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worry. I’ve already screened the cases you’ll be working on. None from Dallas. This one’s from Rinson County.”
    Cory sighed. She knew a lot of the prosecutors in the neighboring county, but other than what she read in the paper, didn’t keep up with their case load. Rinson was a primarily rural county and a well-known bastion of conservatism. No surprise when juries handed out death sentences. “How about a thumbnail sketch?”
    “In five words or less: bad eyewitness testimony, racial profiling.”
    “No DNA?”
    “This isn’t a very old case, so normally they would’ve done testing, but the DA’s office says there were no usable samples.”
    “Happens sometimes.”
    “I know, but it’s not the norm.”
    “You think they’re withholding evidence.” Cory didn’t even try to hide the rising defensive tone in her voice.
    Paul shrugged. “I don’t have any reason to believe they are or they aren’t. They convicted him on kidnapping and murder, but not rape. They only used the allegation of rape as an issue during punishment. If they’d had DNA evidence he was the rapist, they would’ve added sexual assault to the list of charges. So I don’t know what the deal was, but we’ll need to review their whole file if we’re going to have a shot at a writ of habeas corpus.”
    And that was the problem. Getting access to a prosecutor’s complete file was a battle, pre and post trial. The law may require that exculpatory evidence be turned over to the defense, but the frontline decision about what was exculpatory was one made by the prosecutor, which made for a chicken and egg dilemma. Better not engage until necessary. Instead, Cory asked a safer question. “If the defendant’s in prison, who are we meeting with?”
    “His sister. She flew in from Florida this morning.” He glanced at the doorway to his office. “I think this is her now.” Paul stood and waved at the man entering his office. “Come in. Sorry, our receptionist only works part time, and today’s her day of freedom.”
    Cory stood and shook hands with the tall, thin man that she recognized as Ian Taylor, an appellate attorney with a solid reputation. He stepped away and motioned toward the door at a tall African-American woman whose bearing suggested a healthy mixture of pride and humility. And she was gorgeous. So beautiful Cory had to force her gaze away when she realized she’d been staring. She pushed away the confusing sensations and appraised her with a keen sense of intuition, well honed during years of searching for the truth.
    She wore a skirt suit with straight lines, not very expensive, but well cared for. Mid-level heels, a medium sized simple handbag, and plain gold accessories. Nothing she had on appeared to be new, and she wore her outfit with the ease of someone who dresses up on a regular basis, not just for visits to an attorney’s office. A professional. A strikingly beautiful professional whose modest attire couldn’t hide her attributes. Cory remembered Paul’s words: “racial profiling.” This woman must be the client’s sister. How could this attractive, put together woman be associated with a killer waiting for his execution date?
    “Serena Washington, meet Cory Lance. I asked Cory to sit in on our discussion because she may be doing some work on your brother’s case.”
    She shook Serena’s offered hand and held it a beat longer than she intended, but her warm, firm grasp begged to be savored. At least that’s how she felt. Serena seemed frozen in place, her gaze fixed firmly on Cory’s hand in hers, her expression unreadable. When she finally let go, Serena moved back a few steps. The distance immediately chilled the air between them. Paul started talking, but all Cory could think about was how to reconnect with Serena.
    “Have a seat, everyone.” Paul picked up a file from his desk. “I’ve read the summary Ian prepared. Looks like there may have been a few issues we can explore that might be