Guilty by Karen Robards Read Free Book Online

the ground as they could while staying under the table. They were pressed so closely together now that it was hard to know where his body left off and hers began. From the sound of it, Kate was almost sure that more shots were being fired outside the building. A muffled scream, abruptly cut off, sent a chili racing down her spine.
    "I think they've got the building surrounded," Bryan whispered. "I think that guy jumped from the window, and they shot him." They were both shaking all over. Brian's teeth chattered, and the sound of his clattering teeth punctuated his words.
    "I wish they'd all jump."
    Another bullet smacked into the table leg just inches away from Kate, sending splinters flying. Gasping, her gaze flying to the damaged leg, she shied violently, her shoulder butting hard into Bryan's side.
    "God save and protect us ..." The desperate mutter came from Bryan, who, she saw with a despairing glance, was folded into tight thirds now with his eyes closed and his arms wrapped around his head.
    Footsteps pounded nearby. Kate's eyes widened and her mouth went dry as her head jerked instinctively in the direction of the sound. She could hear them, but she couldn't see whom they belonged to. Being effectively blind, she discovered, was terrifying.
    But not as terrifying as the realization that came to her an instant later: The footsteps had to belong to the gunmen, because there was no one else left standing in the well.
    As she scanned what little she could see beyond the table, her heart thumped wildly. Her stomach cramped with fear. Her eyes darted desperately all around, but there was nothing new in view. Crouching as low to the floor as she could get, sucking in ragged gulps of air as she tried to look everywhere at once, she became aware that the quality of what she was breathing had changed: It was cooler and smelled of rain, which confirmed her guess that the window almost directly in front of prosecution table had been blown out. Apparently, the prisoners had planned to jump but had been dissuaded—all but Soto, anyway—by some sort of police presence outside. She could hear the rush of the downpour, and, cutting through it, sirens. Lots of sirens, as if the entire PPD was now converging on the Justice Center.
    If I can just survive a little longer, it'll all be over.
    "Drop your weapons now!" a police officer yelled from inside the courtroom. Instinctively, she and Bryan huddled closer, bumping shoulders and hips, keeping their heads low, shuddering together as guns cracked and screams filled the air. With the cavalry's arrival and a gunfight going on above their heads, making a break for it suddenly seemed like the stupidest thing they could do.
    Please, please, let us be saved. ...
    Another quick flurry of running footsteps sent cold chills racing over her body. Anxiously, she scanned as much of the area as she could see. There was still nothing there except the empty lower third of the front of the courtroom and the two dead deputies—she was sure the second one was dead now; his eyes had glazed over and his fist had gone slack. Then, suddenly, the view changed: A pair of feet in black sneakers jumped into view. Kate's heart lurched as Orange Jumpsuit accordioned down on top of the feet, crouching like a malevolent frog directly in front of the counsel table. A big black pistol was in his hand. It had been fired so recently that Kate could smell the scent of hot cordite emanating from it. Like Soto, this guy appeared to be Hispanic, mid-twenties, a street punk. His face was round, clean-shaven, almost babyish, with full cheeks and a dimpled chin. He was sweating, panicky-looking, breathing hard. He was looking over her head, over the table, she thought, probably at the cop or cops at the other end of the room, and his eyes were small and hard and cruel.
    Then his gaze lowered, and their eyes locked.
    "Throw down your weapon!" a cop roared from the gallery. Kate's pulse was pounding so hard in her ears now that