Courting Death - Carol Stephenson [21]
He was the last one who should be bitching about trust. I lashed back, “Hey, don’t lay that particular guilt trip on me. You didn’t tell me you’d discovered the murder weapon in the Gordon Archer case was tainted due to a police screw-up. As a result a killer walked, Sam, and slaughtered a whole family.”
“Dammit, Nicole. So the Archer prosecution went south on you. Shit happens. Cases are never perfect. You did the best you could with the remaining crumbs of evidence and even managed to get a hung jury. A jury in the hands of a less-skilled prosecutor probably would have given him a free pass in five minutes.”
A better attorney might have been able to re-piece the evidence to get a conviction on a lesser crime. I’d been so damn confident I had a slam dunk case that I indicted only on one count of murder with intent to kill. A mistake I would always live with. Pressure built in me.
I shoved back the chair as I stood and gripped the table’s edge to steady myself. “Let’s get this straight. That doesn’t absolve my failure. I panicked, okay? I blanked out and didn’t know what to do next.” What I couldn’t confess to him was my dark secret that the paralysis had recurred. “I couldn’t handle the job so I quit.”
I snatched the crumpled bags and rammed them into the garbage pail. “I’m sorry if I hurt you or you can’t understand, but that’s the way it had to be.”
Spinning around, I stormed out of the kitchen and made my way to the living room bay window. I fought for calm as I watched the palms in the yard sway gently beneath the muted glow of the half moon.
I sensed Sam standing behind me. His silent censure wrapped around me until I ached.
“I know you’ll never accept or understand my decision, but I just couldn’t be a prosecutor anymore.” Tears seared the corners of my eyes.
“You find defending child murderers more rewarding than taking them off the street?” His tone condemned me.
It was a debilitating blow, effectively delivered. Closing my eyes, I swayed as paralyzing memories assailed me. I had locked away the ghosts of past cases and struggled to keep the lid shut.
Cursing, Sam roughly grabbed my shoulders. “Damn it, Red. It’s been one hell of a day. You always know how to rub me raw.”
I snapped my eyes open, catching his concerned expression as he gazed down at me. I wanted to sock him. Anger suppressed my demons. “So it’s my fault you’re such a jerk?”
Something flickered in his dark brown eyes for a moment, but Sam’s inscrutable police mask slipped into place before I could identify the rare revelation of emotion. He slowly dropped his hands and stepped away. Muscles bunched along his jawbone.
“No. I always end up being an idiot around you with no help from anyone.”
I bit my bottom lip. “I nearly lost my sanity as a prosecutor. I had to save myself.”
“So you decided to dump me at the same time?”
“I decided to go for a clean slate.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Just think of this, Nicole. How many lives did you save by putting away the bad guys during your years in the state attorney’s office?”
“Not nearly as many as I lost. I can’t go back to that life again.”
Sam’s iron jaw jutted in disgust. “I’d never have believed you would turn tail and run away because of one mistake. That you would lose belief in yourself. Not my Red.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I was damned if I would let Sam see he had struck a nerve. I fisted my hands at the sides of my body. “Listen, as you so kindly pointed out before, the criminal system isn’t perfect. Innocent people, believe it or not, get charged with crimes. Some are wrongly convicted. It’s my job to make sure people like Claire Whitman get a fair shake.”
I widened my stance. “And I’m not your Red.”
“Not anymore.” Sam’s quiet pronouncement was more shattering than angry words. He turned and left. Seconds later the front door slammed.
Wrapping my arms around my waist, I again faced the window, watching the only man who could—and did—destroy