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“Sara?”
“Sir, I—well, there’s something you should know.” She reached into her pocket for the red ribbon, only to remember she’d thrown it away. “I, um, okay.” She drew a breath. “After the Stemmons trial I was celebrating with friends. I met Luke—Dragos, I mean. And, well, the truth is we slept together. I—I didn’t want to say anything because I was afraid you’d kick me back upstairs and I’d lose this opportunity and forget everything I’ve seen today. But I can’t be like Dragos and just make up my own rules. It’s a conflict of interest, and so I should be taken off the case.”
She sat back, her body finally relaxed, the relief of having told the truth palpable.
“I see.” He steepled his fingers on his desk. “And does this—encounter—in any way impact your ability to prosecute this case?”
She hesitated before answering because the question deserved an honest appraisal. She’d been handed the chance to put a murderous vampire into a cage. A vampire, she now knew, who committed heinous crimes, then abused his connections to the Alliance to wriggle free from the law.
Maybe she had slept with him—and maybe she’d enjoyed it. But that didn’t change the facts. She had to be true to herself, and she was not a woman who could let a killer go free simply because he had powerful friends.
“No, sir,” she said firmly. “It doesn’t impact me at all.”
He leaned back. “Very well.”
She forced herself not to frown. “Sir?”
“The case remains yours.”
“But—”
“As I’ve already mentioned, you’re going to find that we do things differently here. Comparatively speaking, the community is small. And when you factor in the life spans of the various Shadow creatures, odds are high that prosecutor and defendant, investigator and suspect have crossed paths before. Such inter-weavings do not demand an immediate recusal. Not without additional extenuating factors.”
“Oh. Well, good. I’m relieved.”
“As am I. You’re an asset, Sara. And your conscience does you credit.”
“Thank you,” she said, standing. She’d meant what she said. She would prosecute the hell out of Luke in the courtroom. But outside those walls, she would cry, knowing that he was the opposite of everything she’d believed him to be and mourning the loss of that intense connection that she’d only ever felt with him.
* * *
“This is bullshit,” Doyle raged as he stalked the length of the antechamber. “Fucking bullshit.” He was on edge, his demon half still too close to the surface after his feeding. Couple that with the total fucked-up nature of the situation, and Doyle found himself in a fury that he considered completely fucking legitimate.
At that very moment, behind the thick metal door, Security Section was fitting that murdering fuckwad with mobile detention devices, and as far as Doyle could tell, he was the only one who saw a problem with that little scenario. He lashed out, kicking the door but failing to make even a dent in the metal.
At the far end of the room, Dragos’s advocate puppet stood expressionless against the wall, calmly tapping something into his phone. Doyle took a step closer, his fists itching to bloody up Montague’s all-too-pretty face, but was held back by a firm hand closing on his shoulder.
He turned and snarled at his partner. “What?”
“Chill,” Tucker said. “Push it under.”
“Chill? Whose side are you on? That animal’s gonna be out walking the streets, breathing my air. And this asshole’s standing over there playing the calm cool counselor, when we all know some serious shit’s gone down.” He tried to take another step toward Montague and once again felt Tucker’s hand hold him back.
This time, however, Montague looked up, his face impassive. “Are you talking to me?”
“Don’t play games with me, you useless worm. This ain’t right and you know it.”
“An accused is entitled to an on-site review of the evidence against him with his advocate of choice,” Montague said, spouting a load of legalese crap. “Three hours, fair and square.”
“My ass,” Doyle retorted. “That ain’t a guarantee. Dangerous suspect, risk of flight. All those things have to be taken into account.”
“As the judge surely did.”
“You pulled strings, cut corners.” He jerked his shoulder out from under Tucker’s hand and shot his partner a warning look. The hand didn’t return, and Doyle took a step forward. “What have you got on Judge Acquila? What threat did you make?”
Something dark and dangerous flashed across Montague’s pretty face. “I would suggest, Agent Doyle, that you keep your accusations to yourself. Since I’m aware of the enmity you feel for my client, I’m willing to ignore that outburst. But if you once again even hint that I have crossed any ethical lines in representing my client, I assure you that I will make your life miserable.”
“Hint? I’ll do more than hint, you filthy bloodsucker.” A comfortable rage flooded him, and he lunged forward at the same time Montague did, the two men coming nose to nose before Tucker grabbed Doyle by the shoulder and yanked him forcibly back.
