Authors: Susan R. Sloan
“You may be right,” she concurred. “On the other hand, maybe getting to that point didn’t turn out to be all it was cracked
up to be.”
“What are you going to do? Join another firm or hang out your own shingle?”
“Right now, I’m going to go out to Port Townsend for a while and be with Molly,” she said. “Who knows, maybe I’ll even stay
out there, and go to work with my father. We always talked about doing that. Reid & Reid, we were going to be. Well, I think
Reid & McAuliffe sounds pretty good, too.”
“It would be a very different kind of life,” Sam observed, and she knew what he meant: less demanding, less dramatic, less
star-studded.
“That’s true,” she allowed. “But maybe I don’t really need some of the things I always thought I did. I’d like to think that
I’m not totally intractable, that I can change.”
“I would, too,” he murmured.
“Anyway, it occurred to me that there’s no point in your keeping another place now,” Dana went on. “You could come back and
stay here. It’s your home, and it’s where Molly should be able to come when she wants to be with you. And I won’t be around.”
“Sure, I can do that,” he said tentatively. “But I’d like to think I can come out to Port Townsend, too, sometime.”
“Of course you can,” she said quickly. “Anytime at all. I didn’t mean to imply you wouldn’t be welcome there. I just meant…”
“It won’t be for a while though, you understand,” he cautioned her. “Maybe a long while.”
“I understand,” she said. “I didn’t mean to rush you. Whatever you want. There’s plenty of time.”
They were silent for a moment then.
“So you really quit Cotter Boland, did you?” he said, and there was a mixture of wonder and delight in his voice.
“I really did.”
“I never would’ve thought it.”
She smiled into the telephone. “I love you, Sam,” she said
softly. “I know I haven’t shown it like I should have, and I know I did an awful thing that you have every right not to forgive
me for, but I do love you. The irony is, I’m only now beginning to realize how much. Now, when it might be too late.”
There was a pause then, and Dana heard a deep sigh before she heard his words.
“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
It was nine o’clock when, uninvited, Corey made his way through a persistent rain to Damon Feary’s home in Woodinville.
“Hey kid, you’re looking great, all things considered,” Feary said, breaking into a big grin when he answered the knock at
the door. “I heard about the verdict. You beat the rap. That’s good.”
“Yeah, no thanks to you,” Corey said. “You almost did me in on the witness stand.”
Feary gave a careless chuckle. “You mean about the terrorist stuff? Well, I had no choice, now did I? I had to answer their
damn questions. But no harm, no foul, as they say.” He still stood in the doorway. “Listen, I hate to disappoint you, when
you’ve come all this way, but there’s no meeting tonight.”
“I know,” Corey said. “It’s you I came to see.”
“Oh?” Feary responded. “Well, I’d like to oblige, but this isn’t a real good time.”
Looking past him, Corey could see that the inside of the little log house was filled with packing boxes. “Going somewhere?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Feary acknowledged. “The wife and I decided it was time to move on.”
“You mean, your work here is done, and it’s time to find another city with another clinic… and another patsy?”
Feary shrugged. “I guess you could say that.”
Without warning, a right arm swung around with mighty
force, the fist catching the carpenter full in the jaw, smashing it, and sending him sprawling.
“You son of a bitch, you set me up,” Corey cried.
Feary lay on the rough wood floor, bleeding from his nose to his mouth. “We had to steer the cops to someone,” he slurred
through the pain, “so there’d be a trial.”
Corey stared down at him. “All those months I rotted in jail, I thought I’d screwed up. I was sick with the guilt. But I didn’t
screw up, did I? It was
you.
Right from the start. You rigged that timer. I set it for two o’clock in the morning, so that no one would get hurt. I made
that very clear. No one was supposed to get hurt!”
“Grow up, kid,” the carpenter retorted, spitting out a dislodged tooth. “You jumped at the chance to play in the big leagues.”
Grasping the edge of the door, he slowly pulled himself to his feet. “What did you think this was all about? Something nice
and antiseptic like Portland? We found out just how much good
that
did—a couple of paragraphs in the local paper. Sorry, but this time, we were after everyone’s attention. And to get it, we
needed a body count.”
Then calmly, but firmly, he shut the door in Corey Latham’s face.
“Intoxicating suspense…the thrills come one a minute.”
—
K
IRKUS
R
EVIEWS
“There’s plenty to keep the pages turning.”
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B
OOKLIST
“A suspenseful and provocative thriller.”
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P
UBLIC
W
EEKLY
“A well-crafted puzzle…a poignant love story…top-grade entertainment.”
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S
AN
D
IEGO
U
NION
T
RIBUNE
“A great story…a challenge of moral strength….An
Isolated Incident
is successful on many levels.”
—N
ATIONAL
P
UBLIC
R
ADIO
GUILT BY ASSOCIATION
“Engrossing… invites favorable comparison to the work of another trial lawyer, Scott Turow.”
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N
EW
Y
ORK
N
EWSDAY
“As timeless as any good yarn….Its climax is a tense courtroom showdown that ends with a genuine surprise.”
—
S
EATTLE
T
IME/POST
-I
NTELLIGENCER
“A harrowing, unforgettable novel…a conclusion that will chill you to the bone.”
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W
EST
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OAST
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EVIEW OF
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OOKS