Rebecca’s mother stiffened visibly, one reporter leaned forward with sharpened interest, and the bailiff rested his hand near his radio. A whisper traveled across the benches that they had come to pressure the judge.
Garrett did not turn around, but his shoulders tightened slightly as if he could feel their presence anchoring the room behind him. Avery glanced over her shoulder, not with fear but with confusion, as she studied the unfamiliar men.
When Judge Marilyn Hodge entered, she paused briefly as she surveyed the unusually crowded gallery, her gaze lingering on the line of bikers before she took her seat with professional composure.
“Why is there an unusually large presence in my courtroom today?” she asked calmly.
Rebecca’s attorney rose first and said, “Your Honor, we believe this gathering is intended to intimidate both the court and my client.”
The word intimidate rolled through the benches in uneasy murmurs as several onlookers shook their heads.
Assistant District Attorney Paul Whitaker stood and added, “Mr. Sloan has a documented history of substance abuse and prior disturbances, and the presence of an organized group affiliated with him raises legitimate concern.”