Brown, Sandra-Friction

the truth.
He relaxed somewhat and took a closer look at the judge. Gone was the severe ponytail she’d
worn in court. Her hair was hanging loose to her collarbone. Under his scrutiny, she self-consciously
hooked it behind her ears. “I’ll ask again. What are you doing here?”
“Were you asleep?”
“Yes.”
Knowing she was lying, he just looked at her.
After several seconds, she sighed. “I tried to sleep but couldn’t keep my mind off the shooting.”
“Whose whiskey?”
“What?” Following his line of sight, she looked over at the bottle on the counter. “Mine.”
“I doubt it.”
“All right, a friend left it—”
“What friend?”
“—and I’m glad he did—”
“He?”
“—because I needed it tonight.” With asperity, she straightened her spine. “I don’t have to explain
a damn thing to you, Mr. Hunt, but you’ve got a hell of a lot to explain to me. Like what you’re doing
here and how you knew where I live.”
“I’m not a Texas Ranger for nothing.”
“Don’t be cute.”
“Wasn’t trying to be. Took me eight years as a trooper before I could even apply.”
While she fumed, he took a more thorough look around the kitchen. There were the usual small
appliances on the counter, an African violet in the window above the sink, a small dining table with
only two chairs. Compact and scrupulously tidy. Nothing fussy. About what he would expect.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked.
“Since the day I came to town.”
“From Dallas, right?” He cocked an eyebrow. “City girl gone country?”
Annoyed by that, she said, “I’ll ask you one more time. What are you doing here?”
“That was going to be my next question to you. Why here?”
“I told you. The widow—”
“I mean why Prentiss? Why our humble burg here on the edge of a swamp?”
“When Judge Waters’s health forced him to step down from the bench, he encouraged me to apply
to be his replacement.”
“Out of all the legal eagles vying for that appointment, he encouraged you. Why?”
When she hesitated to answer, he realized he’d tapped into a touchy subject. With obvious
reluctance she said, “He’d known me since I was born. He and my father were good friends.”
“Huh.”
“What does that ‘huh’ imply?”
“Favoritism?”
“You should be campaigning for Greg Sanders.”
“That loudmouth? No thanks.”
“He does like to crow. His credentials are unimpressive and his platform shaky, so he’s resorted
to mudslinging. According to him, I’m too young and inexperienced.”