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Overview
Jaime Nichols went to law school to find the voice she never had as a child, and her determination to protect girls and women in the path of harm drives her in ways both spoken and unspoken. As Jaime, now a criminal defense attorney, prepares to press charges against someone who wronged her long ago, she must face not only her demons but also the unimaginable forces that protect the powerful man who tore her childhood apart.
Chandler Bolton, a retired veteran, is tasked with helping a young victim who must testify in court—and along with his therapy dog, Aslan, he’s up for the task. When he first meets Jaime, all brains, beauty, and brashness, he can’t help but be intrigued. As Chandler works to break through the wall Jaime has built around herself, the two of them discover that they may have more to offer one another than they ever could have guessed—and that together, they may be able to help this endangered child.
This thrilling installment of the Hidden Justice series explores the healing power of resolution and the weight of words given voice. And as Jaime pursues delayed justice of her own, she unearths eternal truths that will change the course of her life.
“Delayed Justice will hold you to the end . . . A very timely story!” —Susan Page Davis, author of the Main Justice series
“Delayed Justice is a timely and compelling legal thriller that will have you turning the pages in search for justice. Putman packs an emotional punch and tackles tough issues head on while demonstrating God’s redeeming love.” —Rachel Dylan, bestselling author of Deadly Proof
- Legal romantic suspense with inspirational elements
- Third book in the Hidden Justice series but can be enjoyed as a standalone
- Book length: approximately 93K words
- Includes discussion questions for book clubs
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780785217916 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Nelson, Thomas, Inc. |
| Publication date: | 10/16/2018 |
| Series: | Hidden Justice Series , #3 |
| Pages: | 368 |
| Sales rank: | 321,515 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.40(w) x 8.30(h) x 1.10(d) |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 2
The October air held the bite of fall as Jaime pushed out a breath and entered the domain of the enemy. The Commonwealth's Attorney offices in Arlington were located in a tall stone building near the courthouse Metro station just minutes down the road and across the Potomac from Washington, DC.
She'd spent time on the opposing side of each attorney in the Commonwealth's office. Would the person assigned to her for this conversation see her as the enemy as well? Or would the attorney be willing to dig deeper into the heart of Jaime's conflict?
She didn't know, and that had her moving with hesitant steps.
This appointment was her birthday present to herself. Rolling back two decades wouldn't be easy, but it was time. She crossed the lobby and rode the elevator to the Commonwealth's Attorney's offices. Unlike the public defender's office where Jaime worked, the walls here weren't painted an industrial beige, but a calming robin's egg blue. There was real carpet on the floor rather than cheap stick-down carpet squares, and the chairs for those waiting for an audience with the attorneys weren't seventies relics with duct tape holding cracked vinyl together.
How very different the resources were on the two sides of the criminal process. It was hard not to feel bitter. The only thing the public defender's office had going for it was the dedication of the men and women who practiced there, serving those who needed an advocate.
Now Jaime was on the other side, about to beg a prosecutor to believe in her enough to take a huge risk and launch an investigation that reached twenty years into the past.
No small task.
After giving her name to the receptionist, Jaime settled on the faux leather chair and glanced around, taking in the photographic images of courthouses located around northern Virginia and Washington. Jaime had litigated inside many of them. It was hard to think of herself as accessing one of those courts in the role of victim instead of the avenging defender. Her voice was her power, and now she had to trust someone else to take on that responsibility for her.
A short, thin man with a five–o'clock shadow on his jaw came into the waiting area and, after a quiet word with the receptionist, strode toward her. Mitch McDermott? They'd been opposing counsel in at least half a dozen low-level felony trials. If she'd known she'd have to talk to him first, she wouldn't have come.
"Hello, Jaime." He stuck out his hand and shook hers firmly. "Good to see you. Let's go to a conference room."
Jaime eased to her feet, a wave of confusion flooding her as she prepared to follow the man she'd battled one month earlier. "Did the receptionist tell you why I'm here?"
"To join the right side?" When she didn't laugh at his weak joke, he nodded toward the door. "Let's head where we can talk."
"Okay." This was even more uncomfortable than she'd imagined.
She followed him through the door and down a hallway to a closet-sized room with a table and handful of chairs. This nonpublic part of the office looked more run-down and familiar.
He held the door for her, then followed her inside, where he gestured to a chair. "Let's sit, and you can explain what you're doing here."
"I really would feel more comfortable talking with one of your female attorneys. Maybe Adrienne Ross?" Ross was a bulldog on cases like this, and the kind of prosecutor Jaime wanted in her corner.
Mitch gave her a rueful smile. "You know how the system works. I'm afraid you get me." He studied her closely, just to the point of awkward, and said, "Why don't you go ahead?"
This was not the way Jaime had imagined the scene, but what choice did she have? She sank into the chair and felt the rough fabric prick her legs through her navy slacks. She set her bag in her lap and pulled out a battered cloth-covered journal.
"Here." She slid it across the table to him. "This is a journal I kept as an eight-and nine-year-old. I know it's not perfect, but it's the best evidence I have. If you don't believe what I wrote, there won't be any point wasting more of your time."
"All right." Mitch slid the book around and in front of him and opened the cover.
"Start where I put the Post-it note." She sat back and watched as Mitch frowned his way through her childish scrawls. She'd thought long and hard about bringing something so personal to this office, but she had few options.
Watching him read the intimate thoughts of her younger self was excruciating. She had envisioned a woman in this role, someone who would understand and champion her.
Could she trust Mitch McDermott to do that?
Did she have a choice?
The minutes dragged on. At least he was taking time to read it ... or taking a nap with his eyes open, fingers flipping the pages every minute or so.
Finally he glanced up at her, his light green eyes slicing through her. Laying her bare. "Jaime, this happened a long time ago. Why haven't you acted before?"
She had anticipated the question. "I've spent the last eight years in therapy, coming to grips with what he did to me and how it impacted me." She rubbed her temple, wishing she could whip out her roller of lavender oil to ease the growing tension. "I've spent thousands on counseling, but it's only in the last year that I've become strong enough to ask the Commonwealth to consider filing charges."
She was losing him. She could feel it, and her heart rate spiked. "There's no statute of limitations, and I've recently been diagnosed with dysthymic depression. That gives us some fresh evidence of the harm."
"No counselor tracked back to the alleged abuse?"
She sucked in a breath. "Alleged? Really? How would you feel if you poured out your experience to someone and they used that word?"
"Jaime ..." The way he drew out the word warned her to be careful.
She took a deep breath. She knew it was his job to probe, but couldn't he do it without the quirked eyebrow that communicated skepticism?
"It's an onion. One counselor peeled back a layer or two, then the next probed deeper, but it took years to get to the core." She leaned forward, closing the space between them and willing him to understand. "This isn't something I do lightly. It's taken me years to gather my courage." She met his gaze. "I don't know that my uncle has abused anyone else, but if I remain silent, I'm tacitly allowing him to harm others."
"Was your mother aware of the abuse?"
"No. I used to think she was, and I couldn't understand how she allowed it. But I was a child, and I didn't know how to explain what was happening. I'd throw a fit each time she took me to his house, but she thought I just didn't like going away, didn't want her leaving me."
"Never probed deeper?"
"I didn't know how to tell her."
And how she regretted that to this day. Would her teen years have been different if she hadn't believed she deserved to be abused, and tried to fill the holes in her heart with one unhealthy relationship after another?
It had been by the grace of God — not that she believed in Him — that she hadn't become pregnant or contracted an STD or become a victim of violence ... It wasn't until a college roommate intervened and practically forced her into counseling that her life began to change, one hard-fought step at a time. She'd worked hard to pull herself out of the morass of ongoing pain she'd self-inflicted to add to Dane's abuse.
"Jaime, would your mother testify to any of this?"
"I don't know." She shook her head. "I don't think so."
Mitch leaned against his chair and crossed his arms. "You understand this will not be easy. I'll run it by the Commonwealth's Attorney; she'll have to sign off on our taking your matter. Even without a statute of limitations, cases like this are very hard to prove." He studied her as if trying to weigh her commitment, his hand still resting on her journal.
"I understand."
"I'm not sure you do." He leaned onto the table. "When you go after people for crimes like this, the gloves come off. Things you never thought would come out do. Are you prepared for the defense team to dig into your history? You will be on trial as much as your uncle is."
Jaime swallowed. She'd witnessed exactly what he was talking about more often than she cared to admit. It was a classic defense strategy in sexual crimes. A defense attorney had to challenge the victim. Doing less than that could lead to an "ineffective assistance of counsel" charge lodged in the appeal or before an ethics board.
"I've lived that side of cases," she said.
"It's very different when you're sitting at the prosecutor's table."
"Thank you for your concern, but I know what to expect." Jaime squared her jaw and reached for her journal, hoping she could live up to her firm words. "Get the prosecutor on board. I'll do my part."
CHAPTER 2TUESDAY, OCTOBER 2
The lights of DC twinkled across the Potomac through Jaime's window, a view that was worth every extra dollar she paid for it. The mantra of real estate in a city was location, location, location, and her experience reinforced its importance. She could spend hours a day commuting with thousands of other going-nowhere cars, or pay obscene rent and step on the Metro a block from her home. She chose the latter. From one spot she could watch sunset river cruises along the Potomac, and through another window she could imagine she saw the lights of Capitol Hill. In truth she was a little too far away, but the illusion didn't hurt anyone.
As she drove from Arlington along the George Washington Parkway and through Old Town, she was filled with churning emotions. What had she set in motion today by meeting with Mitch McDermott? She couldn't tell from his words as they parted whether she should be hopeful or expect to be disappointed. Maybe disappointment was safest.
She shifted her gaze and noted a few hardy boats cruising the Potomac. Probably romantic dinner cruises, the kind she would never take. Romance was for people who had needs she'd already put to death. A need to be seen. A need to be admired. A need to be cherished.
Jaime's needs were different. She needed to prove she was as good if not better than every man she worked with. To prove to herself she could stand on her own two feet, independent and strong. To prove she could affect the world around her, in ways big or small.
These needs left her standing a bit outside the world of her friends. A lone star amid the constellation of friendship.
"Snap out of it, Nichols," she said under her breath. Jaime meant the words to be brusque, but they came out in a whisper in the small space inside her car. The longing for more always surfaced in the moments before she joined her law school friends for their monthly dinners.
Was it too late to create an excuse to stay home? A nice migraine would be perfect about now. Let the medicine knock it out after she un-rsvPed. Was that even a word? It should be. She sighed and parked her car. It was time to step into the lion's den of friendship with the women who could see beneath her mask.
As she walked into Il Porto at its prime spot along King Street in Old Town Alexandria, the sound of Caroline Bragg's laughter told her exactly where her friends had gathered. The cozy table in the corner would be their spot as long as they wanted to linger, since the waitstaff were used to the group's periodic binges on great Italian food and friendship. The women had made the restaurant their own while in law school, so walking in this door should feel like coming home.
It didn't.
Though the Italian restaurant was a favorite of the others, Jaime had never bothered to tell them she'd rather eat anything else. The story of her life. It wasn't their fault she'd be eating bad sandwiches for a week to compensate for the high-priced meal and still make her rent.
She gave a nod to the hostess and headed to the corner, passing tables covered in red-checked or green-checked tablecloths in the white stucco-and-brick-walled room. Her heels echoed against the red tile floor.
She heard Caroline laugh again. The woman carried a certain light everywhere she went. It was maddening. Caroline worked so hard, yet never seemed to get down from the briefs she read day after day in her job at the court.
It only took a glance to spot Hayden McCarthy and Emilie Wesley seated at the table. It was unusual for Hayden to be early — Emilie must have put some pressure on her roommate. Three empty chairs at the table telegraphed that two more would join them besides Jaime — likely their law school mentor, Savannah Daniels, and her new sidekick, Angela Thrasher.
Caroline spotted her and leapt to her feet.
"Girl! You're here. You know, each time I wonder if you'll really show up." She tugged Jaime into a reluctant hug. "Happy birthday!"
"Thanks." Jaime was relieved to see presents were absent, then paused to note the tight lines around Caroline's eyes. "You okay?"
"Okay enough."
Before she could follow up, Emilie stood and pulled out a chair for Jaime. "I already ordered your water with lemon. Happy birthday." She leaned closer. "I told them no presents this year."
"Thank you." It was hard to explain how uncomfortable gifts made her, even gifts from friends.
Hayden smiled a welcome as Jaime sank onto the empty chair. "You well?"
Jaime nodded. What else could she say? Blurt out how the last criminal trial had left her wanting to take a continuous shower? That the constant defense of men and women who had done terrible things weighed on her even as she believed in the importance of what she did? Mention that she'd finally taken the step to hold her uncle accountable? That would raise too many questions. "I'm good." Obfuscation was easier than the truth.
Jaime loved these women. They had carried her through classes that didn't make sense and provided a community when she hadn't been sure she could endure. Her goal had been twofold: persevere, and find the voice her uncle had robbed her of when she was a child. It was only because of the women at the table that she had survived law school. Finding her voice in the way that mattered most was still to be realized.
"Earth to Jaime." Hayden's words pulled her from her circling thoughts.
"Yes?"
"Your body is here, but you haven't heard anything we've said."
"Sorry." Jaime forced her thoughts to return. "I'm here." But she looked up to see three concerned sets of eyes studying her. "Really."
"Okay." Hayden glanced at Caroline, who gave the smallest shrug.
The waiter approached with a tray of drinks, and a few minutes later Savannah and Angela bustled in, apologizing for their delay.
"We are finally here, ladies." Savannah tugged Angela after her to the table, and the conversation paused as the waiter took their orders. When he left with the menus, Savannah started a story about her rescue kitten's latest antics. "Getting that little thing was the best thing I've done in a long time. It's so nice to have something eager to see me when I arrive at home." She glanced around the table, her dark, shoulder-length hair arranged in a perfect bob. "I'm surprised y'all don't have one. The relaxation I get from her is so worth the cost of cat food and vet visits."
Caroline jumped in with a story about a cat she'd had as a child, and in no time the conversation moved on to other childhood memories. Jaime stayed silent, smiling and nodding at appropriate times. She didn't share that she also had a cat, a beautiful orange striped tabby named Simba. It seemed too personal, which only demonstrated how truly broken she was inside. Her friends knew her well enough not to ask her for stories. They gave her the grace to speak only when she wanted to share.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she started. "Sorry." She pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
Need to see you ASAP. Come straight to my office in a.m.
It was from her boss, Grant Joshua. She frowned as she reread the message, then slid her phone back into her pocket.
"Everything okay?" Emilie's eyes creased with concern.
"Yeah. Just a meeting in the morning." Jaime pushed it from her mind. She could worry about it tomorrow.
The hostess walked past, followed by two thirtysomething men, whom she seated several tables away.
"So, Jaime, what do you think?"
Jaime pulled her gaze back to the table. Savannah turned to Hayden and elbowed her colleague. "I think we need to order Jaime something a little stronger than water."
Caroline piped up. "One sickeningly sweet tea, coming up."
"No, really." Jaime's protest was cut short by Caroline's laugh.
"I know you, girlfriend."
Emilie shook her head as Caroline headed to the bar. "The rest of us would flag down the waiter, but Caroline has to fix it herself."
"She'd mother us to death if we let her." Hayden's concerned gaze followed Caroline. "That's why we have to help her."
"Help her with what?" Jaime asked.
"I told you she wasn't listening." Emilie tapped Hayden's arm with a triumphant smile.
"She was distracted by the guy who walked past a minute ago — the one who looks like Hawkeye." Savannah winked.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Delayed Justice"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Cara Putman.
Excerpted by permission of Thomas Nelson.
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