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The reminder bolstered her up until her phone rang. Resolutely, she answered.
‘Hello?’
‘Esmeralda? Is that you?’
Her free hand tightened into a fist, her eyes closing at the deep, familiar voice.
‘Yes, Dad, it’s me.’
His exhalation was tinged with relief. Followed by a rough laugh. ‘When they told me they’d actually managed to reach you I thought they were having me on.’
Esme didn’t answer. She was too busy containing the cocktail of emotions that always swirled inside her when it came to her father.
‘Baby girl, are you there?’ Jeffrey Scott asked.
The endearment was so bitter-sweet, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘I’m here,’ she managed after a minute.
‘Okay, I guess you know what’s happened?’
‘Yes.’ She cleared her throat, hoping her mind would follow suit. ‘Are you all right? I was told you had concussion.’
Her father laughed, but the sound lacked its usual bravado. ‘A concussion is the least of my worries. Not if the big man gets his way.’
‘The big man?’
‘Yes. The Royal Punisher himself.’
She frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. What are you talking about?’
‘The chief prosecutor is gunning for me, Esmeralda. I’ve already been denied bail. And he’s putting in a petition to fast-track my trial.’
The memory of the deep, powerful voice on the phone momentarily distracted her, made her breath catch a little. Then her hand tightened on the phone. ‘But you have a lawyer, don’t you?’
The laughter was starker. ‘If you call a lawyer who told me my case was hopeless and advised me to plead guilty and save everyone the trouble a proper defender.’
Despite what she’d read about Ja’ahr’s judicial system, she was still shocked. ‘What?’
‘I need you here, Esmeralda.’
This time her breath stayed locked in her throat. Along with the inner voice that screamed a horrified No.
When she’d tossed around scenarios of how she would conduct this reconnection with her father, she hadn’t deluded herself into thinking he wouldn’t want something from her. Money had been the most likely bet since his assets were frozen. She’d even mentally totted up her savings, and girded her loins to part with some of it.
But what he was asking of her...
‘I’ve done a little research. They’re very big on character witnesses over here during trials,’ he continued hurriedly. ‘I’ve put you down as mine.’
Déjà vu whispered down her spine. Wasn’t this how it had always started? Her father innocently asking her to do something? And her guilt eating away at her until she obliged?
Esme stiffened, reminding herself of that last, indefensible thing he’d done. ‘Dad, I don’t think—’
‘It could make the difference between me dying
in prison or returning home one day. Will you deny me that?’
Esme firmed her lips. Remained silent.
‘According to my lawyer, The Butcher is going for life without parole.’
