A Conscience
Until I hurried out of the courtroom searching for Colton, I hadn’t fully realized how much my life depended on him—on his willingness to fight for me, to help clear my name. When I thought he’d given up and left, panic surged through me like liquid fire.
I found him outside the courtroom chatting with Mitchell. Their body language seemed routine, though there was a hint of professional animosity. Colton smiled tensely—more of a warning than anything.
“Perhaps your age is a factor in your impulsiveness, Mr. Blake,” Mitchell was saying as I approached.
“After a few more years in litigation, you’ll understand what I already know.
” He leaned back slightly, his voice taking on a dry, practiced certainty.
“Court isn’t about uncovering truth. It’s about strategy.
It’s about knowing which strings to pull, which doubts to plant, and how to play twelve strangers like an instrument.
That’s how cases are won. Your client is a pathological liar and a home-wrecker, and the six women on that jury would gladly burn her at the stake.
They will never return a verdict of not guilty.
” His cold eyes veered toward me. “Your client should take the deal while it’s still on the table. ”
I stared at him, wishing my glare could kill. “Hell, no,” I broke in. “I’d rather die than serve time for a crime I didn’t commit. No deal.” Colton reached out and grabbed my arm as if to hold me back.
He laughed. “She’s got spunk, this one. Such a shame she won’t see the light of day again when this is over.”
I choked on my rage and didn’t get a chance to say anything else, because Mitchell turned on his heels and walked away, still laughing for our benefit.
“It’s all a show,” Colton said, letting go of my arm. “Don’t let it get to you. They’re getting desperate,” he added, leading the way to the parking lot through crowds of gawkers and shameless phone-camera users. “Otherwise, the deal would be off the table already.”
We drove home in silence while I mulled over a plan to swing by the mall later and see if that apparel store had a back exit Claire could’ve used to sneak out unseen.
My nerves were fraught, and my heart thumped in my chest. For some reason, my anger with the prosecutor was spilling over to Colton and the way he’d been giving me the silent treatment all day.
I felt tearful and scared and restless, a mess of emotions I didn’t have the strength to control anymore.
As soon as Billy Ray closed the door behind us at home, I kicked off my shoes and took off my jacket, in sort of an arrival ritual we shared.
The boys were ridding themselves of their suit jackets and ties, Billy going back to wearing a T-shirt and the black apron, and Colton rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt.
I thought of taking a minute to have a drink of water, to sit down on the sofa with my feet up, but the restlessness inside wouldn’t let me. My hands propped on my hips, I went over to Colton. He’d already seated himself at the dining room table in front of a stack of files.
“Why?” I asked, my voice threatening tears.
He frowned and looked at me. “Why what?”
“Why do you hate me?” He didn’t answer, just stared at me. “Tell me! Is what I’ve done so wrong that you can’t forgive me? You can’t understand, can’t even look me in the eye, since you found out!”
His eyes finally met mine, a darkness clouding his blue irises. “There, I’m looking you in the eye, Hattie,” he said, sounding tired and on edge. “But I have to ask myself: Don’t you have a conscience?”
There it was, the truth, spat out like an olive pit. It stoked my rage.
“So, I’m supposed to feel sorry for married forty- and fifty-year-olds who chase teenagers?”
“You destroyed marriages, Hattie. Families,” he said, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. “Don’t you feel bad about it?”
“Um, let me think,” I said, the sarcasm in my voice heavy, grating.
“Just as much as men feel bad about seducing young women. Having sex with them for their selfish pleasure, then throwing them to the curb like used furniture. Wrecking them and not giving a damn.” I waited to see his reaction.
He didn’t say anything. Just lowered his gaze.
“Why should it be different for me? Just because I’m a woman and I’m supposed to always take it? Never dish it out? Well, screw that!”
Colton raised his head and looked at me with unguarded surprise. I paced the room slowly, the rage inside me still bubbling, aching to come out.
“Do you know why the wives always pay the ransom?” I asked. Both men looked at me, stunned into silence. “Even if I wreck their marriages, I show them whom they married, and give them a way out of the lie they’ve been living. A bargaining chip. Leverage.”
A hint of doubt washed over Colton’s face. “Well, that’s a simplistic way to look at it—”
I took a step closer and leaned down, bringing my face inches away from his.
“I never choose a mark who’s faithful to his wife, Colton.
Never! If, for no other reason, just because it’s harder to get them interested.
It’s always the fifty-year-old philanderers who are interested in young girls.
So, tell me, where exactly am I doing wrong?
I’m not stealing, not asking the men for money, not having sex with them, and definitely not raping anybody!
So, could you please get off your bloody high horse and show me some compassion?
This jury is going to kill me for something I didn’t do! ”
I straightened my back and waited for words that didn’t come. A flurry of emotions washed over Colton’s face, but he couldn’t bring himself to say what I needed to hear. His silence burned a hole in my heart.
“Damn it to bloody hell,” I eventually said, walking out of the living room as quickly as I could. Moments later, I emerged from my bedroom fully dressed, a blue scarf wrapped around my head, large shades hiding my face. Grabbing Billy Ray’s truck keys from the fruit bowl, I walked out the door.
As I was pulling out of the driveway, I glimpsed Colton standing in the doorway. He called my name, but I didn’t stop. I needed some distance. And I needed answers.
Thirty minutes later, a sales associate at the apparel store where Claire had presumably shopped—while her husband was being murdered—swore to me there was no back door.
No fire exit. No loading dock. Not even a restroom window.
Too distraught to think straight, I walked the entire store looking for that nonexistent exit, and then I went outside and drove along the back wall of the store, and saw only solid brick walls between the two mall entrances. No exit.
Claire’s alibi was rock solid.
After buying a new phone, I crawled back to the house, defeated and despondent. It was clear to me I was going to die, after spending who knew how many years locked up on death row.
I couldn’t think about it.
When I got home, Colton was preparing Billy Ray for his testimony, and I didn’t interrupt. I didn’t mention a word about Claire’s alibi; it would’ve only discouraged them more, instilling into them the same fear that coursed through my veins like molten, red-hot lead.
Grabbing a couple of bites from a plate with snacks that Billy Ray had thrown together, I poured myself a large glass of Grey Goose and went into my bedroom to watch the mall surveillance videos again.
Maybe, against all conceivable odds, I’d missed something.