Burke and Caitlin to her left. Scout to her right—his sling brushing her shoulder when he shifted. Sara two seats down, uniform crisp, Luke steady behind her.
The bailiff’s voice rang out.
“All rise.”
Judge Harlan entered. Older than he’d looked a month ago.
“Be seated.”
Then the side door opened.
Margot Holt entered first.
The room inhaled.
Margot—poured coffee, delivered casseroles, asked for updates with soft concern—now stood in cuffs.
Another door opened.
Sinclair.
Orange jumpsuit. Cuffed. Clean-shaven. Ordinary.
That made Tessa’s skin crawl more than anything.
He scanned the room once. Assessed. Calculated.
His gaze landed on her.
Held.
The district attorney rose—tall, dark suit cut clean over broad shoulders, dark hair precise, expression unreadable. The kind of man who didn’t raise his voice because he never had to.
“Reid Calloway for the State of North Carolina.”
Judge Harlan nodded.
“Mr. Sinclair, you are here for arraignment on multiple felony charges.”
Reid’s voice carried evenly through the room.
“Preston Sinclair, you are charged with:
— First-degree murder in the death of Lauren Pierce.
— First-degree kidnapping of Deputy Sara Parker and Special Agent Tessa Quinn.
— Attempted murder of Deputy Scout Wilson.
— Multiple counts of unlawful restraint and obstruction of justice.
— Conspiracy to commit kidnapping with Margot Holt.”
Each charge landed heavy.
“How does your client plead?” the judge asked.
“Not guilty,” the defense replied.
