Justice for All Read online

  Copyright © 2015 by Olivia Hardin

  Cover design by © Once Upon a Time Covers

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Fun Facts and Trivia from Olivia

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  Be sure to read more about the Rawley Family in All for Hope and All for Family

  To the “law ladies” who taught me the ropes and fostered my fascination and appreciation for the judicial system: Barbara, Cindy, Ann Marie and Misty.

  Kay Rawley kicked one heel and then the other into the backseat of her car, each one striking the far door with a thud before toppling to the floorboard. Her teeth clamped down to hold onto the leather strap of her briefcase while she slid her feet into a pair of flats. When she slammed the door and began to rush towards the courthouse, her body was yanked back, almost sending her falling onto her face when the shoulder strap of her briefcase stuck in the car door.

  “Damn it! Why me?”

  Once free, she took off at a sprint. A little old man was coming out of the door, and although she wanted to shoo him out of the way, she instead held back and waited for him. He barely got past her before she bolted through and down the hallway towards Judge Clements’ courtroom.

  “… so do you remember what type of case that was, when you served on that jury?”

  A few eyes turned to her as she made her way to the defendant’s table, but for the most part Kay was able to slip in unnoticed. Leona Burkead side-eyed her as she handed her a stack of papers, “Glad you could join us, Miss Rawley.”

  Kay’s head began to throb in the spot just between her eyes, but without any outward reaction to the attorney’s words, she grabbed her pen and focused on the black woman sitting in the jury box.

  “Well, as it was told to us, there was a drug deal gone bad. The supposed drug dealer stole a car, or that’s what we were told. But he said the car was payment for some drugs.” The potential juror presented herself well in a clean-cut suit of burgundy. Her eyes were direct and focused.

  “Oh, so that was a criminal case, based on your description. It was your job to decide guilt or innocence?” the prosecuting attorney, Raymond Lyons asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So when you were involved in that trial, you probably heard a lot about the term ‘reasonable doubt.’ In civil trials, you’ll very often see attorneys with their arms like this.” Lyons held both hands out on either side of him level. As he spoke, he tipped his body left and then right. “Like a scale of justice. And so, sometimes they’ll say if you tip the scale just a little bit this way or another, then the case has been proven. But that’s not the same in a criminal trial. In a criminal trial, you’re instructed that you must find ‘reasonable doubt. Do all of you know what that means?”

  The twelve potential jurors, four woman and eight men, all paused a moment to consider the question. No one spoke, but they all nodded in understanding. Kay’s eyes were drawn to one of the women in particular, sitting in the number seven seat with a peculiar glint in her eyes. Kay looked down to find her name. Nancy. Nancy Taylor knew precisely what the defense attorney was asking, and for some reason she didn’t like it one bit.

  Kay scribbled the word ‘condescended’ beside Nancy’s name and raised her eyes again. Voir dire continued, and the prosecutor managed only to strike one juror during his time. When it was Leona’s turn, Kay handed her some notes and waited to be sure she understood them. She nodded, and Kay returned the gesture.

  Leona was known for short and to the point questioning. She didn’t believe in getting mired down in details that would confuse or misdirect jurors. She went through her list, being careful not to appear patronizing towards juror number seven, Nancy Taylor. If Nancy had a sour taste about the prosecution, that could work to the advantage of the defense. After a few minutes of questions, Leona came back to the table and put the list in front of Kay.

  “Are we good with number seven?” she asked low.

  “I still think twelve is a problem.”

  She turned back, stood upright and approached the jury box. “Mr. Benedict, we talked about your perception of law enforcement earlier,” she began, speaking to juror number six, seated just behind juror number twelve on the row above. “You recalled the time you called them when your car was broken into, is that correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “So at that time, they caught the person responsible, and you were pretty pleased with their work on that case. But do you think that it gave you any perception that just because a person is arrested, he or she must be guilt of something, even if it isn’t that particular crime?”

  Bennett responded verbally, but juror twelve, a woman by the name of Christie Guerra, twisted in her seat.

  “What about any of you on the jury? Do you feel a person must be guilty of something just because he or she was arrested, even if it isn’t the underlying charge? Mrs. Guerra?”

  Mrs. Guerra was an older Hispanic woman with high cheekbones and the sort of wrinkles that indicated she was used to smiling and laughing. Now, however, she was frowning. She was frowning so hard that her wrinkles were rolling into each other on her forehead.

  “I am sorry, ma’am, but I think I cannot do this. I think I cannot dispel the thought that the person might be guilty of something.”

  Kay managed not to smile, just marked a note on her yellow pad while an alternate juror took Mrs. Guerra’s place. Before long, Judge Clements announced a break for lunch. When Leona approached the table and stood stone still while the courtroom emptied, Kay felt an uneasy sensation crawl up her spine. After she’d put all of her things back into her bag, she raised her eyes to the senior attorney.

  “You have a habit of that, Kay. You might make a second-rate attorney one day if you’d just buy a damned watch.”

  Cheeks flaming, Kay dropped her gaze a moment and inhaled a long deep breath. “I’m sorry, Leona. I don’t know what I can say.”

  She might’ve said that a power outage the night before had knocked out her alarm clock and she’d slept late. She might’ve explained that the accident on I-35 from
Dallas to Waxahachie had put her behind another twenty minutes. She could even have told her about the doddering old man at the front door of the Ellis County Courthouse.

  The truth was, none of that mattered because Kay Rawley was forever known as “a day late and a dollar short.” The reputation had been practically branded on her forehead the first day of law school, when she’d been locked out of her very first class. In truth, she was very rarely late, and she was never a dollar short. She was in fact the daughter of an earl, but no one here in Texas knew that. And Kay planned to keep it that way.

  “Ahem…”

  Both women turned simultaneously in the direction of the male voice. The courtroom was completely empty except for the two of them and one man sitting on the last row of the spectator’s gallery. He had a leg crossed over his knee. One hand was resting atop that knee, the thumb tapping in impatient sort of way. His expression was stoic with just a touch of curiosity in his slate colored eyes.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt,” Audrick Van Buren dropped his foot to stand and slipped one hand into his pocket. Kay did her best not to admire him too closely. Even though he’d clearly shaved that morning, the hint of a shadow still darkened his jaw. On days in between court, he tended to let the short stubble grow just a bit, and she always thought it made him look a little like a pirate.

  “You weren’t interrupting,” Leona noted, huffing a bit in exasperation as she loaded her things into her briefcase. “I didn’t know you were in Ellis County this morning. Care to take me to lunch?”

  Kay knew good and well when she was being dismissed. She ducked her head and backed away from the table a few steps. “I’ll be back at one.”

  Leona didn’t even look at her as she walked past Kay towards Van Buren. “Don’t bother, Kay. I appreciate your help with voir dire, but I’m sure the firm has other projects for you.”

  Chewing her tongue to keep from making a smart comment, Kay nodded even though the other woman couldn’t see it. She had been with Tippett, Rollings, Van Buren and Gates for almost a year now, interning for low wages as she finished her final year of law school. It was her not-so-humble opinion that she didn’t get nearly enough time in the courtroom, so it stung that Leona was sending her away without even allowing her to take part in the trial.

  Still, she rolled back her shoulders and stood perfectly still, waiting for the two attorneys to exit the courtroom so that she could slip out and get a nice tall latte as she nursed her bruised ego. She was focusing so hard on appearing indifferent that she almost missed the fact that Van Buren was staring straight at her.

  “Actually, I need to speak with Miss Rawley a moment. But if you can wait about five minutes, we could grab a bite before my next hearing.”

  At exactly 8:30 a.m. Audrick Van Buren closed and locked the door to the lecture hall and walked tall back to his desk. This was the way he ran his classroom. If these fledgling law students planned to be attorneys, then they needed to learn the importance of punctuality. His time was valuable, and he wasn’t going to waste it waiting for latecomers to get situated or worse, to request that he repeat something they’d missed.

  “Good morning.” He spoke to the nearly packed room, taking a stack of syllabi and dividing it in half to give one to each side of the room. He didn’t wait for the papers to get to all of the students. They could presumably all read, so what was the point? He began going through his expectations and mentally took note of which of them were paying close attention.

  The little jiggle on the doorknob wasn’t surprising. It happened each semester. He didn’t react, though a few of the students closest to that door twitched and exchanged concerned looks, clearly wondering if they should open the door. All of them were wise enough to remain in place as he continued describing the course on Civil Procedure.

  When the hour was finished, he closed up his books, stacked them neatly on the desk and then unlocked the door to indicate that the class was dismissed. The lecture hall of wide-eyed students gathered up their belongings and exited as fast as they could. He expected to receive a few drop slips over the next several weeks. He was a hard task-master.

  “Mr. Van Buren,” a husky female voice spoke from the doorway. He paused before he glanced at the woman. He could just about bet that she was the late student.

  Upon raising his gaze, the first thing that struck him was her eyes. He didn’t know God made eyes that blue. But really they weren’t just blue. There were greenish flecks along the inside ring close to the pupil, and he found himself staring deep into those eyes.

  “Sir, I wondered if I could get a copy of the syllabus.”

  He rubbed the roof of his mouth with his tongue as his vision tunneled back out to look at her fully. She had a stack of books hugged to her chest as if they might protect her from something. Behind her was a shabby looking fellow wearing sweats and a “Los Pollos Hermanos” T-shirt.

  “You were late, Miss…”

  “Rawley. I know your policy about punctuality, and I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

  Van put his hand on the books on his desk and rapped his thumb along the spine of the top one a moment. “If it does happen again, be good enough not to disturb us by pulling on the doorknob.”

  “Eh, sorry, man. That was me,” the Breaking Bad fan said, his hand outstretched. “It’s all my fault she didn’t get here on time, so I wanted to come clear things up for her. Thomas Berman.”

  Van shook the man’s hand even as he gave him an arrogant top-to-bottom once over. When he turned his attention back to Miss Rawley, her expression said that she wanted to disappear into some hole and never come out.

  “Sorry about my appearance, man. Long night, if you know what I mean.”

  Van spoke without looking at him again, “And are you also a student in this class?”

  “Nah, I’m a business major but I…”

  “Then I’m sure you’re late for a class of your own. You can go, Mr. Berman.”

  Thankfully the rude kid didn’t stay to argue about his dismissal, and when the door closed behind him, Van watched Miss Rawley exhale a long breath of relief.

  “Please don’t misunderstand, Mr. Van Buren. This isn’t what it looks like. I don’t even know that man.”

  Van’s thick brows shot up in interest, and he had the urge to grin when Miss Rawley’s cheeks pinked in alarm.

  “That’s not what I mean,” she stammered. “He ran into my car. In the parking lot this morning. And by the time the campus police got there, I was late, and then I couldn’t get him to leave me alone. He insisted on speaking with you and sat outside the lecture hall the entire class. Believe me, nothing like this will happen again.”

  The second most striking thing about her was that voice. It reminded him of Lauren Bacall, and something in him wanted her to grin at him and say, “You know how to whistle don’t you? You just put your lips together and blow.” Lest he make a fool of himself by whistling, he put a pen between his teeth and located his stack of syllabi, handing her one.

  She took the paper and stood there a moment longer. He kept himself busy rearranging his books and folders, shuffling some of them into his briefcase. After a few more seconds, she turned and he heard her feet padding out of the room. A long-held breath seeped from his mouth and a little grin upturned one corner of his lips as he thought of those blue and green eyes.

  It was clear as crystal that Kay Rawley was shocked that he wanted to speak with her. He’d mostly kept his distance since she’d started as an intern at the firm. Up until a week ago, she’d still been a student at law school, and he took nepotism rules seriously. Now all bets were off…

  Not exactly, old boy. His inner voice spoke up. And he knew it was true. Audrick Van Buren didn’t chase women, and he certainly didn’t date. He wasn’t a monk by any means, but he didn’t have time to keep up with girlfriends and all the issues of relationships.

  He recognized his own hang-ups. First, he was a very busy attorney, now a partner in a la
rge Dallas firm. Women required time, so he liked to keep his hook-ups short and simply physical. Also, he tended not to trust most women. He wasn’t exactly a stud, although he prided himself on staying fit. A part of him always thought any women looking for a relationship was really looking for his money.

  But when Kay Rawley gazed up at him, all business in those sexy eyes of hers, he wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind and ask her out. But the “all business” look reined him in. He knew from the scuttlebutt around the office that she was as serious about her own career as he’d been at her age. And even if he wanted her in a way that he didn’t often encounter, he respected her goals in life.

  “Late for court, eh?”

  “You heard that, I suppose. And I’m not going to make up any excuses. I was just late, pure and simple.”

  His cheek twitched as he fought the urge to grin at her. “I didn’t hear the conversation with Leona. I was taking note of your flats. Not your typical attire for court, but certainly quieter when you’re slipping into a packed courtroom.”

  Her cheeks turned a little pinker. Pinker because she was already wearing a very healthy flush after Leona’s abrupt dismissal. He wondered if he could make her blush even more if he tried.

  “You needed to speak with me?” She shifted her briefcase from her left hand to her right and looked up at him.

  Van tilted his back head a bit, extending the effect of his height over her. He could almost feel her twitching with discomfort. He’d realized some time ago that Kay’s three-inch heels were a way of gaining advantage. She felt more confident when she was closer to eye level with her peers, especially those in authority positions.

  “I have someone coming in this afternoon. Gracie was going to talk to her since I’m here all day, but she had to go pick up her little girl from school. Some kind of stomach bug.”

  “And you want me to meet with your client?”

  She did a fair job hiding her surprise, but Van was nearly as good at reading people as Kay seemed to be. And who could blame her for being a bit astonished? In all of her time at the firm he’d never asked her to meet with any of his people. “She’s not a client yet. It’s a consultation. Divorce with a domestic abuse aspect. You can handle it.”