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I put my notepad and pen in my bag and folded my arms. “I’ve got nowhere else to be, so I think I’ll continue wasting my time right here.”
Another man stuck his head out of the door. “He’s here, Cope. We’re waiting for you.”
“Who? Warrick?” I asked.
“Keep your voice down.”
“Is it Warrick or not?”
He glared at me, which I took as a yes.
“Are you his attorney?” I asked, even though I knew better.
“No.” He stood and stalked off.
No sooner was he gone than three people—two men and a woman—rushed into the courtroom. Within seconds, they were back out. One of the men banged on the door across the hallway.
It opened, but I couldn’t see the person behind it. The man pushed his way in, followed by the other two. I could hear shouting right before the door closed again, but not enough to make out what they were arguing about.
Whoever man number one was, he was pissed. My hunch was that he was Warrick’s attorney.
A few minutes later, I noticed another woman wearing a press credential, leaning up against the wall. I walked over and introduced myself. “Ali Graham.” I reached out to shake her hand.
She looked me up and down, kind of like Chloe, my best friend from home, did whenever she met someone new. She said it made her feel like she had the upper hand. It was too late for me to do the same thing, so I asked, “Who are you?”
She laughed and shook my outstretched hand. “I’m TJ, with AP.”
“With AP?”
“Freelance, but they place most everything I write.”
Wait. “Are you TJ Hunter?” The woman had won every journalistic award ever given.
We both turned our heads when a door opened. The three people I’d seen go in last, came out with a fourth.
“There he is,” murmured TJ.
I would’ve known even if she hadn’t said anything. I’d seen plenty of photos of Paxon “Irish” Warrick.
“Scum of the fuckin’ earth,” she spat. “Selling out his own country—not to mention fellow agents—to China.”
So much for unbiased reporting. “What about innocent until proven guilty?”
“Sumner Copeland put an airtight case together, I can assure you of that.”
“Sumner Copeland? Is he the prosecutor?” I asked, even though I already knew exactly who he was.
TJ laughed. “No, sweetheart. He was Warrick’s handler.”
“At the CIA?”
“Yep.”
When the door opened again, the man himself walked out.
“Hey, Stella. How are you?” He walked over and hugged TJ.
“Cope, have you met Ali Graham?”
