“YOUR HONOR, THE STATE strongly objects to the release of this convicted felon. Counsel from Release Initiative has produced inconclusive DNA results.” Gwen looked at the defense table to her left. Her nemesis, defense attorney Aaron Zimmerman, wore a rumpled wool-tweed blazer despite the summer heat. In the years she’d known him, he’d rotated through several hideous jackets at court appearances. She didn’t think he owned a suit, even though she’d recently made him laugh out loud by suggesting the name of a local tailor. She suppressed a sigh at what a cheerful mess he always seemed to be.

“Is defense counsel prepared to provide expert witness testimony on what these DNA tests mean?” Judge Tanner asked.

Aaron rose from his chair in that lazy, catlike way he had. “I am, Your Honor. Our expert witness will testify to reasonable doubt in the culpability of James Edward Conner, given there’s only a forty percent chance the DNA is his.”

“Your Honor—” Gwen began, but the judge slashed his hand in the air. She’d been about to remind the court that eye witnesses in the original case had placed the convict at the scene.

“I’ll hear your expert witness, Counselor, tomorrow morning at eight o’clock but this better not be a waste of time,” Judge Tanner pronounced. Then he hammered his gavel to conclude the session.

Gwen’s shoulders sagged ever so slightly as she gathered her files. She didn’t need to add another appearance to her already overloaded schedule. And John Fry, Chief of Criminal Appeals for the Maryland Attorney General, would not be happy that she’d been unable to make this one go away. Her boss took a dim view of wasting time on the endless efforts of certain organizations to get ostensibly innocent criminals out of prison. She didn’t like it much herself. Release Initiative, Inc., was one of their least favorite.

“Ms. Haverty, may I speak with you?” She looked up into the gray-green eyes of Aaron Zimmerman, counsel for that particular nonprofit.

“We need to prepare for this afternoon’s depositions.” Her colleague Logan Brown was being protective, certain she wouldn’t want to talk with Aaron. He was right.

“It’s about another case,” the defense attorney said. “If we could discuss a few details over coffee across the street, I’m hoping we can conclude at least one case quickly.”

She eyed him, amused and wary at the same time. Was he seducing her into a private meeting with the promise of an easy conclusion or extorting the time out of her with the threat of another drawn-out court battle? This invitation was a first, so she couldn’t be sure. Aaron had seemed direct and sincere when they’d worked against each other in the past, but she’d been fooled by men—particularly male attorneys—before. Her experiences forced her to suspect he was manipulating her in some hidden way.

“If you have hard evidence of a wrongful conviction, the State Attorney’s Office will cooperate in the release of the incarcerated individual,” she recited coolly. “Produce the evidence and there won’t be a drawn-out court battle. We don’t need to chat over coffee to make that happen.”

He smiled at her, which seemed as inappropriate as his attire. “C’mon. Please? It won’t take long and you’ll see why we need to talk when you hear the situation. And everyone needs a coffee break now and then.”

She almost laughed. But then he looked past her as Logan opened his mouth to protest again. “I promise I’ll have her back in time for the deposition,” Aaron said.

He made it seem as though she required Logan’s permission to have coffee. She couldn’t let her young and sometimes overly protective colleague believe he had anything to say about her activities. As manipulations went, Aaron’s ploy was stunning. And effective. She had to admire that.

To Logan she said, “You can get started on the prep. I’ll only be a few minutes with Mr. Zimmerman. I’ll meet you back at the office.” She touched Logan’s sleeve to indicate her appreciation and to assure him she’d be okay with the Release Initiative attorney. Logan went all hurt-puppy on her anyway, but then he nodded and resumed packing his briefcase.

To Zimmerman she said, “I’ll meet you at the Starbucks in five minutes and then I’ll give you ten. If you need more than that, you’ll have to schedule a meeting.”

He put his hand theatrically over his heart and vowed that he’d be eternally grateful. He backed away, holding her gaze with his ever-amused eyes. At the door, he saluted jauntily and disappeared. This time, a small grin escaped her, despite her best efforts.

“He’s such an asshole,” Logan said. “You don’t have to listen to whatever he wants to say.”

“Actually, I do,” she said. “Once in a while his organization finds someone deserving of the help they offer. Prosecutors are all about fairness and justice, right? We don’t want people in prison if they shouldn’t be there.”

“Ha! Tell that to the boss,” he said. “And you know as well as I do that ninety-nine percent of Release Initiative’s clients are hardened criminals. They’re all supposed to be in prison.”

She looked at Logan, sorry he was already jaded. “You haven’t been at this job long enough to be quite so cynical.”

He grinned. “I’ve had a good teacher, so I caught on quicker than most.”

She sighed at the truth of that. She’d certainly been an excellent role model in cynicism. There was no denying she shared her supervisor’s belief that the clients of Aaron’s nonprofit legal-aid organization were mostly guilty of something.

“Nevertheless,” she said, “the public needs to have confidence in our impartiality on each individual case. So I’ll listen to what he has to say at the coffee shop. If it’s his usual nonsense, I’ll soon be back helping you with the preparations.”

“Waste of time, if you ask me, but we have to go through the motions, I suppose.” He picked up his briefcase and headed for the door.

Gwen watched him go. Alone in the courtroom now, she glanced around the space. She’d always loved the sense of impending truth that permeated an empty hall of justice. Too bad a populated courtroom lost that noble ambience courtesy of the human propensity to lie. She sighed again and wondered how Zimmerman managed to stay so positive. Maybe it was because his job was to get people out of prison while hers was to put them in. And keep them there.

She picked up her purse and briefcase and headed into the stream of people in the hallway outside the courtroom. She would give Zimmerman a few minutes of her time and maybe, just maybe, he’d have some reliable evidence that would allow her the rare pleasure of helping to return an innocent person to freedom.

As she left the building, the Baltimore summer enveloped her in humid heat. In seconds, the blouse beneath her suit jacket became damp with sweat. But she didn’t take it off. It was important to be professional at all times, and wearing a well-made suit—the uniform of a state’s attorney—was part of that, especially when going to meet opposing counsel. Besides, the Starbucks was within sight. The air-conditioning inside would seem frigid by comparison.

Sure enough, the place was downright chilly once she crossed the threshold. Zimmerman had secured a table and waved when he saw her. He waited while she got a latte from the barista. She hadn’t had lunch and eyed the cookies and scones, but decided she didn’t want to be eating in front of Zimmerman while they talked business. Taking her drink, she sat across from him.

“The clock is ticking,” she said as she took her BlackBerry from her purse and placed it on the table where she could see the time.

He raised an eyebrow, withdrew his identical unit from an interior pocket and set it across from hers. It was as if they’d laid down their respective six-shooters as a sign of truce. She almost laughed, but sobered when she realized he’d intended to amuse her.

“Talk,” she commanded.

“Are you always so tense?” he asked without any hint that he might be making fun of her. “I know your job is stressful, but I hope you can let yourself relax now and then.”

She squinted at him. “Is this what you wanted to discuss?”

He quickly suppressed a smile. “So there’s this young man, Omar Kingston. He was convicted of armed bank robbery, but he didn’t do it.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You say that about all your clients. You and the other lawyers at Release Initiative have devoted your lives to getting people out of prison on the premise that they didn’t do it. Too bad it’s seldom true.”

His gaze took on an intensity she’d rarely seen in him before. “It’s true this time. One of the witnesses is recanting her testimony—the eye-witness testimony that got him convicted.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.” She delivered this truth as gently as she could. Zimmerman worked hard for his clients and it wasn’t his fault most of them didn’t deserve his help.

He sat back in his chair. “I didn’t have you pegged as one of those prosecutors who figure that even if someone has been wrongly convicted, they surely must have committed some crime or other, so they ought to be in prison anyway and we can let ’em rot.”

It was her turn to lift an eyebrow. “I’m not. I don’t think that.” Or at least she told herself she shouldn’t think that way. “The justice system wouldn’t work very well if we got to put criminals away on the easiest charge to prove to a jury, regardless of the actual crime,” she added. But she also recalled Logan’s cynicism and her role in making him that way. And then there was her boss, John Fry, who believed with all his heart that public safety required them to keep all convicted criminals behind bars without the right to endless appeals at taxpayer expense.

Aaron’s shoulders relaxed. “Okay. That’s good. My faith in your fairness is restored. So I’m hoping you’ll come hear what the witness has to say and join me in a motion to release. She’s dying in a hospice center.”

“You know I don’t have the authority to make that decision on the spot.”

He nodded. “But you could work your awesome skills of persuasion to get Counselor Fry to agree.”

She couldn’t detect any note of sarcasm laced through the compliment, but she suspected it was there. While she had no doubt that her skills were awesome, she couldn’t imagine her opponent sincerely agreeing with that assessment. “Send me the details and I’ll get back to you. But we may have to let the judge decide this.” She reached for her BlackBerry, but he put his hand over it.

“Give yourself permission to drink your latte,” he said softly. “I swear it won’t ruin your career to be seen talking to me.”

Gwen couldn’t keep herself from stiffening and he immediately withdrew his hand. She sat still for a moment, considering her reaction. Maybe any suggestion to relax for a few minutes sounded like a wicked temptation after all the years of pushing herself to excel. On the other hand, it seemed vaguely ridiculous to dash out without taking so much as a sip of her drink.

She lifted the cup to her lips, and his gaze seemed to linger on her mouth. The heat of a blush spread over her cheeks as she wondered what he was thinking—or wanting. Her own focus drifted once more to note the changeable color of his eyes, sometimes green, sometimes gray.

She needed to say something distracting and found herself speaking before she knew what would come out. “As a nonprofit, Release Initiative can’t possibly pay you enough. Yet you work very hard for people who are rarely innocent. Why do you do it?”

“So you do think my clients are the scum of the earth,” he countered. “I’ll have you know that our recidivism rate is the best in the nation—very few of our released clients commit new crimes.”

She took another sip from her paper cup. “You believe they’re decent, hardworking and upstanding citizens who were caught up in a corrupt justice system?”

He laughed. “No. They’re usually pretty unproductive members of society. But every now and then, the ones who really deserve our help make my job worth every hour I put into it.” He grinned. “Despite the paltry wage they pay me.”

“You could come over from the dark side and join us in putting the bad guys out of business.”

“Ha! You don’t get paid all that well yourself, working for the State.” He looked like he was about to say more, but his attention shifted past her.

“Hello, Gwendolyn,” she heard. Suppressing a groan, she looked up to see her ex-husband standing behind her.

“What do you want?” she asked, pleased with her tone. Pointed but calm.

He ignored her and turned to Aaron. “J. Clayton Haverty, estate planning,” he said as he held out his hand.

“You’re Gwen’s husband?” Aaron asked after introducing himself.

“Not anymore,” Gwen muttered as she got to her feet so she could herd her ex away. She couldn’t help but notice Clayton was wearing one of his power suits, probably Armani. Nothing but the best for Clay.

“Ex-husband now,” Clayton said pleasantly, stepping back to give Gwen room. He switched his attention to Gwen and his voice took on a familiar chill, meaning he was annoyed with her. “I wanted to let you know I’ll be taking Joshua to New York with me this weekend.”

“No!” Gwen couldn’t be calm about this. She clenched her fists at her sides. “Josh and I have tickets to see the Blue Man Group. He’s waited a long time to go. You changed your visitation schedule so you could have him next weekend and we planned around that.”

Clayton shrugged and smiled at Aaron like a conspirator. “Sorry to hear that, but it’s my weekend to have Josh. I haven’t seen him in two weeks. Now that I got my work trip postponed, a weekend in New York with his father needs to trump the Blue Man Group. Change your tickets to another night.”

“That’s not possible. It’s sold out. We got lucky with these tickets. I’m not going to let you do this, Clay.”

The man’s false smile evaporated. The cool, calculating look in his eyes didn’t scare her anymore, but she knew the conversation would be going downhill from here. Lately, he’d become more aggressive regarding his rights to see his son, even outside of the court-scheduled times. Gwen wouldn’t think of limiting his visitations, but she couldn’t let him shift plans around randomly. Clay had been increasingly less cooperative and this was beginning to worry her. She didn’t trust the man.

“You don’t have a choice, Gwendolyn,” he said coldly.

Sadly, that was true. This weekend was scheduled for Clay to have visitation with Josh. Even if she wanted to fight him on this, she wouldn’t get a judge to decide the issue in time. But she couldn’t let him create havoc. And she knew she couldn’t let this wait for a more private moment. Squaring her shoulders, in a subdued voice, she did her best to persuade Clay. For Josh.

AARON LOOKED ON AS THE two adults quietly bickered over their son. Mesmerized by the pair, he also wished he could escape. What they were doing to each other was so foreign to him. Didn’t they realize that either one of them could die in a heartbeat? Were they unable to see that the son they were arguing about could be left without one of his parents in the blink of an eye?

Backed by the wall, Aaron couldn’t easily get up from his chair. So he stirred his coffee and listened. He thought of Ben, the nine-year-old son he’d raised alone these last three-and-a-half years. The boy had been only five when Beth had died. Ben’s memories of his mother were hazy at best. But Aaron thought of Beth every day. He missed her still.

He took a sip from his cup, trying to make himself invisible. He and Beth hadn’t even had time to say goodbye. One second she was humming in the bathroom, pinning her hair into a twist so it wouldn’t interfere with her nursing job at the hospital. The next second she was on the floor, gone. Aneurysms were like that—sudden and catastrophic. No pain, they’d told him. For that he’d been grateful. But he still wished he’d had the chance to tell her how much he loved her, to say he’d be a good father to Ben, to assure her she would always be in his heart. There had been no time for words.

Gwen and Clayton Haverty clearly had time for words. They snarled them at each other.

Gwen, Aaron noted, was clearly able to hold her own, even in an emotional argument about her son. She zeroed in quickly on inconsistencies and weaknesses in Haverty’s arguments. But after a while, the exasperated woman pleaded, “Clay, please stop disrupting our lives every chance you get. It’s not good for our son.”

“I know what’s good for my son, Gwen. You’re not the only one with his interests at heart. Josh will finally get some quality time with me, his father. I’ve got lots of great things planned. Hopefully he’ll feel relaxed enough to bring up any—” he looked at Aaron and then back at her “—man-to-man questions he may have.”

“We’re divorced,” she interjected. “It’s over. I got sole custody of Joshua and you got visiting rights. Those rights don’t include taking him with you whenever you feel like it regardless of my plans with him.”

Aaron wished he could say something to help her—an unusual response given their opposition to each other in court.

“He’s my child, too,” Haverty said. “And I’ll take him to New York if I want to. Do you think this chance comes up every day? I don’t get much time off from work, Gwen. You’re being unreasonable.”

Gwen rubbed her temple with trembling fingers. “I’m trying to be reasonable. But he’s wanted to go to this show for a long time. You just want to spoil it for us, or drive a wedge between us. Why would you do that?”

J. Clayton Haverty squinted at her. “I’m doing no such thing. You’re being overcontrolling, as usual. And overprotective. A boy Joshua’s age needs to experience new things without the coddling of his mother. He needs to spend time with his father. In fact, I’ve been thinking about revisiting the whole custody issue.”

Aaron winced. Those were fightin’ words. Gwen’s whole body tensed. He wished he could say something to defuse the moment.

“Um…” Aaron pushed the small table far enough that he could get to his feet. “Maybe you should take this discu—”

Gwen spoke right over his effort to suggest sanity, glaring at her ex-husband. “Don’t you dare threaten me about Joshua’s custody,” she said through clenched teeth.

Haverty squared his shoulders defiantly. “Or what? What will you do?”

Gwen gasped and stepped back as if she’d been slapped. Aaron reached out to steady her, but she regained her balance before he touched her. “You know I’d fight you,” she said. “And I’d win. He’s better off with me. You said so yourself the day you left us both to go live with your girlfriend.”

Haverty’s gaze didn’t waver. “That was a stressful time. I may need to reconsider what’s best for Josh. Is he happy with you, Gwen? Because all I see is him plodding halfheartedly through public school and then plugging into video games.”

Aaron sensed that anger drove the man now, making him want to hurt Gwen. Her ex had certainly picked the best possible way. Threatening to take her child would pierce any mother’s heart.

Suddenly, Clay turned on Aaron. “Can you believe she’s making such a big deal out of one weekend?” he asked, aiming to draw support from the closest fellow male.

“Whoa!” Aaron raised his hands, palms out. He wanted no part of Haverty’s calculated camaraderie. He’d only gotten to his feet in an effort to help Gwen.

She took a breath as if readying for a shouting match. But Aaron touched her sleeve gently. “Gwen,” he said. She looked into his eyes, not really seeing him at first, but then focusing and regaining her composure, as he’d hoped she would.

She let out the breath on a sigh and relaxed her shoulders before turning back to her ex. “I don’t want to fight,” she said with strained civility. “Please. Let’s just remember what’s best for Josh. If you want him for a weekend in New York, then take him with you. But please tell me you’re not serious about vying for custody.”

Haverty shrugged. Gwen’s shoulders relaxed slightly as if she’d taken this gesture to indicate it had been an idle threat. Aaron wasn’t so certain. A shrug could mean anything. Or nothing. But Gwen was in no position to insist on a better answer.

Aaron jumped in while he could and faced Gwen’s ex. “Good to meet you,” he said, before the fragile truce could be broken and they started at each other again. He held out his hand once more. “Gwen and I are going to get back to our meeting,” he said, trying hard to make the point casually, but firmly.

Haverty shook his hand ever so briefly. “I’ll pick Joshua up on Friday at six.” Then he turned and strode away.

Aaron and Gwen were left standing there, staring at each other across the café table. A moment passed and Aaron said, “Let’s sit a minute longer.”

She sat, saying nothing, simply staring into space.

“I have a son, too,” he offered. “Benjamin. He’s nine. How old is Josh?”

“Ten,” she whispered. Then her gaze refocused on him. “Just turned ten,” she said in her normal voice. “Did it sound to you like Clay meant what he said about custody? Or was he just being hateful?”

“Maybe both.” He didn’t want to lie to her, but he was sorry to see her tension ratchet up another notch when he gave his opinion. “But you can work it out, I’m sure. You used to be married to each other. Maybe you could tap some of what you once loved about each other and find a way to compromise.”

She chuffed dismissively. “We’ll never work anything out. That’s why we’re divorced. And I’m not sure we ever actually loved each other. Clay has always been mostly in love with himself. His mother is the opposite of nurturing—something I didn’t realize before we married—and Clay learned to take care of himself at the expense of everyone around him. Although I suppose he loves Josh—in his own way.”

Aaron leaned back in his chair and gaped at her. “Why did you marry someone you didn’t love?” he asked, though he had no right to pry.

“Youth? Stupidity? Lust? Who knows.” She took a drink of her coffee. “Are you and your wife one of those perfect couples who always get along?”

“We were before she died,” he said simply.

It was Gwen’s turn to gape. “I…I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“It happened a few years ago. I have Ben. My mother-in-law helps me with him. We’re fine.” But he had to stifle a sigh, as he often did when he thought of Beth. Was it normal to be grieving for his wife this long?

“You know what?” she said. “You and Ben can have our tickets to the Blue Man Group Friday night.” She rummaged in her briefcase and took them out.

“Are you sure you don’t want to use them yourself, with your boyfriend maybe?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could recall them. It sounded way too much like he was fishing for info. She would have no way of knowing he couldn’t bring himself to betray Beth’s memory by dating anyone, not even someone as attractive as Gwen Haverty.

“There’s no boyfriend,” she said in a disgusted tone that told him she’d written off all men. She held the tickets up. “This show was something Josh wanted after he saw a Discovery Channel episode about them. I was so happy about going with him. It wouldn’t be the same to go alone. You take them. Unless you have other plans for Friday.”

“No plans,” he said, bemused by the inexplicable whisper of relief that had passed through him when she’d said “no boyfriend.”

She handed the tickets across the table. He took them, but reached to his back pocket for his wallet at the same time. “What did they cost? I’ll pay you for them.”

She waved her hand, dismissing the offer. “No, I don’t want you to do that. Really. You weren’t planning to go, so you shouldn’t have to pay. I just don’t want them to go to waste.” Amusement suddenly lit her lovely brown eyes. “You can just owe me a favor.”