tears filling her eyes. Her lover turned and looked at her and she could see the desperation turning his green gaze dark with dread.
“I’m sorry,” he said to her, but she did not, could not hear the words for all the noise in the courtroom. She only saw his lips move, instinctively knowing what he was saying.
Pandemonium reined in the room and the judge’s gavel was pounding ferociously for order. Guards lined up at the rail to keep the spectators at bay. Two men in dark gray suits came out of nowhere and took her lover by the arms and pulled him away, his lawyer’s shouts of denial drowned out by the bedlam roaring around him.
Someone took her by the arm and she looked up, staring into the stony glare of another dark suited man. His grip tightened. “Come with me,” he ordered and jerked her in front of the two people who had been sitting to her right but who were shaking their fists and yelling, attempting to get past the guards.
Shoving people aside with no regard to whether he toppled them or not, the man pulled her along behind him--through the throng and out into the antechamber and along the corridor, ignoring her protests and not giving her the chance to break free. His grasp on her arm was painful, would surely leave a bruise, but she had no choice but to stumble behind him.
“Where are you taking me?” she yelled at him for there were crowds of people milling about, armed guards trying to keep them back.
Down the corridor and out through a nondescript door, down a twisting quartet of stairs and into a dark, tight hallway with exposed pipes running overhead and into a grimy basement smelling of kerosene, so dimly lit she could barely see.
“Please! Who are you? What’s happening?” she pleaded but the man ignored her, just kept dragging her in his wake until he shoved open a metal door and bright light that nearly blinded her.
There was a black car waiting with its engine running and the man rushed her toward it. Two men armed with machine guns were guarding the vehicle and at the entrance to the underground garage, more men were lined up with weapons across their chests. One of the men at the car moved forward and opened the back door and her escort practically shoved her inside, slamming the door before she could get up from the floorboard to which she’d fallen.
“Maeve!”
She looked up, stunned to see her lover sitting in the backseat. She barely had time to take the hand he offered her before the car shot into gear with a squeal of its tires and peeled out of the garage.
“Seannie, what’s happening?” she said as he pulled her up on the seat beside him.
Her lover put a hand to her cheek. “I’ll tell you all about it later,” he said, pulling her into his arms.
It was a mad rush through the city and into the outlying countryside. There was a car with armed men ahead of them and another riding shotgun behind. The convoy of vehicles crossed the northern border at just after two in the afternoon. He held her close to him the entire time, explaining how he was a federal agent and how he’d infiltrated the gang that had been taking down banks all along the eastern seaboard. He told her why he’d been set up to take the murder wrap, of the men he’d gotten close to in jail to learn all he could about the big boys, how he’d given information to the Bureau that would lead to the arrest and subsequent conviction of powerful underworld figures.
“You’ll hear it on the news tonight,” he said. “Sean Jackson was gunned down trying to escape custody on the way to Broadmore.” He squeezed her hand. “He was shot in the face by a shotgun blast. As far as the world knows, he’s history.”
Later that night, after their escorts had left them in a snug little cabin far in the North Country, thanking her lover for a job well done and wishing him and his lady well, the man the world had known as Handsome Seannie kissed her long and hard and pledged his love to her.
“I thought
“I’m sorry,” he said to her, but she did not, could not hear the words for all the noise in the courtroom. She only saw his lips move, instinctively knowing what he was saying.
Pandemonium reined in the room and the judge’s gavel was pounding ferociously for order. Guards lined up at the rail to keep the spectators at bay. Two men in dark gray suits came out of nowhere and took her lover by the arms and pulled him away, his lawyer’s shouts of denial drowned out by the bedlam roaring around him.
Someone took her by the arm and she looked up, staring into the stony glare of another dark suited man. His grip tightened. “Come with me,” he ordered and jerked her in front of the two people who had been sitting to her right but who were shaking their fists and yelling, attempting to get past the guards.
Shoving people aside with no regard to whether he toppled them or not, the man pulled her along behind him--through the throng and out into the antechamber and along the corridor, ignoring her protests and not giving her the chance to break free. His grasp on her arm was painful, would surely leave a bruise, but she had no choice but to stumble behind him.
“Where are you taking me?” she yelled at him for there were crowds of people milling about, armed guards trying to keep them back.
Down the corridor and out through a nondescript door, down a twisting quartet of stairs and into a dark, tight hallway with exposed pipes running overhead and into a grimy basement smelling of kerosene, so dimly lit she could barely see.
“Please! Who are you? What’s happening?” she pleaded but the man ignored her, just kept dragging her in his wake until he shoved open a metal door and bright light that nearly blinded her.
There was a black car waiting with its engine running and the man rushed her toward it. Two men armed with machine guns were guarding the vehicle and at the entrance to the underground garage, more men were lined up with weapons across their chests. One of the men at the car moved forward and opened the back door and her escort practically shoved her inside, slamming the door before she could get up from the floorboard to which she’d fallen.
“Maeve!”
She looked up, stunned to see her lover sitting in the backseat. She barely had time to take the hand he offered her before the car shot into gear with a squeal of its tires and peeled out of the garage.
“Seannie, what’s happening?” she said as he pulled her up on the seat beside him.
Her lover put a hand to her cheek. “I’ll tell you all about it later,” he said, pulling her into his arms.
It was a mad rush through the city and into the outlying countryside. There was a car with armed men ahead of them and another riding shotgun behind. The convoy of vehicles crossed the northern border at just after two in the afternoon. He held her close to him the entire time, explaining how he was a federal agent and how he’d infiltrated the gang that had been taking down banks all along the eastern seaboard. He told her why he’d been set up to take the murder wrap, of the men he’d gotten close to in jail to learn all he could about the big boys, how he’d given information to the Bureau that would lead to the arrest and subsequent conviction of powerful underworld figures.
“You’ll hear it on the news tonight,” he said. “Sean Jackson was gunned down trying to escape custody on the way to Broadmore.” He squeezed her hand. “He was shot in the face by a shotgun blast. As far as the world knows, he’s history.”
Later that night, after their escorts had left them in a snug little cabin far in the North Country, thanking her lover for a job well done and wishing him and his lady well, the man the world had known as Handsome Seannie kissed her long and hard and pledged his love to her.
“I thought
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