Free Eye of the Storm by Ann Jacobs Page A

raised about how he’d react this time if she turned up pregnant. She had a job as important as his, and since it was only a little past noon, she might as well keep the appointments she’d made before leaving for Ileana’s wedding. After listening to her messages, she called her office, then dressed and headed downtown. If she were lucky, she’d have an hour or so to go over the case of Florida v. Stephen Katz before her meeting with Gray.
    Would Gray leave her office after their meeting and go join Sam at the gym? Disgusted with herself for mooning over Sam when she should have been working, Marcy slid her briefcase under her desk and rifled through case folders until she found the one she wanted. Setting aside her vanity, she fished a pair of reading glasses out of the drawer and began reading.
    Stephen Katz. Twenty-one years old, a senior at the University of Florida. Marcy had met his parents, although she didn’t know them well. Prominent couple, always taking part in some charity or other. Neighbors of Sam’s parents. In any case, they’d attended her wedding. Stephen would have been starting kindergarten about then. As she read the charge—aggravated assault that took place a week ago at a sleazy club on Nebraska Avenue—she felt for the boy’s family. What the hell had the kid been thinking, venturing into an area known best for its pimps and whores and dealers?
    Now he was in hot water up to his neck. Though he claimed he’d been robbed at knifepoint and that he’d fought back in self- defense , the arresting officers had looked at him and at the other guy and arrested Stephen. Apparently Manuel Soto, the would-be robber, was still hospitalized, while Stephen had escaped serious injury.
    Harper Wells, her boss, apparently would take heat from the large Latino community if Stephen were allowed to walk. That had been one of the messages waiting for her when she got home. It made no difference that the so-called victim had a rap sheet that required a binder clip, not a staple, to hold it together. He’d been badly hurt, from the information in the file that mentioned a cut throat and serious blood loss.
    Marcy closed the folder. Gray would be along any minute. While privately she considered the case in question one in which a variant of the old southern defense , He needed killin ’ , might have merit, she dared not decline to prosecute the case. Not if she wanted to keep her job. Maybe…but Gray hadn’t sounded when he made the appointment as though he’d entertain the thought of letting his client plead to a reduced charge.
    Stephen could have been her son. Hers and Sam’s. Well, it wasn’t likely, but it could have happened. If she’d gotten pregnant that first time they made love under the bleachers… There was no use thinking about that, or getting sympathetic toward an accused even before Gray presented the silver-tongued plea she knew was coming. Trying to be fair, she opened the file again and read the medical report on Stephen’s supposed victim.
    She shouldn’t have bothered. The lab test results showed Soto had been high on coke and booze upon admission…and that pot apparently made up a significant portion of his diet. The injury Stephen supposedly had inflicted—some bruises and a shallow cut on the neck—was consistent with Stephen’s claim that he’d defended himself with his fists and a box-cutting tool.
    “Hey, hot stuff. Welcome back.” Cam Willis stuck his head inside her door, a big grin on his face.
    “Go away, Cam. Can’t you see I’m busy?” Normally Marcy would have said something provocative and flashed a sexy smile at the tall, blond and handsome assistant state attorney, but today he seemed so young—so trite. Hell, it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t hold a candle sex-wise to her ex, or that her memories of Sam had been refreshed, in spades, during the past seventy-two hours or so. Cam would probably be a great lover, too, in another ten years or