Free The Accused by Jana DeLeon

it.”
    He smiled. “You’re great for a man’s ego.”
    She patted his hand with hers. “I’m just telling it like it is.”
    * * *
    A LAINA LOCKED the bedroom door and checked it twice before moving to the patio doors to check them again. The doors were secure, both flashlights were working and her pistol was handily positioned on one of the nightstands next to the bed. She’d forgone the protein bar in favor of a peanut butter sandwich, chips and too many chocolate chip cookies, but she would worry about the calories tomorrow. Or not.
    Likely, the stress of spending the night in this house would burn off half of what she ate, and the stress of figuring out how to stop turning into a wanton woman around Carter Trahan would burn off the other half.
    She stacked pillows against the headboard and snagged her plate of food from the top of the dresser where she’d placed it earlier. The sheets were crisp and cool against her bare arms. Normally, she’d be relishing the refreshing, clean fabric against her legs, but given the uncertain nature of everything, she thought it would be prudent to keep her yoga pants on. If there was an emergency, the last thing she needed was to leap over the balcony and run down the road in her T-shirt and underwear, despite having seen a woman do exactly that at least twice on late-night movies the week before.
    She nestled back against the pillows and took a bite of her sandwich, wishing she had a television—that and the power to run it—and cable. Watching television wasn’t often on her list of things to do, but she usually had the set running in her condo back in Baton Rouge just to break the silence, especially when she had trouble sleeping. Right now, she’d give up cookies for a month if she could switch on some mindless late-night show and lose herself in the babble.
    Chiding herself for not thinking to bring a book, she reached for the file she’d left on the nightstand, but it was on the far edge just out of her reach. Staring at the folder, she frowned. Hadn’t she left it on the edge of the nightstand closest to the bed? She could have sworn that was the case.
    She stiffened and her pulse picked up a beat in her temples as she scanned the room to see if anything else was out of place. Suitcase, laptop, clothes from earlier, shoes...all appeared to be right where she’d left them.
    You’re spooking yourself.
    Yes, that was it. That had to be it. Still, she fought the urge to climb out of bed and check the locks she knew she’d checked right before getting into bed. She had fourteen days to manage here. Paranoia would make it feel like a hundred.
    She leaned over to grab the folder, then relaxed against the pillows again, forcing her mind to switch gears.
    You can do this. No one is as hardheaded as you.
    She placed the folder on the bed beside her, opened it and lifted the first paper out of the stack to begin reading while she finished her supper. Soon, she was so caught up in reviewing the case file that she didn’t even realize she’d finished her sandwich, chips and every single one of the cookies until her fingers brushed against only an empty plate.
    Everything in her notes so far was exactly as she’d remembered—exactly as she’d read a thousand times and committed to memory. Nothing gave even the most remote indication that the teen she was defending was a sociopathic serial rapist and murderer. She’d replayed every single meeting with him in her mind a million times and watched the video of the sessions over and over again, looking for something she missed.
    She’d never found anything.
    But she must have missed something, because the alternative wasn’t acceptable. If someone so young could fool her so absolutely and completely, she wasn’t fit to do her job. Logically, she knew he’d fooled everyone, including his teachers, employer, doctors, his parents and most important, the jury, but that fact did nothing to alleviate her guilt.
    She slid the