Robert Browne - Trial Junkies

Just below this was a series of grainy rapid-fire telephoto shots of Hutch and Ronnie in the back seat of Andy's Mustang, lit up by a nearby street lamp, engaged in what looked like a very passionate lip lock. They were both clearly identifiable.

"What the fuck?" Hutch said.

Nadine snorted softly. "My sentiments exactly."

"This isn't what you think it is."

"Does it matter?"

Hutch felt anger creeping up on him. "How the hell did they get this? We dropped Ronnie off less than two hours ago and there wasn't a reporter in sight."

"Read the blog entry. Apparently her neighbor is an amateur photographer. He saw something going on across the street and grabbed his camera. Probably pissed his pants when he realized what he had. Gab Bag pays five grand for photos like this."

"Son of a bitch," Hutch said.

"Gotta love the Internet, don't you?"

Hutch just stared at the web page. He didn't really give a damn about the photos, but he had real issues with the vultures who made money invading people's privacy. He'd felt the sting of it more times than he could remember.

That some random douche nozzle could take these shots and, within seconds, broker a deal and see them posted online with such unbridled, sophomoric glee, made him wonder what the hell had happened to the world.

Had it always been like this?

But his bigger concern right now was Ronnie. These photos would only accelerate the media's already rabid interest in her. Now that they knew she was back home, reporters and news vans would be flocking to her house, setting up camp, making her life-and her mother's and son's-a living hell.

"Fuck," Hutch muttered, then snapped the Macbook shut, nearly tossing it across the room.

Nadine grabbed hold of it. "Easy, cowboy, I paid good money for this thing."

"I've gotta get Ronnie out of that house."

She waved the laptop. "Looks to me like you're more interested in getting her out of her pants."

He frowned. "I told you, it's not what you think. We were dropping her off and she planted a kiss on me. End of story."

Nadine set the computer on the coffee table, then moved to a wet bar in the corner and poured some coke into a glass filled with ice. "I like the way you skipped around the whole posting her bail thing."

"You have a problem with that?"

"Of course I do. I think she's guilty. I've said that from day one."

"You're wrong," Hutch told her.

Nadine doctored the coke with a healthy splash of rum, then turned. "I doubt that very much. And I hate to see her seducing you into thinking-"

"Seducing me?"

"What else would you call it?"

"Believing in a friend," he said. "The same way I'd believe in Matt or Andy or you."

She snorted again, then swirled the ice and took a sip of her drink. "You want a soda or something?"

"I'm fine," he said.

She nodded, then took another sip and sank into a nearby chair.

"Look," she told him, "Tom called me earlier tonight and I know I'm the odd man out now. I know you came here thinking you could change my mind about her, but trust me, it isn't going to happen."

"And why's that?"

"Because I know the real Ronnie, okay? You share a room with someone, you tend to get to know them better than anyone else."

"That was ten years ago."

"She's no different now than she was in college, and back then she was a manipulative little bitch. Not to mention borderline psychotic."

"Come on, Nadine, that's ridiculous."

"Is it?" She took another sip of her drink. "Did I ever tell you about the night she nearly shot me?"

" What? "

"Okay, to be fair, it wasn't a real gun, just one of those air pistols that looks like the real thing. You remember that kid she dated for a while? Liam?"

"The one who wanted to be a cop?"

She nodded. "He used to carry one in his backpack and pull it out every once in a while, flashing it around like he was Mel Gibson or something. One night he left without his pack and Ronnie fished out the gun and started waving it at Jenny and me, saying, 'Watch out, girls, I'm armed and dangerous.'"

"That's it?" Hutch said. "That's nothing ."

"Yeah, except later that same night-or I guess I should say early the next morning-I woke up and saw Ronnie sitting on the edge of her bed, playing with the gun again. I don't know if she knew I was awake, but all of a sudden she gets this look in her eyes, then points it at me and pulls the trigger. It wasn't loaded, but still…"

Hutch thought about this a moment, then shook his head. "That's all you've got?"

"You didn't see that look."

"It's a wonder you did-unless you sleep with a light on."

"We were on the far side of the house, remember? A lot of moonlight coming in through the window."

"Uh-huh," Hutch said. "You're not exactly convincing me here."

"I know what I saw, and it scared the hell out of me."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" He shook his head again. "I have a feeling it scares you more now than it did then. Back then it was just a stupid prank, but you're filtering the memory through what's happening today and reading all kinds of significance into it-whether it's warranted or not."

She raised her glass. "Thank you, Dr. Hutchinson."

"I'll send you a bill."

He knew he could stand here and debate with her all night, but she wasn't about to budge. Unlike himself, she wasn't a flip-flopper, and he had to give her that. There was something admirable in her ability to take a stand and stick with it, even if they disagreed. Even if it isolated her.

Another trait she shared with Jenny.

She drained the glass and got to her feet. "You sure you don't want something to drink?" She teetered slightly and he suspected the one in her hand wasn't the first of the night. Far from it.

"I think I'll head out."

She squinted at him. "I'm sorry, did I scare little Ethan away? You just got here."

Hutch shrugged. "Like you said, I came to change your mind, stop you from testifying against Ronnie. But I can see that isn't gonna happen, so what's the point?"

"We can talk about something else. About Jenny, if you like. I'm sure you're feeling pretty guilty lately."

That wasn't the half of it, but he had no interest in discussing it with her. "I'm done talking. Time to start doing."

"Meaning what?"

"I wish I knew. But despite what you think, Jenny's killer is out there somewhere and I feel like I need to do something about it."

Nadine balked, a mocking tone in her voice. "Like what? Play detective? This is real life, Hutch, not one of your movies."

He turned and started for the door. "Thanks for the reminder."

"Stop letting your dick do your thinking for you."

He paused mid-step, turned. "I beg your pardon?"

"It's all right there in the photos."

"I told you, it's not what it-"

"You can protest all you want," she said, offering him an inebriated, know-it-all smile that annoyed the hell out of him. "But words don't really matter, do they? Your body's saying something completely different."

Then she dismissed him with a wave and crossed to the bar to pour herself another drink.

He caught the train back to the courthouse district, needing time to decompress, not wanting to take the direct route home. He stood on the platform waiting for his connection, and thought about heading down the steps, stopping in one of the nearby bars and ordering himself a single malt. Preferably Jameson.

He wasn't sure why he suddenly felt the urge. Maybe it was seeing Nadine well on her way to that special place where everything in the world seemed so crystal clear, even as it swirled around you. Where the doubts melted away with each sip, and the instinctive being took over-the one without fear, the one who knew right from wrong, fact from fiction, and didn't hesitate to express himself.