What about a job? The marshals service in Chicago said you’d have something lined up.”

  Kennedy shifted. “I’m working on it. I have a couple of good leads and I should have you set up within a couple of weeks. Once we get to Bodark, you can take some time to get settled and I’ll be in touch about the job.”

  Cade had spent time over the past couple of weeks interpreting Kennedy’s moods, and she could tell the question about a job had her on edge. Whatever. Kennedy wasn’t the one whose entire identity had been ripped apart. From the moment she woke up in the Cook County hospital with a contingent of US Marshals guarding her around the clock, Cade felt the life she’d known slipping away. When she was finally released from the hospital, she’d been taken directly to a safe house where Assistant US Attorney Jodie Waverly offered her a place in the witness protection program in exchange for her testimony against Leo Fontana.

  “Good, you caught him.” Cade’s nights at the hospital had been plagued with dreams of Fontana on the loose, stalking her, and imposing his own special brand of Mafia justice. His capture would give her a large measure of relief while she healed from her gunshot wound. She looked into Waverly’s eyes for confirmation the source of her fear was behind bars, but she only saw unease. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Waverly cleared her throat. “We will catch him, but we haven’t yet. We need your help.”

  Cade closed her eyes and took a moment to summon the strength to hear what Waverly had in mind. She listened as the AUSA outlined her plan to have Cade testify before a federal grand jury sometime in the next few weeks, and then assume her new identity, far from Chicago. She’d return to Cook County only when Fontana was in custody and his case was set for trial.

  “If it gets to that point,” Waverly said. “With any luck, he’ll rat out Vincente Oliveri and you’ll never have to lay eyes on him again.”

  “Luck.” Cade sighed. “You’re going to need more than luck if you think it will be easy to get Fontana to go against omertà,” she said, referring to the Mafia’s code of silence.

  “Let me worry about that. Are you willing to testify?”

  There was never any question. Cade’s career as a prosecutor had been more than a job—it had been a calling. From the first time she’d witnessed the expression of gratitude on a victim’s face during her law school internship with the state’s attorney, the siren song of big money from big law held no sway over her.

  The month after the shooting had been a blur. Still weak from her injury, she’d spent a portion of her days resting and the balance answering the same questions, over and over, from federal agents about the shooting outside the courthouse. She’d relived the horrific event so many times it played like a movie on a continuous reel in her head, whether she was asleep or awake.

  The day after her grand jury testimony wrapped up, two US Marshals had whisked her to the airport. Until they reached the gate and started to board, she hadn’t known where she was going, and when the plane touched down in Dallas, they’d handed her off to Kennedy, who was now responsible for keeping her alive.

  During the last two weeks, she and Kennedy had remained in Dallas, while the final details of her new identity were put in place. Cade had asked several times about the possibility of opening a new law practice, but Kennedy had dodged all of her requests with a simple “I’m looking into it.” Maybes weren’t cutting it anymore, and she was determined to push the point. “I’m not going to be practicing law anymore, am I?”

  Kennedy pushed a strand of hair away from her face and cleared her throat, but the frown creasing her brow was Cade’s answer.

  “It’s not that easy,” Kennedy said. “We don’t have the right connections in Texas to get you admitted to their state bar without drawing unwanted attention. Plus, if you continue to practice, no matter where, you’ll be more visible, easier to find. The state bar will have your fingerprints on file, and if any of the cases you handle get press, your face’ll be in the news. I know it’s what you want, but I can’t guarantee your safety if you do, and I can’t guarantee they’ll let you stay in the program.”

  Cade nodded. She got it, but she didn’t have to be happy about it. She’d lost much more than her chosen profession over the past few months. Her family, her friends, her sense of security had all been sucked up into a black hole of chaos. Changing her career shouldn’t feel so devastating, but it had become the final straw, sending her once ordered life into a scattered mess of sacrifice and disorder. She’d let go of everything else; it was time to release this as well. “Fine. When do we leave?”

  “Thirty minutes. Bodark is a couple of hours away.” Kennedy stood up. “Look, I get how hard this is, but—”

  “I doubt that.” Anger surged through Cade. “You ever have your life turned inside out? No home, no family, no job—all because you were doing the right thing? Get back to me when your life’s in total shambles and then we’ll compare notes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  A pained expression flashed across Kennedy’s face, and for a second, Cade flinched with sympathy, but the sentiment faded quickly. Kennedy might feel bad for her, but that didn’t mean she knew what she was feeling, and it didn’t mean she cared. Kennedy would find her a new home, a new life, but she wasn’t doing these things out of the kindness of her heart.

  Cade didn’t begrudge Kennedy her mission, but she didn’t have to like her or anything about this process. All she had to do, all she could do, was focus on her new life, which meant letting go of the past. “I need to send a letter before we leave,” she said. “What’s the procedure?”

  “Plain paper. Sign with your first name only. Don’t put it in an envelope. Give me the address and I’ll make sure it’s delivered.”

  Cade made a mental note of t
he details. How had her life spiraled out of control? She’d never envisioned a time when she’d voluntarily let someone else peruse a personal letter she’d penned, but there was no way around it now. She walked back to her room in the nondescript apartment she and Kennedy had been sharing and found the legal pad AUSA Waverly had given her to keep notes about her memories of the shooting.

  She pulled the pad close and fished a pen from her pocket. The pen, a Montblanc 149 her parents had given her the day she graduated from law school, had been nestled in her jacket when she’d been shot, and it was one of the few personal possessions she’d had with her the last two months. Her dad would recognize the pen’s fine, smooth lines, and it would make him smile to know that ten years later she was still using the vintage tool even though the words she penned would break his heart.

  When they’d heard the news she’d been shot, her parents, who’d retired to Florida to be close to her pregnant younger sister, Chloe, had rushed back to Chicago. Cade loved them both, but a few days of their paternal doting felt like a month’s worth of smothering. After a week, she’d pointed out the wonderful care of the doctors, the frequent visits from her friends at the SA’s office, the hyper vigilant guard outside her door, and she’d shooed them back to Florida, with the promise she’d be in touch if she needed anything.

  In the days since, she’d called them several times—brief conversations, short enough to hide her future plans. Last week, Chloe gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. Cade was immensely happy for her, but happier still her parents would be so distracted by the newest member of the Deluca family, she could slip away, virtually unnoticed. With the pen poised above the paper, she paused to wage a now familiar internal debate about whether she should tell them anything when she couldn’t tell them everything. What she had to say would be a dose of cold water on the happiness of the new birth, but if she left without telling them anything, the unknown would be a permanent distraction.

  Mom and Dad,

  The first thing I need you to know is I love you very much. The second thing is you may never see me again. By the time you read this letter, my life will have changed drastically. For your safety and mine, we can no longer have any contact. You won’t see me again and, as hard as that will be for all of us, I’m asking you to accept it as necessary for my survival.

  Please know that I love you and if there were any other way, I wouldn’t be doing this. You always taught me the importance of sacrifice for a good cause—trust me when I say this decision is worthy. Please give my love to the rest of the family and know always that I love you more than you will ever know.

  Cade

  *

  Emily shook out of her drenched raincoat and handed it to the bellboy. She took a moment to smooth out the wrinkles of her navy blue suit while she looked out over the ballroom crowd at the Bodark Inn. She’d been here dozens of times over the years for homecoming banquets, prom, and many other election nights like this one, but she didn’t remember the room ever being this crowded. Before she could process the why of it, her best friend, Becca Holt, grabbed her by the arm.

  “Em, get a look at this crowd. They’re all here for you.”

  Emily shook her head. “Chill. There are a dozen other races on the ticket.”

  “None of them set to make history.” Becca pointed at a reporter and cameraman from the local news network standing across the lobby. “I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

  Becca was right, but the polls had just closed and it was way too early to call the close race. If things turned out the way she hoped, later tonight she’d be standing at the podium thanking the many donors and volunteers who’d helped her become the first woman elected district attorney of Lawson County, not to mention the youngest. But right now, she would make the rounds of the Democrat watch party and shake a few hands, share a few laughs, before making her way to her room to polish both versions of her speech until the time came to accept or concede.

  “Ready?”

  She turned at the gravelly voice of her campaign manager, Justin Cutler. Justin was a workhorse, which was why she’d hired him in the first place, and why she’d also grown to hate him during the last months of the campaign. She didn’t really hate him, but she had begun to resist his insistence that she be on at all times. For the last six months, she’d lived and breathed the campaign. No fun, no friends, no dating for sure—nothing that could get in the way of the campaign. She’d had to assume she was always being watched, even when she was at private functions with her friends. She found it easier to blow off personal time until the campaign was over than attend social functions and worry that her every move was being posted to social media.

  Justin was only doing what she paid him to do, but she couldn’t help but resent the intrusion, and tonight their association would be over, no matter what the outcome. Justin would move on to the next election, and she would either assume the rank of the top law enforcement officer in the county or join her family’s law practice. Right now, she didn’t care which as long as it was over. She took Justin’s arm. “I was ready days ago.”

  The suite was full when they arrived. Damn. She’d hoped for at least a few minutes of semi-solitude to prepare for the long wait ahead, but her father, mother, her two brothers and their wives and kids, along with a few key campaign donors were already indulging in the hors d’oeuvres and tossing back expensive champagne.

  Emily understood that her father, Senator Dalton Sinclair, would spare no expense for his only daughter’s big night, but the display directly contradicted the scrappy grassroots campaign she’d run, and she gave silent thanks no one from the media was here to see this display of opulence.

  “Emily, come over here. Your mother wants some pictures with the family.”

  Her father’s voice boomed, and everyone in the room turned toward her. Before she could take a step toward him, the room erupted in applause. She was averse to premature celebration. As of thirty minutes ago, she was neck and neck with Bradshaw in the polls, and the stormy weather outside meant all those Republican voters who’d voted early might tip the race in his favor. A few seconds in, she raised a hand and the applause faded into the sounds of ice clinking into glasses. “Thanks for coming, everyone,” she said. “I appreciate the show of support. Looks like we’re in for a long night, so if we run out of shrimp, let’s just say I’m glad you already voted.”

  As the crowd laughed, she made her way over to her father, who pulled her into a crushing embrace. Dalton Sinclair was tall and broad-shouldered, but it was his self-confidence, not his size, that made him seem like the biggest personality in the room. Emily knew him as a generous, loving father, but she was well aware of his reputation as a shrewd lawyer and businessman who would use any advantage to gain a political edge over his opponents.

  “I’m so proud of you,” he said.

  “Thanks, Dad. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Pretty sure that’s not true. You put yourself through law school, so I can’t even take credit for that.”

  It was true. She’d always insisted on making her own way, but her family name opened doors that were closed to others, no matter how hard she tried to assert her independence. “Well, thanks for being here tonight.” She waved her arm to indicate the entire family. “It means a lot to me that you’re all here, no matter what happens.”

  He pulled her close again. “I have no doubt you’re going to trounce Bradshaw, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Relax and enjoy this night. It’s only the beginning of many great things to come.”

  She started to reply, but her mother beat her to it. “Dalton, leave the poor girl be. She’s got a ton of people to see tonight, and you don’t need to be monopolizing her with your plans to take over the world.”

  Emily smiled as she watched her father raise his hands and assume a who me expression. Senator Sinclair would never be more powerful than the woman who’d worked behind the scenes to get him into the right circles. Megan Sinclai
r was a model of refinement and good taste and, with her pedigree, she gave her husband entree into circles he’d only dreamed about. In the small town where they lived, they were the first family, but it was her mother’s connections in Dallas that had brought him the funds he needed to win his senate seat three times over. “Thanks, Mom, but a few minutes with family would be nice. Any second now, Justin will show up ready to whisk me away to meet someone else to whom I’m sure I’m deeply indebted.”

  “That’s because he’s good at what he does,” her father said. “Thank those people now and then move on. Once you’re the DA, you’ll need a buffer to deal with everyone who wants a one-on-one meeting with you. Have you thought about who you plan to bring on as your first assistant?”

  “There’s plenty of time for that,” she said, deflecting the question, but she had given careful thought to her potential staff. Her password-protected files contained a flowchart, listing every attorney currently working in the district attorney’s office along with their new assignment, should she decide to keep them around. The person she ultimately selected as her first assistant would effectively run the day-to-day business of the office, although she’d remain very hands-on.

  She’d pretty much decided she would offer the position to her trial partner, Seth London. After trying dozens of cases together, he was in the perfect position to know how she operated, which made him ideally suited to implement her plans for the office. A seamless transition was essential since she’d promised voters the office would see some big changes under her command. But first she had to win.