Eleanor stared back at him, her face a portrait of professional disgust.
Harrison’s gaze then drifted back to the man sitting in the leather chair. The realization crashed into the bailiff like a freight train. The calm demeanor. The absolute lack of fear. The warning about the "expensive decision." He hadn't been threatening a deputy; he had been exercising judicial restraint. Harrison had just threatened, screamed at, and attempted to violently remove the presiding judge of the superior court from his own bench.
The dark red flush of anger drained completely from Harrison’s face, leaving behind a sickening, ashen pallor. His mouth opened, but his vocal cords refused to produce a single sound. He stumbled backward, his heavy tactical boots catching on the edge of the wooden platform, causing him to clumsily grab the wooden partition to keep from falling. The alpha predator of the courtroom had been instantly reduced to a trembling, humiliated subordinate.
Marcus Bennett finally moved.
He didn't gloat. He didn't raise his voice to berate the trembling man before him. He simply pushed his chair back and stood up. At six-foot-two, with his broad, muscular frame encased in the black motorcycle jacket, Marcus cast a massive, intimidating shadow over the bailiff.
Marcus unzipped the heavy leather jacket, taking it off with slow, deliberate movements, revealing the sleek black turtleneck underneath. He draped the jacket over the back of the chair. Eleanor, anticipating the transition, stepped forward and handed Marcus his heavy, black judicial robe.
With a fluid motion, Marcus slipped his arms into the flowing sleeves and zipped the robe up to his collar. The transformation was cinematic and absolute. The rogue outsider had vanished, replaced by the ultimate symbol of legal authority in the county.