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Coups de cœur Cultura
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When an attorney bar complaint was made claiming that I blackmailed the judge in a case, I knew I'd be investigated. What I didn't know was they'd send Detective Cyrus James, the sexiest cop in town, even with the limp he's had ever since being shot during a drug bust and being forced into private investigations.
A lot of people around town blamed me when he was injured. It was my client who shot Detective James, and it was me who'd gotten him off on a previous case. I've wondered whether Detective James blamed me, like everyone else. Judging by the way he watches me anytime he's in my presence, he does. No other reason makes sense, right?
To be a public defender means zealously defending even the worst criminals around. I was only doing my job when my client shot Cyrus. Now I'm in hot water again for doing my job. No one can know what Judge Franks was meeting with me for, even if that confidentiality costs me my law license.
But if it costs me a chance to make amends for my role in what happened to Detective James, or worse, to explore whatever this feeling building between us is? I don't know if my oath is that strong.
