true justice?
Jacob startled me, abandoning his notes and shuffling to stand beside the podium. It was against the rules for him to approach me, but by coming out from behind the podium, it left him exposed, vulnerable.
The jury also took note. They would place added weight on the next few moments—a weight that might add up to reasonable doubt during deliberations if I wasn’t careful.
I sat up straighter, the edge of the worn, wooden chair digging into my thighs, and anticipated the sparring match to come. The rest of the room faded into shimmering echoes of color accompanied by the gentle tinkle of chimes.
Not now. I couldn’t risk a fugue episode now .
I forced my attention to center on Jacob as I massaged the pressure point between the thumb and index finger of my left hand, trying to eke additional energy and alertness from my body’s diminished reserves.
Jacob took a step toward me, his stance aggressive. So unlike his usual style. A thrill vibrated through me. If only he’d been this aggressive about saving our marriage. Understated, subtle, always playing by the rules, that was Jacob.
An opposites-attract sort of thing, the rebel ER doctor and the by-the-book attorney.
But now, it was Jacob breaking the rules. My pulse revved up, buzzing beneath my skin. Something was going on here. This wasn’t the way Jacob worked. What was wrong with him?
Idiot . Jacob was fine—the problem was with me. Hopped up on the stimulants Louise had prescribed.
Jacob squared his shoulders, facing the jury more than me.
The jurors leaned forward, entranced, waiting to see what was coming. If he disappointed them after this buildup, his client was sure to suffer the consequences. Which was exactly why Jacob seldom resorted to melodrama.
I had to work to swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. Tymara’s death was my responsibility. I was the one who had persuaded her to go to the police. I was the one who had bolstered her courage, promised her that confronting her attackers was the right thing to do.
And Tymara, fool that she was, had placed her trust in me. Anger seared through me. The entire room simmered with the strength of my fury. I blinked against the image that violated my vision, more than blood, the terror on her face…
“Then Ms. Nelson led Mr. Littleton into her bedroom, correct?” Jacob said, jarring me from my morbid visions.
“She went to turn on the lights so he could see as he sprayed for roaches.”
“She willingly led him to her bedroom.”
I stared at him, refusing to confirm his rewording of my testimony, waiting for a question. Sweat pooled at the base of my spine, and my hands trembled. I tightened them into fists, drumming against my thighs, out of sight from the jury.
Jacob’s dramatic pauses were killing me. Why didn’t he just get on with it? His eyes seemed filled with sorrow and remorse. As if I was leading him somewhere he didn’t want to go. Wait. Could he know? That I was sick? Once upon a time, he could read me that well.
“And then Ms. Nelson undressed for Mr. Littleton,” he said.
“He was holding a knife on her.”
“Did Ms. Nelson sustain any knife wounds?” Jacob countered. He rustled a stack of papers, reminding me Big Brother was watching if I detoured from the medical record.
“No.” I spit out the word as if it was a spoiled piece of meat. The single syllable lingered in the air as the jury watched, mesmerized. The tension coiling between us was palpable, electricity before a lightning strike.
As if this trial needed any more drama.
Jacob consulted his notes as I waited for his next question. I risked a glance at the prosecution table and saw Manny frowning, shaking his head at me in warning.
“According to the medical history you collected from Ms. Nelson,” Jacob finally said. “What happened next?”
I took a breath, trying to rein in my anger and frustration. But one glance in the direction of the defendant eroded my control. “Mr. Littleton raped
Jacob startled me, abandoning his notes and shuffling to stand beside the podium. It was against the rules for him to approach me, but by coming out from behind the podium, it left him exposed, vulnerable.
The jury also took note. They would place added weight on the next few moments—a weight that might add up to reasonable doubt during deliberations if I wasn’t careful.
I sat up straighter, the edge of the worn, wooden chair digging into my thighs, and anticipated the sparring match to come. The rest of the room faded into shimmering echoes of color accompanied by the gentle tinkle of chimes.
Not now. I couldn’t risk a fugue episode now .
I forced my attention to center on Jacob as I massaged the pressure point between the thumb and index finger of my left hand, trying to eke additional energy and alertness from my body’s diminished reserves.
Jacob took a step toward me, his stance aggressive. So unlike his usual style. A thrill vibrated through me. If only he’d been this aggressive about saving our marriage. Understated, subtle, always playing by the rules, that was Jacob.
An opposites-attract sort of thing, the rebel ER doctor and the by-the-book attorney.
But now, it was Jacob breaking the rules. My pulse revved up, buzzing beneath my skin. Something was going on here. This wasn’t the way Jacob worked. What was wrong with him?
Idiot . Jacob was fine—the problem was with me. Hopped up on the stimulants Louise had prescribed.
Jacob squared his shoulders, facing the jury more than me.
The jurors leaned forward, entranced, waiting to see what was coming. If he disappointed them after this buildup, his client was sure to suffer the consequences. Which was exactly why Jacob seldom resorted to melodrama.
I had to work to swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. Tymara’s death was my responsibility. I was the one who had persuaded her to go to the police. I was the one who had bolstered her courage, promised her that confronting her attackers was the right thing to do.
And Tymara, fool that she was, had placed her trust in me. Anger seared through me. The entire room simmered with the strength of my fury. I blinked against the image that violated my vision, more than blood, the terror on her face…
“Then Ms. Nelson led Mr. Littleton into her bedroom, correct?” Jacob said, jarring me from my morbid visions.
“She went to turn on the lights so he could see as he sprayed for roaches.”
“She willingly led him to her bedroom.”
I stared at him, refusing to confirm his rewording of my testimony, waiting for a question. Sweat pooled at the base of my spine, and my hands trembled. I tightened them into fists, drumming against my thighs, out of sight from the jury.
Jacob’s dramatic pauses were killing me. Why didn’t he just get on with it? His eyes seemed filled with sorrow and remorse. As if I was leading him somewhere he didn’t want to go. Wait. Could he know? That I was sick? Once upon a time, he could read me that well.
“And then Ms. Nelson undressed for Mr. Littleton,” he said.
“He was holding a knife on her.”
“Did Ms. Nelson sustain any knife wounds?” Jacob countered. He rustled a stack of papers, reminding me Big Brother was watching if I detoured from the medical record.
“No.” I spit out the word as if it was a spoiled piece of meat. The single syllable lingered in the air as the jury watched, mesmerized. The tension coiling between us was palpable, electricity before a lightning strike.
As if this trial needed any more drama.
Jacob consulted his notes as I waited for his next question. I risked a glance at the prosecution table and saw Manny frowning, shaking his head at me in warning.
“According to the medical history you collected from Ms. Nelson,” Jacob finally said. “What happened next?”
I took a breath, trying to rein in my anger and frustration. But one glance in the direction of the defendant eroded my control. “Mr. Littleton raped
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