Taking the Heat

Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.

Chapter One

Randall Tucker sat next to his attorney in the courtroom, feeling utterly alone, even though the gallery behind him was packed to overflowing. He prayed to God she was right. In all his thirty-two years he'd never experienced anything so confusing, so terrifying or so painful.

"They can't convict you without a body," she said, repeating what she'd told him the moment he hired her. "When the jury gets back, you'll see."

When the jury gets back ...

They were sure taking a long time. They'd been deliberating all day, and every minute seemed like an eternity.

Regardless, it'll end well. They won't put an innocent man away. Truth and justice will prevail.

"I never touched her," he said, but he'd been saying that ever since his wife had gone missing, and it hadn't made any difference before.

His attorney smiled confidently. "You'll be home with your son in a few hours."

He might go home, but their lives would never be the same. Andrea wouldn't be there. They'd lost his wife, Landon's mother, and there'd be big adjustments to make -

The door opened and fear clutched at Tucker's throat as the jury filed into the courtroom and resumed their seats. Their foreman, a tall, balding man with a dark mustache, remained standing.

"Have you reached a verdict?" the judge asked.

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Will you read the verdict, please?"

The man glanced nervously around the room, then looked down at the paper in his hand. "We the jury find the defendant, Randall C. Tucker -" he cleared his throat and peered at the judge, who nodded for him to continue "- guilty of the crime of murder in the first degree."

Guilty? The word hit Tucker like a crowbar to the gut, momentarily stunning him. Numbly, he tried to raise his hand to rub away the pain, but it was no good. His chest had constricted so tightly he couldn't breathe, couldn't move.

"But I'm innocent," he said, or maybe he only thought it. Someone was screaming inside his head, drowning out the chaos that erupted around him, drowning out his lawyer's soft, concerned words, blocking everything but the memory of his promise to Landon: I'm not going anywhere, buddy. I won't leave you, I promise.

And then the judge, his voice mere background noise until that moment, said something about reconvening for sentencing. Randall was pushed and prodded from the room. He spent the next few days in numb incredulity, caught in a nightmare he couldn't escape.

When he faced the white-haired Judge Forester again, the subtle contempt Tucker had sensed during the actual trial was more apparent. Forester said it was a sad commentary on the state of society that such a successful man as Randall would murder his wife in cold blood. He asked Randall to tell authorities where he'd hidden the body so Andrea's friends and family could receive some sense of closure. And he added his regret that the death penalty wasn't an option in this particular case. Then he said the words that echoed through Randall's soul.

"I hereby sentence the defendant, Randall C. Tucker, to prison for the rest of his natural life."

Oh, God, a fight!

Gabrielle Hadley quickly turned off the bathroom faucet and sought a paper towel to dry her soapy hands as hoots and hollers resounded outside. What had started as a few distinct shouts was quickly growing into a loud roar that bounced off the prison's cinderblock walls. It was a sound she knew, a sound she feared.

"Not again," she moaned. "This is only my third day!"

Her heart in her throat, she tossed the wadded paper into the wastebasket and left the small corner rest room in the guards' station. Lunch break or no, she had to get out there and back up the other officers. And she'd probably have to wield her baton, as well, even though the thought of actually cracking it against someone's skull still turned her stomach.

"Have you radioed for the Designated Armed Response Team?" she asked Eckland as she dashed by him. The only other officer in the small caged station outside the bathroom, he didn't answer. But she was in such a hurry to get inside the cell block, she scarcely noticed. "Open the door."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I don't think -"

"What are you waiting for?" she cried. Through the metals bars that separated her from the inmates and their cells, she could see a small group of jumpsuit-clad men circling something or someone in the cement-floored common area. Feverish cries rang out from those who watched, along with a chorus of support from the men still locked in three stories of old-style cells above. Yet she could hear the thud of fist on bone, a grunt of pain and a few muttered curses.

(Continues...)

---

Excerpted from Taking the Heat by Brenda Novak Copyright © 2003 by Brenda Novak
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

---