Mercy of the Court

Mercy of the Court

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Jaded Derek Maguire is intrigued by young attorney Mercy West. During their sensual voyage to discovery, Derek finds hope and Mercy learns how to love, unconditionally.

Summary

Jaded Derek Maguire is intrigued by young attorney Mercy West. During their sensual voyage to discovery, Derek finds hope and Mercy learns how to love, unconditionally.

Chapter1 (v.1)

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: August 10, 2012

Reads: 1316

Comments: 3

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: August 10, 2012

A A A

A A A

This story of Mercy’s abiding love for Derek and their sensual journey of discovery
is intended for adults only.


Chapters One through Four contain PG-rated background material.
Content becomes increasingly explicit beginning in Chapter Five.
Some readers may not be comfortable with certain scenarios.

CHAPTER ONE

Mercy West woke slowly, luxuriating in the softness of the Frette sheets she'd selected when furnishing the new loft apartment. Three long, arduous years at Yale Law and the multistate bar exam were finally in Mercy’s rearview mirror. Her parents had presumed she would join the global firm of West & West at their headquarters in New York after graduation. Mercy had other plans. She wanted to earn her stripes, not have them given to her on a silver platter.

Mercy received offers from prestigious firms across the country, but suspected her name could be credited for most, not the fact that she had graduated near the top of her class and was on the staff of the Law Review at Yale. To everyone’s surprise, Mercy had forgone New York, Chicago, Washington, and Los Angeles, and accepted a position at a small firm in Montana. While on her two-day interview trip, she had been mesmerized by the wide open spaces, the clear blue sky, the clean air, and the mountain views. Plus, she enjoyed the warm camaraderie she witnessed while at the firm’s modest offices. It felt right, and now here she was, on the morning of her first day in court.

Reluctantly, Mercy opened her eyes, smiling at the welcoming sunshine pouring through her bedroom windows. Stretching, she glanced at the alarm clock on her bedside table and her eyes flew open in shock.

“Shit,” she screamed as she scrambled out from under the covers and ran to the bathroom. “I’m late. Note to self, get a damn alarm clock that doesn’t have a 100-page instruction manual.”

Shedding her nightgown as she ran, Mercy threw open the glass door of her white marble shower, turned on the water, and stepped in before it warmed. She gasped as the glacial jets of icewatervanquished all remaining sluggishness from her body. She squeezed her favorite Intoxicating shower satine onto the bath sponge, and quickly scrubbed every inch of her 5’6” body from the tips of her manicured toes, over her long, lean legs and her torso, to her alabaster face. With no time to wash her mane of waist-length blonde hair, Mercy jumped from the shower, grabbed a towel on the run, and made a mad dash for the closet.

Long rows of clothes selected by the West’s personal shopper at Neiman Marcus for Mercy’s new career gave her a moment’s pause. She quickly selected a dove grey Gloria Star pencil skirt and matching cropped jacket, and grabbed a teal silk halter with a bow at the neck, probably more appropriate for a New York cocktail party than her first day in a Montana court, but she had no time to ponder. Mercy hopped across the bathroom floor, first on one foot and then the other, as she slid on grey Jimmy Choo pumps with 4-inch heels and black pointed toes.

Mercy steadied herself for a second when she reached the wide double vanity. She roughly brushed out the snarls from her long hair, bent at her narrow waist, threw her hair over her head, gathered it into a high ponytail, and secured it with a holder that exactly matched the unique color of her golden locks. She glanced at her image in the mirror. “Not exactly a Ken Pavis coiffure, but it’ll have to do.”

Glancing at the clock, Mercy groaned and opted for only mascara and a lightly tinted lip gloss before grabbing her pale grey Birkin tote and rushing out the door.

That morning, Derek Maguire was in a foul mood. Even his daily 20-mile bike ride through the foothills of the Rockies didn’t calm his unrest. With memories of the past weeks clouding his mind, he didn’t notice the rainbow of colors in the sky as the sun slowly climbed over the mountain peaks to usher in a new day. The trial for last year’s school shooting had generated national attention. The news vans clogged the streets outside the courthouse and hundreds of reporters reduced room availability in the small town to nil. The locals were devastated by the crime, still grieving with the families, and did not relish the attention, despite the unprecedented boost in revenue for owners of every hotel, B&B, and restaurant in town. In an effort to hold in check the grandstanding of the hotshot defense team, Derek had banned cameras from his courtroom. He cringed when he saw pictures and videos of himself on the nightly news.

The trial finally was over. The media had filed their last reports, filmed their last interviews, and departed as quickly as they had arrived, on to the next big story. The townspeople heaved a collective sigh of relief, but Derek now had a backlogged docket that would take weeks if not longer to clear. He prized efficiency, and was renowned for running a tight ship, professionally and personally. Disruptions to his organization, structure and schedule were not tolerated in his courtroom or in his home.

Derek arrived at the courthouse promptly at 7:50am to review the day’s schedule and prepare for the next trial. The record-breaking hot Montana summer was in its final days, but even at this early hour, the heat in the usually cool courthouse was stifling as Derek made his way to his office. Naturally, his assistant wasn’t at her desk. With a slight frown, he speculated she probably was at the coffee bar rehashing last night’s episode of Housewives or some equally ridiculous reality television show, or perhaps just the run-of-the-mill gossiping with other staff.

Derek flipped open the top folder on his desk and began studying its contents. Terry Rush, a fourteen-year-old rising sophomore at Dominion High School, had been arrested with his significantly older brother, James, within hours of an armed robbery at a convenience store on the outskirts of town. James was not new to Derek’s court. He was a known troublemaker, rumored to have graduated from petty theft to selling drugs. On the other hand, affidavits prepared by Terry’s teachers, employer and minister reported Terry helped his invalid, single mother with the bills by working after school and still managed to make straight A’s. Despite his age, Terry was a star on the high school’s track team. He trained long hours before school and regularly led his team to victory in local, state and regional meets. University scouts from as far away as Texas, Florida and Georgia already were making calls to Terry’s coach to make inquiries.

Derek wondered what had derailed the kid other than, perhaps, the corrupting influence of his brother. He noted all parties had requested a bench trial, in which he alone would hear testimony and render judgment rather than a jury. Figuring that would speed up the proceedings and quickly eliminate a case from his backlog, Derek stood, donned his black robe, collected the paperwork from his desk, and briskly made the short walk down the hall to his courtroom. He entered at precisely 9:00am and heard the bailiff announce, “All rise. Court now is in session. The Honorable Derek Maguire presiding.”

Mercy drummed her fingers on the steering wheel of her new silver Mercedes-Benz SL63, a surprise graduation present from her grandparents. The roadster didn’t look so out of place on the crowded streets of Manhattan as it did in small-town Montana, but she had not been consulted prior to the purchase. She glanced at the box of files on the passenger seat. She had spent two full days at the office collecting and organizing paperwork into color-coded folders and was secretly pleased that she could put her fingers on any required information within seconds. She took a quick look at her watch while stopped at yet another red light, and cringed when the cell phone rang as she accelerated through the intersection. The voice of her mentor, Elizabeth Garza, instantly filled the car.

“Where the hell are you, Mercy?” Elizabeth whispered in what seemed more like a yell. “It’s 8:55. You should have been here at 8:30. The judge will be here in five minutes.”

“I overslept, Elizabeth,” Mercy hurriedly explained. “I’m just a few blocks away. Be there in a minute.”

She touched a button on her steering wheel to disconnect the call and put the peddle to the metal. The 530 horsepower engine instantly responded, rocketing the convertible through the remaining few blocks like a flash of silver lightening. Relieved that the media vans no longer blocked access to the courthouse, Mercy turned into the parking lot too quickly and hit the curb. Oblivious to the grinding of metal on concrete, she whipped into the first available spot she found, grabbed the box of files from the passenger seat, threw her door open, slammed it shut behind her, and made a mad dash up the steps and through the front doors of the courthouse.

Security! With a sigh of exasperation, Mercy placed her tote and heavy box of files on the long x-ray belt, and waited for her turn to walk through the metal detector. As she impatiently shuffled forward, one excruciatingly slow person at a time, Mercy remembered Elizabeth’s words of caution during happy hour yesterday evening.

“Judge Maguire is no nonsense, Mercy,” Elizabeth warned. “He’s mid-way through his second term. He’s already seen and heard it all. He doesn’t tolerate bullshit from anyone. In some ways, he’s pretty unconventional, but for the most part he’s by the book.You’re second chair tomorrow. Other than handing me documents when I need them, your job is to quietly reassure Terry, keep him calm, listen and learn.”

Close to a full-blown panic attack, Mercy stepped through the metal detector, gathered her things, and raced down the hall to Judge Maguire’s courtroom. The clacking of her Jimmy Choos on the marble floor bounced off the walls, announcing her arrival well before she neared the door.

Determined to move forward despite the oppressive heat in the windowless courtroom, Derek settled in the high-backed leather chair behind his desk on the raised platform. He turned to the court clerk and nodded.

“State of Montana v. Terry Rush” she announced. “Robbery in the second degree.”

Derek looked to the prosecuting attorney, who rose to his feet. “ADA Randall Roberts for the prosecution, Your Honor.”

Turning his head to the defense, Elizabeth rose. “Elizabeth Garza and Mercy West for the defense, Your Honor.”

Derek glanced at the empty chair beside the obviously nervous Terry Rush, then looked back at Elizabeth with a questioning lift of an eyebrow.

“I apologize, Your Honor.” Elizabeth attempted to explain, “Miss West was unexpectedly detained at the office. I’m sure she’ll be here momentarily.”

The words were barely out of Elizabeth’s mouth when Mercy crashed through the double doors of the courtroom. In a desperate attempt to regain her equilibrium, Mercy reached out to the back of a bench in the public seating area and inadvertently tipped the box of files forward. Her meticulously organized color-coded folders scattered across the floor. With all eyes on her, Mercy dropped to her knees and crawled across the tiles to retrieve the files and dump them back in the box.

Derek’s cool detachment was momentarily broken when he saw the slightly disheveled vision in grey drop to the floor to collect the dropped files. As she turned away from him to reach under a bench, the view of her tight, athletic ass wiggling under a form-fitting skirt instantly conjured up images inappropriate for a courtroom.

Derek turned to Elizabeth and asked, “Miss West, I presume?”

With a slow nod of her head in acknowledgment, Elizabeth confirmed, “Miss West.”

Files somewhat intact, Mercy climbed to her feet and took a moment to regain her composure. Derek’s eyes narrowed as he watched her hands glide from her tiny waist over her narrow hips to smooth her tight skirt. With a tug at the hem to restore the skirt to its intended knee length, Derek’s attention wandered to Mercy’s incredibly long and toned legs. The damn stilettos almost undid him.

“Miss West, sit!” he barked too harshly even to his own ears.

Derek blinked in amazement as Mercy kicked the box of files out of the center of the aisle, and plopped herself down unceremoniously on the closest bench.

“At the defense table, if you will, Miss West,” Derek coached impatiently.

Before Mercy could react, Elizabeth jumped up, apologizing to the court, walked with purpose to Mercy, grabbed the box of files from the floor, gave Mercy a You’re in Deep Shit Now look, and with a forceful shake of her head toward the front of the courtroom, finally broke through Mercy’s paralysis. A scarlet red blossomed from Mercy’s chest to her cheeks as she followed Elizabeth up the aisle with as much dignity as she could muster, which wasn’t much given the circumstances.

Finally seated in her designated chair at the defense table, Mercy turned to Terry and mouthed, “Sorry.”

The poor kid looked terrified. Beads of sweat were collecting on his pimpled forehead as he pulled uncomfortably at his tie. Mercy had purchased the suit and tie the week before when she learned he had nothing in his closet other than faded jeans, athletic shorts, t-shirts, one pair of sneakers and one pair of track shoes, all from the local thrift shop. Her heart went out to him. She hoped the clothes, dress shoes and fresh haircut would somehow depict Terry as the responsible young man she knew him to be.

Now settled, Mercy lightly gripped Terry’s arm to convey the confidence she had in both him and their defense, and gave him her most dazzling smile. Terry took a deep breath, gave Mercy a tentative grin, and began to relax.

Derek observed the exchange and decided to store away his initial impressions of the stunning blonde and her obvious compassion to dissect later over a glass of wine and his occasional guilty pleasure, a thin Padron Panatela cigar.

Derek returned focus to the proceedings with a single tap of his gavel on the black cottonwood desk. He glanced at the brass wall clock and noted with impatience that ten minutes had been wasted on Miss West’s shenanigans. He directed a steel gaze in Mercy’s direction. “Now that we’re all finally here, let’s proceed.”

Turning his attention to the Assistant District Attorney, Derek prompted, “Mr. Roberts?”

The always loquacious ADA stood, lumbered to the podium in his three-piece winter wool suit, adjusted the microphone and spent a full hour on his overly comprehensive opening statement.

Mercy took detailed notes, generating a neat bullet list of each point made by Mr. Roberts in the personal version of short hand she’d developed at Yale. From time to time, as the ADA pontificated, she seized opportunities to stealthily study Judge Maguire. She initially only wanted to observe his reactions to Mr. Roberts’ most outrageous allegations. When it became clear that Judge Maguire would maintain an unwavering mask of aloof detachment, she began studying the man, instead.

His sharply chiseled features reminded her of Michelangelo’s David, her favorite Renaissance sculpture. Mercy had spent hours admiring the face at the Accademia Gallery during her family’s last vacation in Florence. Even Judge Maguire’s eyes reminded her of David’s, with their cool, intense glare. Unfortunately, the lips of his wide mouth were set in a thin line as the ADA delivered his interminable speech. Mercy noticed that the Judge’s thick, sun-kissed blonde hair curled slightly at his collar. Beyond that, she could see nothing given the barrier of the elevated desk and his overly large black robe.

When is this idiot going to shut up? Derek wondered to himself with mounting impatience.

He fully grasped the prosecution’s case within the first few minutes. A kid in the unrelenting grip of extreme poverty,turned to desperate measures to put some cash in his pockets. He held up the new owner of the Speedy Gas ‘n Go at gunpoint, and made a getaway in a pickup truck that should have been in an antique museum instead of speeding away from the scene of a crime. He was stranded on the highway when the truck’s engine threw a rod, so he took off running across an open field when he saw the flashing lights of a fast-approaching vehicle. State troopers gave chase and tackled young Mr. Rush to the ground before handcuffing him and taking him into custody.

Mr. Roberts finally concluded by assuring the court that he would prove the defendant’s guilt beyond any reasonable doubt. By the time he sat down, the ADA’s face was beet red and dripping with sweat. He mopped his forehead with a quickly disintegrating tissue he had extracted from his briefcase and took a long drink from the water bottle he’d purchasedat the courthouse coffee bar.

Hoping the effects of the heat in the courtroom weren’t as obvious on him, Derek turned to the court clerk and asked, “Why in the hell is it so hot in here?”

“Sorry, Your Honor,” she replied with a bit of trepidation. “The air conditioning has been out since late yesterday. The repair service has been called, but they don’t have parts in stock to fix it.”

When Derek’s only response was a raised eyebrow, the nervous young woman offered the only other information she had. “The parts should arrive later today,” she reported. “The technicians are scheduled to work through the weekend and will have the A/C fixed before Monday morning.”

Resolving himself to a full day in the insufferable heat, Derek turned to the defense. “Miss Garza?” he invited in his clipped monotone.

Mercifully, Elizabeth outlined the case for the defense in 10 minutes, thanks either to the heat or Judge Maguire’s known preference for brevity. She succinctly painted an entirely different version of the alleged crime and the defendant.

A stellar student, an example to his peers. No previous record. Provided the sole income for his family by working after school as a custodian at the local hospital. Made small but regular payments to the same hospital and doctors for his mother’s ongoing medical care. Picked up by his older brother in the family’s battered pickup after the graveyard shift on the night in question. Shocked to see his brother pull a gun on the owner of the Speedy Gas ‘n Go while he was pumping $5 of gasoline into the truck. He ran to the store, all the while yelling at his brother. The brother grabbed cash from the open register and raced back to the truck, demanding that the defendant get back in the cab before speeding away.

The rest of the account was the same as Mr. Roberts’. The brothers were stranded on the highway when the truck broke down. They took off running across an open field when they observed the flashing lights of an approaching vehicle. State troopers gave chase. Tackled young Mr. Rush and his brother to the ground. Handcuffed them and took them into custody.

During Elizabeth’s recitation, Derek’s eyes wandered to Mercy, who still was furiously making notes in a tablet of yellow paper while occasionally glancing at the defendant with a reassuring smile. He observed with a degree of satisfaction that she seemed to have recovered nicely from her awkward entrance into his courtroom. Her flawless face was perfectly composed. As his eyes traveled to her unbelievable legs, crossed modestly at the ankles, he wondered how long it would take to shatter Miss West’s composure if he had her alone. He stared at her patent leather stilettos, and imagined her in only a black lace corset too tight to fully contain her breasts and black thigh highs topped with a wide expanse of lace. He envisioned her golden hair spilling across a feather pillow, a blindfold covering her eyes, and her wrists and ankles securely tied to the four posters of his custom made bed.

Before his mind could fully develop the fantasy, Derek was jerked from his reverie when Elizabeth concluded her brief opening statement and sat down.

Although Derek’s practiced, impassive expression never hinted at his imaginings, he needed a moment to calm his racing pulse before turning to the ADA and briskly ordering, “Mr. Roberts, call your first witness.”

In a laborious two hours of less than inspired questioning, Randall guided his three witnesses through the events of the night of the robbery in excruciating detail. First came one of the two arresting officers who was dispatched to the scene and who later located and apprehended the suspect. His partner, the second arresting officer, relayed the same information almost verbatim. The ADA’s final witness was a passerby with glasses as thick as the bottom of a coke bottle. He hadobserved the chase through the field and the arrest. With an unmerited flourish, Randall announced, “The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”

What the hell, thought the stunned Judge. Did this asshole get his degree from Law School for Dummies, or what? There’s only one real witness to the crime, and the long-winded Mr. Roberts didn’t even call him to the stand.

With a frustrated inward shake of his head, Derek called a one-hour recess for lunch. Hoping to escape the stifling heat in the airless courtroom for as much of that hour as possible, all parties scrambled to the door as soon as the Judge exited


© Copyright 2018 BeckaWoods. All rights reserved.

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