BlackJack (A Standish Bay Romance Book 1) by Christine Donovan Read Free Book Online Page A

sit and watch the
orgies going on around him through a drug induced haze because it never stopped
at oral sex.
    Before Lindsey
began sleeping around, they would join in, but only with each other. After the
affairs began, Cole wouldn’t—couldn’t make love to Lindsey. He was dead,
emotionally as well as physically where she was concerned. As he’d told Shannon
earlier in the evening, he could not, would not, break his wedding vows. Stupid,
considering Lindsey didn’t give a damn about them.
    Now, he felt
more than a little frightened at the prospect of having a relationship with
Shannon. If in fact, they even had one. He certainly hoped so because he didn’t
think his heart would ever be the same after meeting her. Which brought his
mind back to the real reason for the uncertainty? Did Shannon truly believe in
his innocence? Why? No one else did?
    He would never
forget the day the verdict came in. It had seemed like a lifetime waiting for
the jurors to deliberate, when in fact only two days had gone by. Cole
remembered standing in the courtroom dressed uncomfortably in a suit, which
only added to the bizarreness of the day. His head hung down and tears streamed
down his face as the verdict was read. He barely stifled a sob as he heard the
word “guilty” and then the pain of a knife eviscerating his heart, over and
over. A jury of his peers had found him guilty of second degree murder for
killing his wife.
    He pictured his
beautiful Lindsey in his mind. They had known one another their whole lives and
had been in love for most of it. Married at twenty, she was dead at twenty-three.
And God help him—he didn’t do it. Even if he didn’t remember much about the
night, he knew one thing for certain—he could never have harmed her. But,
it didn’t matter what he knew, it only mattered what everyone else believed and
what they believed to be the truth condemned him.
    They saw a young,
budding rock star in his twenties who spent his days and nights drinking,
drugging and partying. They were easily swayed by the prosecutor’s closing
argument. He depicted him as a self-absorbed twenty-three-year-old-spoiled brat
who would do anything to get his way, and he somehow convinced the jury his
wife had gotten in his way.
    Cole’s defense
attorney was Arthur Monroe. Considered by some to be the best in the country,
but sometimes the best wasn’t good enough. The evidence against him was
circumstantial at best and the murder weapon never found. Mr. Monroe argued
every case point, objected to every defamation of Cole’s character. He called
to the stand a long list of character witnesses attesting to Cole’s upstanding
and peaceful personality. None of it mattered.
    In the end, the
jury heard only what they wanted to hear, that Cole had been high on cocaine,
drunk on beer and in the heat of the moment had stabbed Lindsey Jackson once in
the heart. He never went for help, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway—she’d died
instantly. He had disposed of the murder weapon, passed out on the floor next
to her body and woke up the next morning covered in his dead wife’s blood. How
could he not be guilty?
    Cole remembered
feeling his lawyer’s hand pressed against the middle of his back. Small comfort
to a man whose life just crashed down around him? His lungs burned, making it
impossible to breathe as the knife lodged deeper into his chest. His body began
to tremble painfully, and Cole thought he would be sick as the reality of the
situation slammed into him. He was to be transferred to a maximum security
prison in upstate New York for a stay of twenty years. He was eligible for
parole after fifteen.
    The appeal
filed by his lawyer was denied.
    Some say he was
railroaded, others say he got his just due.
    Only Cole and
Lindsey Jackson’s true killer knew justice had not prevailed that dark day in
the New York City Courtroom.
    ***
    John McKenzie
stared at his cell phone in his hand, tossed it on the sofa and then picked it
up