Accused

'But we're not married.'

'Doesn't matter. You need to get over her-it's a psychological thing. And it'll make you feel better.' She uncrossed her legs and swiveled toward him then licked her glossy lips and leaned in. 'And I happen to be free today.'

Leaning toward him like that, she exposed a significant portion of her full, soft breasts-which attracted Scott's male eyes. Gabe Petrocelli was right: she was as alluring and dangerous as a rattlesnake. Rattlers are pit vipers- they hunt warm-blooded prey; they swallow their victims whole; and they are conniving slithering beasts. They coil up and shake their rattles to attract your eye, to distract you, to disarm you, then-ZAP! — they strike at you with jaws wide and sink their fangs into your flesh and inject their venom. Scott tried not to stare at Renee's rattles.

'I'd be afraid of seeing a tape on the evening news.'

'I doubt you're that good.' She gave him another sexy wink. 'But I'll guarantee confidentiality.'

The man who had not been with a woman in almost two years wanted to say, 'Let's get a room!' But the lawyer representing his ex-wife on a murder charge said, 'I doubt anything is confidential with you.'

She frowned and sat up, taking her rattles with her. The lawyer had spoiled a perfect human encounter, as lawyers are wont to do. But the man was comforted by the knowledge that he was years away from requiring a Viagra prescription.

'Why'd you air that tape just two weeks before the trial?'

'Sweeps week. Ratings. Sex sells, Scott. I'm hoping the networks will pick it up when the trial starts.'

'You're hoping Trey's murder advances your career?'

She rolled her blue eyes. 'Save the righteous indignation, Scott. I know lawyers. And I know a lawyer's only measure of success is money and the things money can buy. Why do you want to be a federal judge, to save the world? Or because it's a taxpayer-guaranteed lifetime salary? You're willing to have your career advanced by an asshole like Armstrong, but you're judging me?' She almost laughed. 'Lawyers are always so goddamned self- righteous, always ready to criticize everyone else's ambitions and denounce everyone else's desires-at eight hundred dollars an hour.' She shrugged. 'Besides, I didn't kill him.'

He shook his head.

'Look, Scott, I graduated with straight As in journalism, but the only job offer I got was as a weather girl-and only because of my looks. I put myself through UT modeling for local stores in Austin, could've signed with a New York agency but I wanted a serious profession, like journalism. Turns out I was still modeling. Five years standing in front of a green screen pointing out cold fronts and high-pressure systems. Now I'm thirty years old. My time to jump to the networks is running out fast. This body won't last forever. I've got to spend two hours a day in the gym to compete.'

'For men?'

'For jobs. In TV, you get fat, you get fired. Women, anyway. Men can be old and fat and on-air, but women- once you put on a few pounds and the face sags, you're history. And that goddamn HDTV highlights every flaw. This is my shot, Scott. Minorities are in right now. You watch the network morning shows? Looks like the goddamned General Assembly at the UN. The Hispanic population is exploding, so every morning show has a pretty Latina. I want to be the next one. I'm an educated, articulate, hot-looking Hispanic-I'm perfect for today's demographics. Wall Street's vying for our business and Washington for our votes-why do you think we finally got a Supreme Court justice? It's our time. It's my time.'

She drank her Mimosa.

'Scott, I'm sorry you're upset about your kids, but this is my moment, and I'm not going to let it pass me by. I just need something big to catch a network's eye.'

'Like a murder case?'

'I don't make the news. I just report it.'

'Who's your source at the courthouse?'

'That's confidential.'

'You're tainting potential jurors.'

'A lifetime on this island tainted them.'

'You're denying my client her right to a fair trial.'

'Take it up with Shelby.'

Renee sipped her drink. Scott eyed her manicured fingers wrapped around the damp glass.

'I'm filing for a change of venue this morning.'

'Good luck with that.'

'You don't think I can get the trial moved?'

'Not in our lifetime.'

'Why not?'

'Scott, the typical murder case on the Island, it's drug violence-black on black, brown on brown. Go to the trial, won't be anyone there except the victim's family, if them. Case gets two sentences in the Metro section, not even a mention on my station's evening news. Why? Because Anglos could care less if blacks and Latinos are killing each other. More the merrier, they think.'

She drank her Mimosa and shook her head.

'Hurricane Ike white-washed the Island, destroyed the public housing, sent the blacks and Latinos fleeing to the mainland, which made a lot of Anglos giddy-like your buddy Armstrong. They think Ike did the Island a favor, that an all-white Island will attract more tourists and rich folks to buy beach houses-and maybe get a casino here. So they don't want to rebuild the public housing-the minorities are gone and they want them to stay gone. That's the way it is here, Scott. That's why I want to get the hell out of here. This case-a star pro golfer stabbed by the Guilty Groupie-this is front-page news, lead story on every Houston newscast, updates on the network morning shows. This murder case is my ticket off this fucking island.'

Renee finished her Mimosa then slid off her stool and slithered over to the exit. She had a nice slither. At the door she stopped and turned back to Scott-he thought to see if he were looking at her-but she said, 'And it's Shelby's ticket, too.'

THIRTY-SEVEN

'I'm not losing this case because you can't keep your dick in your pants!'

It was a week later-one week before the trial-and Judge Shelby Morgan was pointing a long manicured finger at Scott. The prosecution and defense teams had crowded into the judge's chamber for the pretrial conference.

'It's not your case to win or lose, Judge. It's ours. Issue a gag order.'

'I can't do that. There's a little thing called the First Amendment.'

'Then move the trial to Austin or San Antonio, out of the range of the Houston TV stations-everyone down here has seen Renee's reports. My client can't get a fair trial in Galveston County.'

'He's right, Shelby,' the D.A. said. 'Between Renee and whoever the hell is leaking the evidence to her, we'll have a heck of a time seating a jury of twelve folks who haven't made up their minds about the case. Hell, a week in Austin won't be that bad. You can look up old friends from your UT days.'

The judge shook her head. 'Moving the case now, seven days before trial, that'd screw up the cable deal for sure. Motion for change of venue is denied.'

'What cable deal?' Scott said.

'Renee made a deal with cable TV, they're going to air the entire trial, start to finish.'

'You're going to let her televise the trial? Judge, didn't you watch O.J.'s trial? It was a farce, everyone playing to the cameras.'

The D.A. nodded. 'Shelby, that was a train wreck of a trial. TV cameras bring out the worst in everyone- jurors, witnesses, cops'-he glanced at the Assistant D.A. — 'lawyers. You don't want to go there.'

The judge leaned back in her chair, obviously weighing the pros and cons of TV cameras in her courtroom. Right now, she stood first in line for the federal bench; a bad TV experience and she could fall from first to last. On