She really was there. All prim and snotty looking, dressed in a fancy suit, her hair up off her face and tight. As soon as he walked in, she looked at him over the top of her small silver glasses, shaped like two pointy upside-down triangles, sizing him up. "You're Jesse Boyd?"

Still not quite believing she really was here to see him, he could only nod.

"Sit down."

When he hesitated, Kildare gave him a shove in the back. The hoity-toity lawyer pointed one finger at the guard and snapped, "Watch it or I'll see to it you never put your hands on another inmate."

Okay. He liked this broad, whoever she was.

Kildare fumed for a second, then spun around and walked away, stepping to a corner to give them a little privacy.

Jesse sat. "What's this all about?"

The woman ignored him, pulling a file out of her briefcase and opening it on the table between them. Pen in hand, she jotted something on a yellow legal pad, crossed it out, jotted something else. Without looking up, she snapped, "You're bruised."

Jesse absently rubbed at his forearm.

"Guards?

"Nuh-uh." Not this time, anyway.

"Try to stay out of fights. You'll want to be a choirboy until we get this done."

"Get what done?"

She finally looked up at him. "Your appeal, of course."

"Whoa, slow down, lady. Who the hell are you?"

"My name is Claire Vincent. I'm a partner at the Bradley, Miles & Cavanaugh firm out of Virginia, but our firm has offices in the D.C. metro area and I'm licensed to practice here in Maryland. I've been hired to get you out of here."

Glancing at Kildare and seeing the guard was occupied playing a game of pocket pool while he looked at the pretty lawyer from behind, Jesse leaned over the table a little. "I didn't hire no new lawyer. Did my ma hire you?"

"No. The person who hired me isn't pertinent to our conversation."

"Huh?"

"I mean," she explained, finally putting the pen down, "I was hired by someone who has a strong distaste for injustice. Your benefactor believes you were wronged, and hired me to look into the case, which I've been doing for some time now."

Not quite believing it, Jesse could only stare.

"I have come to agree that you weren't treated fairly. You had the worst of representation and were convicted by the world before you ever set foot in the courtroom."

"No shit. I tell ya, I didn't kill nobody-"

She put up a hand, stopping him. "We don't need to discuss what you did or did not do."

He'd heard that line before. His other lawyers didn't seem to care, either. Made 'em uncomfortable, probably, defending all those scumbags who really were guilty of murder.

Unlike him, who'd just had a run of bad luck.

"The simple fact that the victim's aunt was an FBI agent, and that some of the evidence was processed in the FBI crime lab, should have been enough to at least argue for the evidence to be excluded."

Smacking his hand flat on the table, he chortled. "That's exactly what I said! But that pussy public defender wouldn't listen to me. Made one shot at an appeal on some technical garbage, and then gave up."

Her lips thinned. Man, this bitch was cast-iron hard.

"Sorry. Not used to being in polite company anymore," he mumbled.

"It's quite all right." She offered him a small, tight smile. "You won't be for much longer. Perhaps no more than a week."

Stunned and almost not wanting to hope, he asked, "You mean that?"

"I do. I've already gotten us a hearing. It's coming up in a few days, so I needed to come here to prepare you for it. I apologize for not giving you more time, but I never expected the judge's docket to clear so unexpectedly and give us a date that soon. I was caught off guard, too. I was supposed to go away for the holiday weekend but will now spend every minute of it preparing for our day in court."

Jesse sagged back in his chair, unable to believe his life could be changing so much, so fast. An hour ago, he was wondering how to keep himself alive in here for the next forty years, and now someone was telling him he might be out in seven days?

"Is this really happening?" he whispered.

"Yes. It is. A number of things have happened with regard to your case. No jury on earth would convict you if it came to trial today."

"Like?"

"Like the fact that, aside from the victim's aunt being with the bureau, the evidence was processed within a few weeks of an internal-corruption investigation at the crime lab. A number of other cases were overturned. It falls close enough to the time frame to raise flags."

He could only gawk in disbelief. "Are you shittin' me?"

"Furthermore, the agent responsible for uncovering the tampering was, until recently, the direct supervisor of the victim's aunt. It could be argued that his relationship with her led him to delay reporting it."

"I can't fuckin' believe this."

He smacked his palm sharply on the table, drawing a quick glance from Kildare. Giving him an apologetic look, Jesse drew back.

"The physical evidence-DNA and so forth-should be easily excluded based on those two elements." The lawyer glanced at her pad, flipped a couple of pages, and read something in her notes. "There's also apparently a new witness who can corroborate your alibi. I'm still working on that to make sure his testimony will stand up."

His alibi? That story that he'd been sitting in a crowded bar, drinking, until long after that kid had been snatched?

Who, he wondered, would support that story, considering it was bullshit?

"Things are looking very good for you, Mr. Boyd."

Jesse couldn't help it. He started to cry. Hot, wet tears filled his eyes. "You mean, I'll finally be found innocent? Be able to get back to my real life?"

Get his mother to look him in the eye once more?

The cold, steely expression left the lawyer's face and her voice went a little softer. "No. You won't be found innocent. What we're after is a ruling that there was a flaw in your original prosecution, that the evidence was tainted. The conviction should be overturned, but that's not the same as getting a not-guilty verdict."

Not ideal, but if it got him out of this hellhole, he could live with it. And if he showed up on her doorstep and told Ma they let him out 'cause he didn't do it, she'd believe him, right? He'd make her believe him.

"And that'll be the end of it? No double jeopardy?"

Another shake of her head. Damn, he wanted to smack the woman to get her to talk faster rather than reeling out the information in dribs and drabs. "If the appeals court rules that your first trial was flawed and overturns the conviction, the prosecution will still have the opportunity to refile the case and try you again on the same charges."

He closed his eyes, not wanting to believe it. "Another trial."

A cool hand brushed his. The woman had reached across the table to comfort him. "Jesse, it's inconceivable that the prosecutor would refile. He'll know he'd have no chance of winning. If you have a new alibi, and they have no DNA evidence…"

"What about the eyewitness?" he asked, almost starting to believe but not quite letting himself go there yet.

"The child's aunt?"

He nodded once, still picturing that blond-haired bitch who'd put nail after nail in his coffin with every word she'd uttered on the stand.

"Her original testimony can, of course, be admitted, but with the questions regarding her supervisor's involvement in the crime-lab issue, I could argue against it, since she's not available for cross-examination."

"Why isn't she?"

The cool-as-a-cucumber attorney offered him a look of surprise. "Didn't you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"Well, Mr. Boyd, Lily Fletcher, the prosecution's star witness against you, died seven months ago."

She dreamed.

No sweet, pleasant images. No amusing adventures to enjoy while she slumbered. Wyatt's presence down the hall didn't change what happened every time she allowed her weary body to fall into bed, hoping she was exhausted enough to escape the nightmares. The horror.