Genuine Lies

were the child she had borne out of wedlock, in secret, then had given up for adoption?”
    “Yes,” she said, and could almost hear Lincoln wince. “I was stunned, and hurt.”
    “You used the word
manipulated
that night, did you not? You said she had manipulated your life.”
    “I felt that way. I’m not sure what I said.”
    “You’re not sure?”
    “No.”
    “Because you were too enraged to think clearly?”
    “Objection.”
    “Sustained.”
    “Were you angry?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did you threaten to kill her?” “I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know? Miss Summers, do you often have trouble recalling your words and actions during violent incidents?”
    “I don’t often have violent incidents.” “But you have had them. Didn’t you once attack a teacher for correcting your son?” “Your honor, really!”
    “I’m merely establishing the defendant’s temperament, your honor. Her previous incidents of physical outbursts.”
    “Overruled. The defendant will answer.”
    It should have been funny. Julia wondered if years from now she’d see the humor in it. “I once struck a teacher who had belittled and mortified my son for not having a father.” She looked directly at Lincoln. “He didn’t deserve to be punished for the circumstances of his birth.”
    “As you felt you had been? Did you feel belittled and mortified by Miss Benedict’s revelation?”
    “I felt she had taken away my identity.”
    “And you hated her for that.”
    “No.” She lifted her eyes again, found Victor’s. “I don’thate her. I don’t hate the man she loved enough to conceive me with.”
    “Two witnesses have sworn, under oath, that you screamed out your hate for your mother.”
    “At that moment I did hate her.”
    “And the next day, when she came to the guest house, came to—in her own words—have it out with you, you picked up the fireplace poker, and, fueled by that hate, struck her down.”
    “No,” she whispered. “I did not.”
    She was bound over for trial, on the strength of the physical evidence. Bail was set for five hundred thousand.
    “I’m sorry, Julia.” Lincoln was already writing a note to his law clerk. “We’ll have you out within the hour. I guarantee you a jury will acquit.”
    “How long?” Her gaze flew to Paul’s as handcuffs were snapped over her wrists. She heard the quiet metallic clicks and thought of the cell door, locking into place. “Brandon. Oh, God, call Ann, please. I don’t want him to know.”
    “Just hold on.” He couldn’t reach her, couldn’t touch her. Could only watch while they took her away. He dragged Lincoln around by the collar. The violence in his eyes only reflected the tip of the emotion in his heart. “I’ll post bail. You get her the hell out. Do whatever you have to do to keep her out of a cell. Understand?”
    “I don’t think—”
    “Just do it.”
    The crowds were still there when they released her. She walked through the dream, wondering if she’d already died. She could still feel the coldness the handcuffs had left at her wrists.
    But there was the limo. Eve’s limo. But not Lyle, she thought dazedly. A new driver. She slipped inside. It felt clean, cool, safe. Eyes closed, she heard the sound of liquidhitting glass. Brandy, she realized, when Paul pressed the snifter into her hand. Then she heard his voice, as cool as the interior of the limo.
    “Well, Julia, did you kill her?”
    Fury punched through the shock so fast, so hot that she was hardly aware of snapping up, of dragging the sunglasses off and tossing them on the floor. Before she could speak he had his hand firm on her chin.
    “You keep that look on your face.” His voice had changed, roughened. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit by and watch you let them beat you. It’s not just your life you’re fighting for.”
    She jerked away and used the brandy to calm her. “No sympathy?”
    The muscles in his jaw worked as he drained every drop in his own snifter. “They cut me in half when they took you away. Is that enough for you?”
    She shut her eyes again. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t do any good for me to swipe at you.”
    “Sure it does. You’ve stopped looking like you’d melt through the floorboards.” He put a hand to the back of her neck to rub away the tension. Her fingers were twisting in her lap as she battled her own nerves. Slender fingers, he thought, with the nails bitten viciously down to the quick. Gently, he lifted them,