Chapter 8 - The Desperate Trap
Clara lost her mind.
As the officers reached for her arms, she violently shoved Victor Vance into the cops, sending the lawyer crashing into the wooden railing. In the chaos, she sprinted toward the side emergency exit of the courtroom, pushing past a startled bailiff.
"Stop her!" the judge yelled.
Clara burst through the fire exit doors into the stairwell, her high heels clattering against the concrete steps as she ran for her life. Panic powered her legs. She knew that if she were arrested today, she would spend the rest of her life in a federal penitentiary.
She burst out into the side alleyway behind the courthouse, breathing heavily, her hair disheveled, her expensive dress torn at the hem.
A black sedan was idling near the curb—a getaway car she had hired using cash earlier that morning just in case things went wrong. She sprinted toward the passenger door, tearing it open and sliding inside.
"Drive! Go, go, go!" she screamed at the driver.
The driver didn't move.
Clara froze, turning her head slowly.
Sitting in the driver’s seat was Marcus.
And sitting in the back seat, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees, was Ethan.
"Looking for a ride, Clara?" Ethan asked, his voice low, dark, and smooth as velvet.
Clara shrieked, reaching frantically for the door handle, but the electronic child locks clicked shut instantly, locking her inside the vehicle.
Marcus pulled the sedan away from the curb, driving slowly out of the alley into a quiet, secluded staging area behind the federal building where two police cruisers were waiting with their blue lights flashing.
Clara backed against the passenger door, clutching her purse like a shield, tears of pure terror finally pouring down her face.
"Ethan, please!" she begged, her fake poise completely gone. "I'm sorry! I was sick! I was jealous of Hannah! You loved her so much, and you never looked at me the same way! Please, don't do this to me!"
Ethan looked at her, his expression unreadable, completely cold, completely unyielding.
"You brought my late wife’s name into your mouth while you terrorized her daughter," Ethan said, leaning closer until Clara could see the reflection of her ruined self in his dark eyes. "You thought because I was grieving, I was weak. You thought because I was broken, I wouldn't protect what’s mine."
He reached out, his hand wrapping around her purse, pulling it effortlessly from her grip. He opened it, pulled out a velvet box she had stolen from his home safe three days ago, and opened it.
Inside sat Hannah’s diamond locket.
Ethan closed the locket in his fist, putting it safely into his jacket pocket.
"You took everything you could touch," Ethan whispered. "Now, the law is going to take everything from you."
The sedan stopped beside the police cruisers. Marcus opened the rear door, and two federal agents pulled Clara out of the car, slamming her against the hood as they clicked the heavy steel cuffs around her wrists.
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Ethan stepped out of the car, buttoning his suit jacket as he watched her being read her Miranda rights. Clara sobbed hysterically, her face pressed against the cold metal of the police car as reporters from the front of the courthouse began running around the corner, capturing her arrest on every major network.
Ethan turned his back on her, walking away into the warm California sun without looking back once.
