TWO

Serena

"All rise."

The sudden noise somehow managed to give Santana an opportunity to wrap his hand around Michael's pen. I watched in slow motion as he very deliberately wrote something on a piece of paper.

Seconds later, I was forced to walk by the monster's table just as officers attempted to lead him away.

But the split second timing was just enough, the note lifted so only I was able to see. All time seemed to stand still, images of his most recent victims flashing in my mind's eye in vivid detail. My stomach churned, the bile clawing into my intestines. If there was a God, he would make certain this animal fried.

But the single word would forever burn into my mind.

Mine...

A cold shiver trickled all the way down the back of my legs, but the asshole wasn't going to have a single opportunity to see me sweat. I had very personal reasons for wanting to see him taken down and I always made good on my promises.

Especially to myself.

His nod of respect was followed by shoving the note into his mouth, chewing the paper as if this was his last meal. Then he issued an animalistic howl, the eerie sound quite possibly the most terrifying threat to date.

"Jesus. Fucking. Christ," Judge Allistair hissed. "Get him the hell out of here."

Santana managed to mouth the word one last time. Yet another promise to me, a sick reminder that he believed himself not only above the law, but the Devil himself.

I walked out of the courtroom just as the sun began to set, holding my head high and pushing my way through the crowd of reporters. Only when I noticed a man standing across the street, his eyes covered in dark shades, did I take a deep breath, shaking like a freaking leaf. There was no doubt in my mind one of the Santana's goons had been sent to scare me.

Or capture me.

Or kill me.

Fuck him.

The case was closed and in the jury's hands. Thank God it was Friday, even though I couldn't imagine the horrible weekend ahead for the seven men and five women on the jury. There was nothing more that I could do. This particular prosecution had taken two long months of preparation, three weeks of jury selection, and a full three weeks of testimony. I was exhausted.

I was also over asshole criminals thinking they were unstoppable.

And dear God, I needed a vacation, something I'd already mentioned to my boss. Twice. The pompous man was going to approve my request. Now, all I could hope for was a speedy verdict.

Unless every jury member ended up dead.

Taking several deep breaths, I grabbed my keys, heading straight for my car. The possibility of retaliation was high. Santana had never seen the inside of a prison, even though he'd been accused of murdering a solid twelve people during his tenure as Kingpin.

Even my boss had suggested I stay in a safe house until after the trial. That wasn't my style. I had two guns in my possession and knew exactly how to use them.

My father had taught me well.

"How about a drink?"

The male voice came out of nowhere. Turning, I knocked headfirst into someone, falling directly against a massive chest. As I tumbled forward a hand snapped against the back of my neck, creating an instant slice of pain. "Shit."

"Oh, God, are you all right?"

I breathed a sigh of relief as I attempted to steady myself. "Dan, you scared the hell out of me." Dan Swift was the FBI agent who'd been vital in the capture of Santana. He also had a crush on me. One hand was still wrapped around my neck, the other holding my arm.

Grinning, he eased me into a standing position. "Sorry about that. Did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm...fine." I rubbed my neck then slid my hand down my skirt, taking a deep breath. I scanned the area, still terrified one of Santana's goons was waiting in the wings.

"You're certain?" he asked, grinning. "Would you like me to drive you home? Hey, maybe we could grab a bite to eat."

"You're very sweet but I'll be fine and I'm just going home and hiding under the covers." He looked hurt, but at this point, I honestly didn't care. The exhaustion was starting to settle in.

"Well, maybe next week. Take care of yourself. You did good in there," he muttered, lingering as if I'd change my mind.

"Thanks." I gave him a hard look, the kind that made certain he'd walk away. A boyfriend I didn't need. "Hey, do you think the jurors will be okay?"

He gripped my arm, giving me a reassuring nod. "Stop worrying. They're well protected. Nothing is going to stop this conviction."

I watched him walk away, more hopeful than I had been. Then I sighed, forced to realize I was going home very much alone.

Again.

I'd always been told that I ran away from life and that one day I wouldn't be able to run any longer.

Troubles.

Love.

One day I'd have to confront my reflection in the mirror, facing the truth that all those ugly whispers were far too accurate, a telling of the various fears I'd yet to face.

The Trust. I shuddered at the thought.

But I'd run head long into this case, much as I had during my entire career, and I refused to back down to the asshole in any manner. Work had become my passion, burning deep within me. There was no time for a social life, even with a handsome FBI agent.

My large collection of vibrators satisfied my every need.

Well, almost.

There was no slice and dice attempt on my life as I walked through the garage, but I locked the car doors within seconds, starting and revving the engine. I lowered my head, taking gulping breaths then turned the satellite radio on full blast. He can't get to you. You're going to be just fine. How many times had I mumbled the mantra? Enough the words should matter.

They didn't in the least.