As I sat down, I saw the back doors to the courtroom open. Mason, Violet, and my friends entered and found seats, but a new face in the back corner caught my eye.

Jed.

His arm was in a sling, and he looked just as bad as Mason. He’d been shot a few days before—because of me—and he probably had no business being up and about. Yet there he sat, doing the job that Skeeter had assigned to him months ago—the one he’d taken more personally than I ever would have expected. He was watching over me. He gave me a barely perceptible nod and a slight smile.

And that was my undoing.

My chin quivered and I fought to keep it together.

I’d gone from friendless and lonely to bursting at the seams with people who loved and cared about me. Here I was sitting at the defense table wearing an orange jumpsuit, but I was luckier than most people in the world.

Carter leaned close and whispered in my ear. “This will be surprisingly short. Now remember, you won’t speak at all. I’ll do all the talking.”

I nodded and looked back at Mason, who gave me a tight smile of reassurance.

The bailiff stepped into the room. “All rise for the honorable Judge Berger.”

Everyone stood, filling the room with a chorus of chairs scraping on the wood floor. The judge walked in with a no-nonsense look. He was younger than Judge McClary, probably in his late thirties. He sat down, and everyone else followed suit except for the attorneys and me.

The judge looked through some papers, and the DA responded to his questions in legalese and handed some papers to the bailiff. All I heard was “murder for hire” and “solicitation for murder” and “felony charges.”

Then Carter answered with more legalese and paperwork, and then the judge asked for the prosecution’s recommendation for bail.

The DA gave Mason a smug stare before turning back to face the judge. “We recommend that state hold the defendant without bail. She is a flight risk and a possible risk to society.”

Carter listened to it all, not saying a word even though a full-fledged panic attack was brewing in my chest. The judge finally addressed him.

“Your Honor,” Carter said in a slow drawl. “Rose Gardner is a respected member of the community. She’s sunk money into not one but two profitable businesses. In addition, she’s aided the Arkansas State Police, the Fenton County Sheriff’s Department, and the Henryetta Police Department in apprehending multiple criminals. To deny bail would be preposterous.”

The judge looked me over, then said, “The prosecutor is concerned your client is a flight risk.”

“Ms. Gardner has friends and family. She’s a close friend of Jonah Pruitt, pastor of the New Living Hope Revival Church, and is in a relationship with Mason Deveraux, who was an assistant district attorney for the county until Friday evening. She has too much to lose if she flees.”

The judge turned to the DA. “While I understand your concern, I’m going to post bail at one million dollars.”

One million dollars?

I turned to Carter to protest. I didn’t have one million dollars.

But Carter shot me a quick, silencing glare before returning his attention to the judge. “Your Honor,” he said. “Ms. Gardner is woman of simple means. Posting one million will be prove difficult.”

“Not my problem,” he barked. “Now, on to the trial date. I’ve looked at the docket, and I’m setting the trial for three weeks from today.”

“Three weeks?” Carter asked, sounding dismayed. “Your honor. I humbly request—”

“Denied.” The judge banged his gavel. “Next case.”

I turned to Carter. “Three weeks.”

The worried look on his face added to my panic. “I’ll appeal. Right now I’m worried about bail.”

Deputy Miller came forward and grabbed my arm to lead me out, but Carter held up his hand and turned to face Mason.

“Can you come up with the money?”

Mason looked grim. “I’ll see what I can do. Don’t take her back to the county jail. Hold her in the pens, and I’ll try to get it together by the end of the day.”

Carter nodded.

Mason turned his attention to me. “I’ll come up with it, Rose.”

The judge was getting irritated by our delay. Carter lowered his face to mine. “Just sit tight. We’ll come up with the money.”

“One million dollars?”

“Just sit tight.” His answer was short. “I’ll get it.”

Carter Hale was going to get my bail money?

No. Skeeter.

Deputy Miller led me out the back entrance as another prisoner was brought into the courtroom—a man who looked like he’d done this a time or two. The deputy was quiet as he led me back to the elevator. We got off in the basement, and he guided me through a maze to a room that contained several jail cells.

Deputy Miller handed a paper to the guard on duty, and he looked it over, chuckling. “Whatcha doin’ bringin’ her here? She gonna come up with bail this high?”

Deputy Miller looked annoyed. “Her attorney says it’s comin’. You just hold her here until it’s posted.”

“I’ll give ’em until five o’clock, and if they ain’t bailed her out, I expect you back here to haul her ass back to jail.” He laughed. “Whadya do? Rob a bank?”

Deputy Miller glared at him. “Just do your job, Jim. Do you think you can handle that?”