Tami Hoag - Cry Wolf

He just gave her that long, patient look that held both pity and disappointment. And she wanted to pick up one of the fat psychology books from his desk and hit him in the face with it.

"I didn't come here to talk about ancient history. I want help for what's happening now."

"Don't you see, Laurel? The past is what this is all about. You wouldn't be where you are today if not for where you started and what went on there."

"I'm not trying to atone for anything!"

She tried to suck in a breath, but her lungs couldn't expand to accommodate the humid air. The pressure was so great, she wondered wildly if she would simply explode.

Control. She needed control.

Ruthlessly, she tried to push aside the other thoughts and concentrate on simply relating the facts in a way that would satisfy Jack and keep her emotional involvement to a minimum.

"We worked day and night to build a case. There was evidence, but none of it could be tied directly to the accused. And the whole time, they were soliciting sympathy in the community, claiming to be the victims of a witch hunt, claiming that I was trying to climb on their backs to the state attorney general's office." Her hands balled into tight fists at her sides as she tried to leash the fury building inside her. Her whole body trembled with the power of it. "God, they were so slick, so clever, so smug!"

So evil.

You believe in evil, don't you, Laurel?

She clenched her teeth against the need to scream.

… and good must triumph over evil…

"All we really had was the testimony of the children."

She snatched half a breath, feeling as if her lungs would burst.

"Children aren't considered reliable witnesses."

Don't bother telling, Laurel. No one will believe you.

"Parker-the state AG-" She was gasping now, as if she had run too far too fast. A fine sheen of sweat coated her skin, sticky and cold. "He took the case away from me-It-was politically explosive-He said I-I-couldn't handle it-"

Jack stepped closer, his heart pounding with hers, for her. He could feel the tension, brittle in the air around her, snapping with electricity. He reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, and she jolted as if he had given her a shock.

"You did the best you could," he said softly.

"I lost," she whispered, the words lashing out of her like the crack of a whip, the anguish almost palpable. Shaking violently, she raised her fists and pressed them hard against her temples. "They were guilty."

"You did your best."

"It wasn't good enough!" she screamed.

The ducks departed in a flurry of wings and splashing water. Egrets and herons that had been wading in the shallows for fish took flight and wheeled over the bayou, squawking angrily at the disturbance. Laurel twisted away from Jack's touch and ran along the bank, stumbling, sobbing, frantic to escape but with nowhere to run. She fell to her knees in the sandy dirt and curled over into a tight ball of misery, dry, wrenching sobs tearing at her throat.

For a moment Jack stood there, stunned by the depth of her pain, frightened by it. Instinct warned him off, like an animal scenting fire. He didn't want to get too close to it, didn't want to risk touching it, but an instant after that thought had passed through his head, he was kneeling beside her, stroking a hand over the back of her head.

"Darlin', don't cry so," he murmured, his voice a hoarse rasp. "You did your job. You did what you could. Some cases you win, some you don't. That's just the way the game goes. We both know that."

"It isn't a game!" Laurel snapped, batting his hand away. She glared at him through her tears. "Dammit, Jack, this isn't Beat the System, it's justice. Don't you see that? Justice. I can't just shrug and walk away when the bet doesn't pan out. Those children were counting on me to save them, and I failed!"

It was a burden with the weight of the world, and she crumpled beneath the pressure of it.

Gently, Jack drew her into his arms and rocked her. He kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair and shushed her softly, and time passed by them, unnoticed, unmarked.

Justice, he thought cynically. What justice was there in a world where children were used and abused by the people who were supposed to protect and nurture them? What justice was there when a woman as noble, as brave, as truehearted as the one in his arms suffered so for the sins of others? What justice allowed a man the like of himself to be the only one here to offer her comfort?

There was no justice in his experience. He had never seen any evidence of it growing up. As an attorney, he had been trained to play the court system like an elaborate chess game, maneuvering, manipulating, using strategy and cunning to win for his client. There had been no justice, only victory at any cost.

If there was such a creature as justice, he thought, then it had an exceedingly sadistic sense of humor.

They saw the commotion all the way from the dock at Frenchie's Landing. Cars were parked up and down the road. A crowd of considerable size had gathered. From that distance only the indistinct crackle of a voice could be heard through a bad speaker system; not individual words, just the rise and fall of pitch and tempo, but there was no mistaking the fact that something exciting was going on at the former Texaco station that had only yesterday stood empty across the road from Frenchie's.

Laurel glanced at Jack-something she had been avoiding doing all afternoon, since the humiliation of breaking down in front of him. His shoulders rose and fell in a lazy shrug. He was the picture of indifference with his khaki shirt hanging open, baseball cap tipped back on his head, stringer of glossy fish hanging from his fist.

He had no interest in what was going on across the road. His focus was on Laurel and the curious shyness that had come over her. He had never known a woman who didn't shed tears with gusto and impunity. Yet Laurel had shrunk from her emotional outburst-and from him-clearly embarrassed that she had shown such vulnerability in front of him.

He wondered if she ever cut herself an inch of slack. She demanded perfection of herself, a goal that was simply unattainable for any mortal human being. A trait he should have steered well clear of. Le bon Dieu knew he was the farthest thing from perfect. But he caught himself admiring her for it. She seemed so small and fragile, but she had a deep well of strength, and she went to it again and again, and accepted no excuses.

That's more than you can say for yourself, mon ami.

They crunched across the crushed shell of the parking lot another few yards, aiming for the bar, but Laurel 's gaze held fast on the goings-on across the road. Spectators milled around, craning their necks for a better look at something. An auction, perhaps, she thought, though she couldn't recall seeing anything at the old gas station worth buying. The place had been stripped bare and abandoned back in the seventies, during the oil embargo. Then one word crackled across the distance, and stopped her dead.

"… damnation!"

She sucked in an indignant breath and let it out in a furious gust. "That son of a bitch!"

Before Jack could say a word, she wheeled and made a beeline toward the station, her shoulders braced squarely, her stride quick and purposeful. He should have just let her go. He stood there for a second, intending to do just that. He wanted to drop off the fish for T-Grace and have himself a tall, cold beer. He didn't want to stick his nose into some damned hornet's nest. But as he watched Laurel stomp away, he couldn't put from his mind the image of her in his arms, weeping against his chest because she hadn't been able to give Lady Justice the miracle of sight.