Free Directed Verdict by Randy Singer

faltered.
    Rasheed reached over and drew her to himself. He held her softly as she cried.
    When she regained control, she spoke again in a desperate whisper. “We denied our Lord, Rasheed. I can’t live like this.”
    He squeezed her tighter in the silence. “Nor I,” he said at last.
    “What . . . are we going to do?” Her sobbing intensified.
    Rasheed gently released his wife, then drew her out of bed to kneel together. “We must pray . . . ask forgiveness . . . trust God to give us another chance.”
    Mobara joined him and put her hand on his. “What if they come back, Rasheed? I’m so afraid.”
    “I know. Let’s pray. Remember, God has not given us the spirit of fear.”
    Mobara looked intently at her husband. “I love you, Rasheed. And I’ll be okay if you’re with me.”
    Rasheed put his arm around her again and drew her close, still kneeling, preparing to pray.
    “Are you afraid?” she asked.
    Rasheed thought for a moment and looked down. He couldn’t lie to Mobara. She would know. “Yes,” he admitted.
    Together, they began to pray.

6
    LESLIE TOOK ANOTHER SIP from the glass of water on her counsel table. It was half-gone, her mouth was still dry, and she hadn’t even started her argument yet. She tapped the sides of the typed pages in front of her, perfectly lining up the edges of her notes, then surveyed again the panel of accomplished lawyers who would act as judges for the moot court final.
    Seated on her left was Professor Lynda Parsons. She was rumored to be tough, fair, sarcastic, and witty. Leslie had skillfully avoided taking her classes, but now she had to face her as a judge in the moot court final.
    In the middle, and acting as chief justice because of his experience and reputation in international law, sat Mack Strobel. He was already staring down the litigants.
    Leslie stared back.
    She had read the book on Strobel. Don’t let him intimidate you. He’s from the old school—blunt and full of bluster. Respect him but don’t trust him.
    It was hard not to look away. Strobel’s eyes became piercing. His clean-shaven head, close-cropped goatee, and fierce scowl gave him a draconian look—like some type of WWF wrestler dressed up in a business suit. His leathery skin and bald pate were well-tanned, though summer was months away. He had broad shoulders, was above average height, and he seemed to dominate the courtroom without trying.
    After making her point with Strobel, Leslie diverted her gaze to Brad Carson, who sat to Leslie’s right. Carson shuffled some papers and looked absentmindedly around the courtroom. He caught Leslie’s gaze and smiled. Compared to Strobel, Carson was not an imposing figure, but he seemed so sure of himself and so natural in a courtroom setting that he, too, commanded respect. He also seemed bored and ready for some action.
    “Be seated,” Strobel barked, obviously ready to get down to the business of beating up the litigants.
    * * *
    The sizing up went both ways. Brad had already decided that Leslie would win if points were awarded for style.
    “Is counsel for appellant ready?” Mack asked.
    “Ready, Your Honor.” Leslie stood and flashed a nervous smile.
    “Is counsel for appellee ready?”
    “Yes, Your Honor.”
    Brad studied the young man opposing Leslie. Stiff posture, short-cropped hair, and precise movements. Probably active duty military, attending school on a JAG scholarship. Long on discipline, short on creativity, Brad figured.
    Leslie was more of a mystery. She was attractive but trying hard to look more like a lawyer than a beauty queen. She wore her shoulder-length auburn hair in a tight braid, and her traditional dark blue suit camouflaged a tall, thin frame. Intense sky blue eyes seemed to sparkle with anticipation. She had the high cheekbones and long neck of a model, but none of the makeup that would accentuate or draw attention to those features. Her pale skin had probably been weeks without seeing a ray of sun, and red