According to the media over the last few days, those witnesses were Hayden’s friends and the roughing up was a vicious attack that sent an unsuspecting underclassman to the hospital with a broken jaw and a serious concussion from repeated kicks to the head.
That was nothing compared to the brutality of the attack that killed his former girlfriend.
“Considering how my friendship with the senator might negatively influence the jury, I’m not sure I’m the best one to officially lead Hayden’s defense.”
“Good point,” she agreed, though she was certain he’d be a strong behind-the-scenes force in the case no matter who was the lead attorney of record.
“Luckily, the firm has several top-notch criminal defense attorneys,” she noted.
“Yes, which makes this a tough decision. But I talked with my son and Edward last evening. We all three believe that you’re the best choice for the job.”
She stared at him, stunned by his words. “You mean as lead attorney?”
“Yes, though you’ll have full backing from the firm and all the assistance you require. But you’ll deliver the opening and closing statements and handle the press.”
She’d worked her butt off for an opportunity like this ever since she started with the firm right after law school. But she was certain her performance had fallen off over the last few months. She tried harder than ever, but she had trouble concentrating and dealing with the never-ending panic attacks.
“Why me?” she asked.
“I’ve discussed it with my partners. We all agree that you have exactly the qualities needed for this trial. You’re not only capable and thorough, you read the jury as well as or better than any attorney with the firm. You proved that time and time again.”
“I’ve never headed up a high-profile like this.”
“No, but you’ve demonstrated that you know your way around a courtroom. You won’t be intimidated by a judge or daunted by the best the district attorney can hurl at you.”
A year ago that might have been the case. Now she wasn’t convinced she could navigate through all the brutal murder evidence and still stay on her game.
She’d only been a team member on the case they’d just tried and won, but even looking at the photos of a young female victim attacked in an elevator at her workplace had brought on an increase in Rachel’s nightmares and a heightened anxiety level.
Her career had been her life, but it seemed to be turning on her. She definitely couldn’t handle a murder case unless she was totally convinced of the defendant’s innocence. “I appreciate the confidence, but—”
“I know it will be your biggest challenge to date,” Fitch interrupted. “We think you’re ready for it.”
She stared into space as she let his statement sink in. What-ifs stormed her mind. What if she wasn’t up to it? What if she wasn’t convinced of Hayden Covey’s innocence? What if she had a meltdown in front of the jury? If that happened in a case this high profile, it would be the end of her career.
Eric stood, walked to the front of his desk and stared down at her, his gaze intent, intimidating. “This case is very important to me and to the firm, Rachel. We’ve stood beside you and supported you in every way we could since your unfortunate incident. Now I’m asking for you to deliver. Don’t let me down.”
Don’t let him down.
The tone and stance made it clear his words were a warning. This was more than an offer. It was a demand.
“I understand,” she said.
“Good. Then I’ve made myself clear.”
“Perfectly clear. When do I meet the defendant?” she asked, though she hadn’t officially agreed to take the assignment. Ordinarily, the firm granted attorneys that privilege. This time that didn’t appear to be the case.
“Hayden and his parents will be here this morning at ten,” Fitch said. “I’ll also sit in on that first meeting.”
“I expected that you would. Is that all for now?”
“Yes, except that I should warn you that Hayden’s mother, Claire, is in a distraught state. I hope you can give her full confidence in the defense we’ll provide for her son.”
“I’ll do as much as I honestly can.” Honestly was the key word in Rachel’s mind.
Eric Fitch Sr. had gotten what he wanted. He stood, then smiled and nodded, acknowledging his win.
Rachel was getting the career boost she’d worked so hard for, the opportunity to make a name for herself and vastly improve her chance of being named at least a junior partner one day soon.
So why did she feel the almost overwhelming desire to tell Eric Fitch he could take this job and shove it?
Luke Dawkins nudged his worn Stetson back on his head and took a long, hard look at the rusting metal gate. Arrowhead Hills Ranch was carved into the weathered wooden sign along with two imprints of arrowheads.
The last time he’d laid eyes on that gate, he’d seen it through the rearview mirror of the beat-up red pickup truck that he’d bought with money he’d earned working at the local feed and tack shop. That had been eleven years ago, when he was eighteen.
The rickety ranch gate seemed the same. Luke wasn’t.
You Can’t Go Home Again. Thomas Wolfe had known his stuff. The home might not change. The person who’d left would.
A few years of bouncing from job to job followed by eight years in the military had turned Luke into a man, yet he still dreaded returning to the place he’d once called home.
A small Texas Hill Country town with a lot more cows than people, more barbwire than roads and some of the best ranch land in the state.
All Luke had against the town or the ranch could be summed up in two words. Alfred Dawkins. Stubborn. Controlling. Bitter. Downright ornery.
The poor excuse for a father wouldn’t like having Luke home again any more than Luke wanted to be here.
Neither of them had a lot of choice in the matter.
The old defiant angers festered in Luke’s gut as he climbed out of his new double-cab pickup truck and stepped around a mud hole.
His boots scooted across the cattle gap as he unlatched and opened the gate before getting back into his truck and driving through it the way he’d done hundreds of times as a rebellious teenager.
He paused and took in the sights and sounds before he closed the gate behind him. A barking dog, though it wouldn’t be Ace, the golden retriever he’d raised from a pup. Ace had died from a rattlesnake bite when he jumped between Luke and the striking snake.
Luke had been fourteen then. His dad had scorned him for shedding a few tears. Nothing new. Luke had never measured up in his dad’s mind. Just one of the many reasons Luke had never looked back once he left Arrowhead Hills Ranch.
A crow scolded Luke from high in the branches of a nearby live oak. A horse neighed.
Luke looked to the left and spotted a couple of chestnut mares giving him the once-over. So his dad still kept horses. Good to know.
It had been years since Luke was in the saddle. His consecutive tours in the Middle East hadn’t allowed much time for revisiting the cowboy lifestyle.
It was shirtsleeve weather, warm for late January, but a bracing breeze rustled the tall yellow strands of grass and the leaves in a persimmon tree that hugged the fence.
Luke closed the gate, climbed back