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for your loss.”
    “Don’t tell me you are sorry when all you want to do is free her killer.”
    “All I want is for Jeb to have his DNA tested.” And in a louder voice she said, “DNA testing did not exist thirty years ago.”
    “His blood matched the blood found on the murder weapon.”
    “All we know is that it was type O blood. We don’t have any more specifics. Nothing. Testing then was not as precise as it is now.”
    “How much more evidence do you need?”
    “I need to talk to the paid confidential informant that testified against him. I want to review the police interview tapes and make sure my client received counsel when he requested it.”
    “You are dishonoring Annie with all your legal wrangling. You are perverting justice.” The woman all but screamed her frustration.
    “I want the truth.”
    Dark eyes flared and she advanced, eliminating the final steps between them. “Liar!”
    Rachel held her ground knowing this woman was primed to take a swing. “Please, we need to talk in private.”
    “You don’t want the truth! You want publicity. You want the world to know how clever you are so you can grow your own business.”
    “That’s not true. I want to know for certain that an innocent man didn’t go to jail.”
    “Innocent! Have you read Jeb Jones’s history? The man was a drunk and a cheater. He couldn’t hold a job. He was trouble waiting to happen.”
    Murmurs washed over the crowd. Some folks laughed. “He’s never denied that he had a troubled past.”
    “Oh, well that’s good of him.”
    “Trouble doesn’t mean he’s a killer.”
    The Channel Five camera caught every word of the argument. Later the reporter would pluck chosen sound bites for the eleven o’clock news. “I want justice, Ms. Miller. DNA testing will prove once and for all if Jeb killed Annie.”
    “No test is going to change what I know in my heart! That bastard killed my sister!” More tears welled in her eyes.
    Rachel, drawn by the tears, missed the woman’s right hook, which rose up as quick as a viper. The bare-knuckled fist struck hard against her jaw sending pain reverberating through her head. Thoughts scrambled, she staggered, nearly caught herself, but teetered on her heels and dropped to her knees.
    The sounds from the crowd grew distant as her head buzzed and popped. She was aware of Colleen calling for the police as she pushed through the crowd.
    “Liar!” Margaret shouted. She raised her fist again, poised to strike.
    Rachel braced for another hit as she pulled herself up.
    Strong arms wrapped around Rachel’s shoulders. “Can you stand?”
    Colleen’s perfume wafted. Someone else held a screaming Margaret back.
    No. “Yes.” Drawing a breath, she rose to her feet and wobbled. Colleen’s surprising strength steadied her.
    You are such a wimp! Her older brother Luke’s voice rattled in her head, irritating her. Luke had treated her like one of the boys. He’d been a real bully when they were kids, but if Luke were here now he’d have come to her defense. “Keep your fists up, Rachel. Shit. How could you let a woman like that hit you?”
    Rachel’s head cleared and she planted high-heeled feet, wobbled, and pulled back her shoulders. She balled her fingers into a fist, focusing on Margaret Miller now being held back by a Nashville uniformed officer. The woman’s screaming pounded inside her skull.
    “Call an ambulance.” Colleen’s command snapped like a whip, prompting several to fish in their pockets for a cell.
    Rachel blinked, worked her jaw. “That’s not necessary.”
    “It is,” Colleen said. “You could have a head injury.”
    Rachel readied to protest again when she saw Deke Morgan glaring down.
    He looked amused. “She clocked you pretty good.”
    Rachel righted her twisted skirt and pulled away from Colleen’s protective hold. She stumbled and caught herself.
    “You really need to sit,” Colleen protested.
    Rachel met Morgan’s smiling eyes. She’d eat dirt