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than he needed. A flood of thoughts rushed him, some abstract, some very clear. Like the one involving chainsaws and machetes and his legs.
    â€œI do.”He shifted his sight from the man and the thoughts were silenced.
    The sounds of the courtroom faded completely, this time because Billy’s consciousness was thoroughly focused on the phenomenon afflicting him.
    So it was real? He was actually hearing the thoughts of whomever he made eye contact with? An image of the monastery he’d grown up in flashed through his mind.Was it possible?
    Marsuvees Black.
    Sweat seeped from his pores. He shut the name out of his thoughts and opened his eyes.
    â€œSo what you’re telling us,” the prosecutor was saying, “is that you didn’t actually see any of this with your own eyes.”
    â€œNo, but—”
    â€œThat however compelled you were by what you think you heard, all you really know is hearsay. Isn’t that right? Sir?”
    The prosecutor was leading the witness while arguing his case. There were several clear objections Billy could have voiced and had upheld by the judge, but a new thought was drowning out the usefulness of continuing with Musa bin Salman.
    â€œNo. That is not what I said.”
    â€œThank you, no further questions.”
    Dean Coulter took a seat, picked up a pen, and began tapping his notepad, eyes dead ahead. He’d stemmed the tide for the moment, but Billy could blow it all open easily enough with a redirect.
    The judge looked at Billy. I don’t know what trick you think you’re pulling, but honestly, I can’t wait to hear this one .
    â€œCounselor?” she said
    Billy remained seated. “No further questions.”
    Anthony Sacks clambered to his feet. “I object!”
    â€œSit down!” the judge snapped.
    The defendant glared from the judge to Billy, then slowly sat.
    â€œOne more outburst like that and I’ll have you removed. There’s a reason why we have order in a court, Mr. Sacks. Your counsel speaks for your defense. Unless you have an entire legal firm in your back pocket, don’t sabotage your own case.”
    The man muttered a curse under his breath.
    â€œThe witness is excused.”
    Musa stood, having been refused his chance to spill the lies he was either being forced or paid to tell. Billy wondered how long the man had to live. Muness would be fuming already.
    â€œAny more witnesses?”
    Billy leaned over to Sacks. “You go along with me here or you spend the rest of your natural life in prison. Capisce? ”
    Without waiting for a response, he stood and stepped behind the podium, knowing that what he was about to do would change his life forever. But as he saw it, he had no good alternatives.
    He pushed his sweating hands into his pockets. “Your Honor, I would like to call the defendant, Anthony Sacks, to the stand to testify on his own behalf.”
    The barely audible gasp behind him betrayed his client’s surprise. Billy turned, drilled him with a stare, and winked.
    All he got from the man was a mental flood of obscenities, so he cut it off by glancing at the jury. Their thoughts came to him quickly and with amazing clarity as he scanned their eyes.
    He’s trying to sabotage his own client?
    What if the towel-head was on to something?
    Flat out guilty, doesn’t matter what anybody says at this point.
    I’m going to ask Nancy for her hand in marriage and she’s going to agree. Just because her friends have put the fear of God in her doesn’t mean she’s stopped loving me.
    Reddish-brown hair, green eyes, the cutest face . . . Gasp, he’s looking at me! Man, he’s sexy.
    That last thought from Candice, juror number nine, a forty-nine-year-old banker who’d gone out of her way to tell him that she tended bar at the New Yorker on weekends for extra money.
    â€œI’ll allow the witness,” Judge Brighton said.“Mr. Sacks, you have