Follow the white pebbles Page 5

  “I beg your pardon, your Honor?” Bradley looked at him open-mouthed.

  “Do you expect me to find Miss Wilburn guilty of a felony she cannot recall and is therefore unable to provide an account of?” The judge’s gaze narrowed.

  The Prosecutor felt the stutter coming. “No… No, your Honor. But the evidence shows that the Defendant’s medical condition is most likely of temporary nature. I will therefore seek an adjournment of the hearing until such time she is fit to give testimony,” he said.

  The judge raised his eyebrows. “Do you mean, you seek an unspecified adjournment in the hope that the Defendant’s condition will improve?” he asked. “Don’t even think about it.” He raised his hand just as the Prosecutor opened his mouth to reply. “You either have a case or you don’t have one. Miss Wilburn.” He turned toward Lizzie. “Step forward to the witness box, please.” His fingers danced impatiently back and forth in the air as he spoke.

  “Go on,” Madeline whispered in Lizzie’s ear. “And remember what I said. Be polite with him.”

  The thumping of Lizzie’s boots on the wooden floor made a few gapers rise off their seats to take a better look at her attire.

  The judge stared at her with an unreadable gaze, only a twitch in his jaw giving away his displeasure. “Miss Wilburn, I will ask you a few questions, but before that you will have to be sworn in,” he explained.

  Lizzie shrugged a little. She’d heard the judge say that the prosecution had no case against her and had for a moment been happy. Then again, that crashed when she realized that the man was bothering her, when he knew damn well she knew nothing about what had happened. Her frosty, defiant gaze left no room for misunderstanding as she made her way to the witnesses’ bench. She looked back at her parents then fixed the judge with a steady glare, her annoyance almost palpable.

  Arthur paled.

  A short, fat clerk swiftly moved toward the witness box and cleared his throat. “Do you swear by Almighty God that the evidence you shall give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

  “No way,” Lizzie exclaimed.

  “I beg your pardon?” the judge asked bewildered.

  “I don’t swear on anythin’. Ever.” She raised a defiant chin.

  “All right, Miss Wilburn, as you wish,” the judge grumbled.

  The clerk started again. “Do you solemnly and sincerely declare and affirm that the evidence you shall give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

  “I guess… yeah, like you said.” Lizzie shrugged.

  The clerk cleared his throat. “You need to say ‘I do’,” he prompted.

  “I do.”

  “Our daughter is an atheist. I can’t believe it,” Arthur stared at Lizzie appalled.

  “I do not think so, dear,” Madeline whispered, shaking her head. “I think she has a stronger sense of morality than the Bible itself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you are swearing on the Bible, you are effectively swearing on everything God said. The Bible does not forbid it, but the New Testament is very clear about one thing: Christians should not swear. Not to God, not on the Bible or on anything else.”

  “Where did you read that?” Arthur looked at her bewildered.

  “The Book of James. It says: ‘But above all things, my brethren, swear not, neither by heaven, neither by the earth, neither by any other oath: but let your yea be yea: and your nay, nay: lest ye fall into condemnation,’” Madeline recited quietly, her gaze following her daughter’s moves.

  “But this is a court of law, it’s different,” Arthur persisted stubbornly.

  “Would you swear on the Bible if you had to give evidence in Court?” Madeline glanced at him.

  “Of course I would.” He nodded.

  “Then you would be a hypocrite, my dear,” she said softly, leaving him open-mouthed.

  The judge cleared his throat noisily, making them flinch.

  “All right, Miss Wilburn.” The judge looked at Lizzie. “Could you please explain your current condition? What do you remember from your past?”

  “Not a damn thing.” Lizzie bobbed her shoulders in a sincere shrug.

  “Miss Wilburn,” the judge looked severe, “profanity language is not permitted in this court. You need to understand that by law you must respect this institution and its members, including myself. It’s that clear?” he asked.

  “What?” Lizzie asked.

  “You cannot swear in this courtroom. Is that clear?”

  “Damn clear,” Lizzie nodded. She was definitely going to get some fun out of this shitty situation, she decided, smiling inwardly. The judge was soon going to swallow his tongue, unless he conceded that there was no need to pester her. The sound of the gavel hitting the wooden block reverberated around the courtroom as the judge tried to contain the peals of laughter that exploded across the walls in lingering waves.

  “Miss Wilburn,” the judge uttered. “Have you heard a word of what I said?”

  Lizzie cocked an eyebrow. “You bet,” she answered.

  “Then you must have understood that you are under an obligation to treat this court with due respect. Would you kindly confirm that?” he pressed.

  She nodded again.

  “Say it out loud, Miss Wilburn, for the record,” the judge pressed.

  “How many times do I have to say the damn thing?” Lizzie rolled her eyes mockingly. “I understand. I have to respect you. I didn’t say I wouldn’, damn it. Just ask me the questions and let me get outta here.”

  The judge took a slow, deep breath. “Miss Wilburn, do you know what ‘contempt’ means?” he asked.

  “No idea.” Lizzie shrugged.

  “Then let me explain it to you,” he snapped. “It means open disrespect for the court. I have the power to impose sanctions for acts which disrupt the court’s normal process, such as poor behavior or disrespect of the court’s authority. So you better watch your language. This is the first warning. I don’t like counting too much.”

  “Oh, mon Dieu!” Madeline exclaimed.

  Lizzie nodded, stealing a quick glance at her mother. A pang of guilt shot through her mind, making her waver. She pushed it away with reluctant stubbornness, annoyed at her own reaction.

  “All right then. Let’s continue.” The judge cleared his throat. “Are you able to recognize any of the two persons who are sitting on the right of the Prosecutor?”

  Lizzie stared at the old man and at the police officer who in turn glared at her as if they wanted to shred her to pieces. “Nope.” She shook her head, sending the two men an almost imperceptible wink. “Who the hell are they?”

  “Miss Wilburn, this is the second warning. Order! Order!” the judge yelled, hitting the wooden block with the gavel in an attempt to bring the roaring courtroom to silence.

  Color drained from Madeline’s face.

  The Prosecutor jumped to his feet and took a few steps forward. “Your Honor, if I may. I would like to question the Defendant,” he said.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Bradley,” the judge waved his hand.

  Bradley turned toward the witness box.

  “Miss Wilburn, you stated you don’t know any of the two male persons who are sitting over there.” He turned to point toward the old man and the police officer. “Isn’t that the case that you are actually using your medical condition to shield yourself from any…”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Lizzie’s lawyer bolted up. “Counsel assumes facts not in evidence.”

  “Sustained,” the judge agreed.

  Lizzie kept shifting her gaze from one to another. “I don’t know any of those people,” she drawled. “I don’t know him either,” she pointed lazily toward the Prosecutor. “He better watch his ass for draggin’ me in here. I’ve done nothin’ wrong to nobody. I know nothin’ about stealin’ somethin’ or kickin’ some cop’s ass. Do you hear me?” She fully turned toward Bradley.

  This time complete silence engulfed the cou
rtroom, and Arthur could finally hear the cool air hissing out of the vents far above his head. There would be no way that this would escape the press. It would be all over New York by this evening.

  The judge pushed his glasses down to the tip of his nose and looked at the Prosecutor. “The Prosecution’s application is hereby dismissed. The State is to pay the Defendant’s costs as agreed or assessed,” he recited. “Miss Wilburn is found guilty of contempt of the court. Her punitive sanction is a three days imprisonment in Rikers Island jail complex, effective at the conclusion of these proceedings if the prison’s intake capabilities so allow, if not at the earliest possible date.”

  The gavel hit the wooden block once more with unquestionable finality.

  Madeline stood up, shifted her gaze from the judge to her daughter, and hit the floor before her husband could catch her.

  The Honey-Soy Broiled Salmon had turned into a muddy puree in the gold-rimmed porcelain plate. Madeline stopped squashing it and placed the fork down. Two days now since Lizzie had been back from Rikers Island jail, and she hadn’t come down from her apartment, not even once. She was most probably traumatized down to the very bottom of her poor little soul, even though she had spent only seven hours in that horrible place, having been released early due to the never ending issue of jail overcrowding.

  The cook was receiving special orders about five times a day, which meant that at least she was eating well. Other than that, no one was allowed to enter her apartment. A big poster clumsily written was stuck on one of the double doors: ‘DO NOT ENTER! Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again.’ Although Lizzie had eventually summoned her two bodyguards and hadn’t shot them. They had remained locked in her suite for hours every day, invariably replying to Arthur’s irritated inquiry that Miss Elisabeth wanted them upstairs because she felt unsafe.

  “This is preposterous,” Arthur boomed. “It is outrageous and improper for a young woman to hide in her quarters with two men.”

  Now Madeline massaged her forehead with the tips of her fingers, feeling the tingle of an approaching migraine.

  “You heard what they said, dear.” She pushed out a sigh. “The poor girl is traumatized after being locked up in that horrible prison. She will probably have nightmares for the rest of her life. Of course she needs her bodyguards with her, it gives her a sense of protection.”

  “And where do we come into that?” Arthur countered. “Shouldn’t she find her refuge in our arms instead of seeking it from two strangers? And why is it that when I walk past her doors and all three of them are inside, I hear something that sounds more like laughter than wailing?”

  Madeline’s face turned menacingly dark. “If this is what you hear, then be happy, Arthur. It means that our daughter is healing and you should be grateful for it.”

  He stared at her in silence, his lips slightly parted. Ever since Elisabeth was back, he had discovered a brand new side of his wife. She was a genuine warrior, fiercely protective of their daughter.

  Footsteps coming down the stairs claimed his attention. In an avalanche of flying locks of dirty brown hair, floppy jeans, heavy boots and oversized shirts, Lizzie landed on the wooded floor, a huge smile flourishing on her lips for the first time since she’d been brought to the Wilburns’ home.

  “I remember,” she shouted victoriously. “I remember every damn thing.”

  Melanie covered her mouth with her fanned-out fingers.

  “I beg your pardon?” Arthur uttered.

  “I have a Momma and a brother Johnny… and I live in Queens. In South Jamaica, cuz’ we couldn’t afford a better place since dad turned up his toes.” Lizzie rolled on the balls of her feet, happiness written all over her face. “I’m gonna go home. Omigosh! It’s so damn good to remember.”

  Pallor got hold of Arthur’s features. He stood up slowly, subconsciously flexing his fingers.

  “You are not going anywhere,” he said evenly. “You are our daughter. We are not going to let you go back to those impostors whom you call family. You will stay here with us.”

  He watched in fascination as Lizzie’s features instantly turned from heavenly joy to tempestuous fury.

  “The hell I will,” she clenched her fists at her sides. “You can’t stop me. They’re my family, not you. I don’t know you. I lived with ‘em my whole life. I’m no ‘ultra-rich’ material like you people. I’m a Queens girl, and I’m proud of it right down to my bones. Capish?”

  Her eyes sparked with uncontained fury as she spat the words out, her chin up high. She sent him a curt nod then her gaze swept Madeline’s face. There was so much pain and torture there, her heart sank at the sight of it.

  “I’m sorry, Madeline,” she murmured. “I’ll come see you, promise.”

  And with that she headed for the door that led to the apartment building’s main staircase, ignoring the elevator that was just two yards away.

  “Don’t you dare disobey me, Elisabeth,” Arthur’s voice boomed from behind.

  She turned around and looked at him with dark, penetrating eyes. “My name is Jimmy,” she said.

  Arthur took a deep breath. “Nonsense,” he exclaimed. “This is a man’s name. You obviously are still confused. You are not going anywhere, Elisabeth.”

  Her gaze grew so dark, it was sinister. “Just try to stop me,” she snarled. “And stop callin’ me that idiotic name. I’m no Elisabeth. And no Wilburn either. My name is Jimmy, born Emma Wallace.” She turned around and walked out the door, slamming it so hard behind her it almost came out of its hinges.

  Arthur stood paralyzed for what seemed an eternity. Then he suddenly came back to life and wrapped an arm around Madeline, dragging her to the nearest armchair just as she was about to collapse. He dug his hand deep into his pocket and pulled his cell phone out. He quick dialed a number with trembling fingers, almost letting the phone slip from his shaky hand.

  “Gérôme,” he shouted. “Miss Wilburn is leaving the building. Get her bodyguards and catch up with her. You are already with her? Good. Then take her wherever she wants to go and call me with an address as soon as you get there.”

  He hung up and dialed another number.

  “Patrick, we have a problem. I will give you an address in about half an hour. There is a Wallace family living there. I want to know everything about them. Social Security details, criminal records, known relatives both alive and deceased, their ethnic background and their past. But most importantly, how did they come to kidnap Miss Wilburn on July 7th, 1993, or to adopt her, if this is what they did. Involve whoever you want into it. Private investigators, police, welfare services, I want a full report A.S.A.P.” He stopped to listen for a moment then started again. “No, I don’t want you to take any action against them until I know more.”

  He hung up again and took in a deep breath, letting it out a second later in a long, tortured sigh. His gaze caressed Madeline who had now covered her face with both hands and sat quietly on her armchair, only the bobbing of her shoulders giving away her tears. He picked up the phone for the third time and dialed another number. This time, his voice wasn’t as desperate. He just took a couple of steps toward the window, staring at the building across the street, as though he could see the man he was speaking with.

  “Marcus, it’s me,” he said. “I think it’s time.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Julia Bates tiptoed her way out of the en-suite, her gaze fixed on the man who was now fast asleep in the middle of his king size bed. His glorious nakedness had to be the devil’s job, for it looked like it was deliberately made to rob women of sanity. Every inch of him was hard and lean, oozing innate masculinity. Sinewy, rippling muscles imprinted to his body a sense of underlying power and a sinful, magnetic force. Even his face was beautifully sculpted, with aristocratic cheekbones, a slightly square chin and a patrician nose, eyes as blue as the purest sapphire bordered by thick lashes that had borrowed the ebony color of his rebellious wavy hair. There was no woman who could resist Justin Win
ters. Period. Including her.

  She kneeled on the bed next to him, not caring one bit if her movements would wake him up. She wanted him awake. Soon it will be time for her to go home then another one will come to warm his bed. Justin Winters was no ‘heart affairs’ material. He had so many mistresses he had lost count. That was, if he had ever counted.

  She slowly bent down and touched the toned skin of his chest with her lips, drawing a sensuous trail toward his abdomen.

  “Wicked. You are wicked,” he whispered.

  The next moment she was pinned underneath him, the hardness of his body rubbing against her skin in a voluptuous caress that sank like warm honey through her bloodstream, making her womb jolt with desire. She sobbed at the anticipation that flared within her. His mouth brushed her lips for the briefest moment then started roaming across her skin, searching for the sensitive spot behind the lobe of her ear then dipping lower along the curvature of her neck. Each touch was electrifying, sending pulse after pulse of fire toward her core. His fingers slid down her navel and pushed her thighs apart, stroking deep caresses, teasing and probing until she moaned with delirious pleasure. All she could do was arch her hips and grind against his hand, while her fingers threaded through his hair to pull him closer to her skin. Unbearable pressure raged through her body begging for release.

  A melodious ring coming from the bedside table made him turn rigid above her.

  “Jesus.” Justin peeled himself away from her heated body and reached out to grab his cell phone, rolling off her and onto his back.

  Julia felt the urge to scream in frustration.

  “Hi, Dad.” Justin picked up after glancing at the screen. “You’re calling at the…”

  “I know, I know, no need to say it,” Marcus Winters reassured him. “I’m calling at the wrong time.” He leaned back on his buckskin chair and started rocking back and fro, the sole of his shoe propped against a leg of his ample rosewood desk. “As a matter of fact, I just can’t remember last time when it wasn’t the wrong time.” His voice turned to honey.

  Justin rolled his eyes, popping a dimple on his cheek as he stifled a smile.