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Which was probably why he was so rarely alone in the courthouse these days. It was almost like Cyrus didn’t trust her.
The thought made her grin as she settled on a bench in the gallery and pulled her phone and notepad from her purse. Even though there were a handful of cameras in the room recording every second of the sensational trial, she preferred to have her own personal audio to revisit so she could focus her notetaking on her own impressions of what was happening instead of trying to jot down every meaningful moment.
A commotion drew everyone’s attention to the man being led through a side door. If it hadn’t been for the shackles at his wrists and feet, he might have looked like anyone else on his way to some boring office job. He certainly didn’t look like a deranged killer, and she had to give it to his attorneys for getting him cleaned up so well. Sometimes, it was easy to see the criminal under the clean, well-pressed suit, no matter how hard the defense tried. But Richard Compton seemed as normal as anyone else in the courtroom, at least on the surface.
There were hints of who he really was, though, if anyone paid close enough attention. The little smirks, the too-relaxed body language. And, when you got close enough, the eyes. Mina had only gotten that close once, but just the memory of those cold, empty orbs was enough to make her shiver.
Another door opening pulled her attention away from the man accused of murdering half a dozen teenagers to the judge presiding over the trial. Judge Dorothy Alderman, a no-nonsense woman who kept her silvery hair swept up and away from a nearly unlined face that belied both her age and the stress of her chosen profession.
As they ran through the formalities, Mina found her gaze settling on Cyrus once again. From this angle, she could just make out the sharp cut of his jawline, and the ever-present dark stubble that lent him a surprising hint of danger despite his otherwise pristine appearance. Perhaps it wasbecauseeverything else about him seemed so perfect, from the smooth, rich coppery tone of his skin to the polished gleam of his dress shoes, that the closely cropped facial hair made such an impact.
Was it simply a chosen affectation? As a Libra, it was entirely possible he chose to keep the light stubble for aesthetic purposes and nothing else. Or was it a subtle nod at some deeper, darker side to his personality?
The session was called to order, snapping Mina back to reality. Glancing down at her pad, she realized with a rush of embarrassment that she’d been sketching his profile as she’d been lost in contemplation. Flipping the paper over, she forced her attention to the witness stand, where yet another “expert witness” for the defense was expounding on how Richard Compton was far too stupid to pull off the crime he’d been accused of committing.
They never actually came out and said that, of course. But it was implied as they weighed the case down with science, making it seem a hell of a lot more difficult than it was to infuse marijuana with the fentanyl that had ultimately killed those poor kids.
She’d done her research, and it wasn’t nearly as difficult as the defense was making it out to be. Even a high school dropout pencil dick like Richard Compton could figure it out if he’d wanted to.
And according to Cyrus Banks and company, he’d had more than enough reason to want at least one of those kids dead. The others, they’d argued, had simply been collateral damage. Jessica Fisher, who had reported Compton for attempting to rather forcibly collect “alternative” payment for the drugs he’d sold her, had been the only real target.
It was unlucky for Compton that he’d chosen to sell to the upper middle class set. When Jessica had returned home from school with her clothes torn, her lip bloody, and bruises already appearing all over her body, her parents had dragged her to the closest police station and raised holy hell.
Did they regret it now? Glancing at the couple seated off to the left a few rows in front of her, Mina’s heart ached as she took in their drawn faces. It seemed they’d aged a dozen years over the course of the trial. If given a chance, would they go back and do things differently? Did they spend their nights wondering if there was any one choice they could have made that would have saved their daughter from this fate?
That way lay madness, but in her experience, people couldn’t help themselves when it came toWhat if?And as a reporter, it was her job to consider those questions, to pry into those painful regrets, even if it sometimes made her ill to do so.
A few hours later, recess was called, and everyone broke for lunch. Mina lingered, taking her time to pack up her belongings while keeping a close eye on the two sets of attorneys as they did the same.
“Waiting for something, Ms. Ouranos?”
Not a close enough eye, apparently, since the deep, familiar voice all but growling in her ear managed to startle her enough that she dropped her phone. It skittered across the hardwood floor, coming to a stop two benches in front of her.
“Fucking Hades, Banks, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Shooting him a glare, she scooted out of her row and stalked to where her phone had landed. With a quick prayer that her pantyhose wouldn’t catch on anything, she dropped to the floor and peered under the bench.
Once she had her phone back in hand, she stood, brushing at her skirt and checking for any damage to her outfit. She might not be a fastidious Libra, but she did make an effort to look professional and put together when she was on the job.
Turning to head back to her row, she nearly bumped her nose right into his striped, silk tie. Refusing to retreat, she tilted her head back to smile up at him. “Waiting for something, counselor?”
But for once, his expression wasn’t relaxed and playful, as she was used to seeing him whenever they had these little run-ins. There was a tightness around his lips she’d never seen outside of court and his eyes were hard.
Why the hell was that even hotter than the smooth, flirtatious man she usually encountered?
“Don’t you think this poor family has been through enough?”
Blinking in surprise, she frowned, her mind unable to connect the dots to whatever it was that had pissed him off. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The Fishers.” His voice was low, quiet, but she still heard the fury reverberating through every syllable. “This trial is hard enough without nosy reporters hounding their every move. You people are like fucking vultures, I swear.”
Hurt stabbed at her, shocking her almost as much as his words. There was no love lost between the district attorney’s office and Channel Eleven, but she’d thought he had at least some modicum of respect for her.
Apparently, that assumption had been wrong. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I had no intention of approaching the Fishers today.”
“Really.” He let out a snort laced with disbelief. “Then why are you hanging around after everyone else has gone to lunch?”
“Seeing as how I am not breaking any laws, I fail to see how that is any of your business, either. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, nothing that I do or don’t do is any concern of yours. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to go over my notes before court is back in session.”
For a moment, they stood there, gazes locked in a silent battle of wills. He broke first, his expression softening just a fraction as he stepped to the side, allowing her to push past him.
