The regional airline serving her hometown was so unreliable, she’d sworn never to use it again.
But the exhumation problem had cropped up without notice. Flying had been the only way she could arrive in time to achieve both her goals.
Timothy Randall’s damn casket would stay in the ground at least until next Tuesday, and probably for eternity.
Nora Dockson would soon be off the Gustavo Ochoa case.
Marianne smiled, recalling her brilliant ambush of the death penalty cowgirl.
She’d employed the same technique her father had used against his weaker opponents. She’d taken Dockson by surprise, moved in close, and crushed her with irrefutable logic.
Dockson had been too stunned to say a word.
The b***h realized she’d have to quit.
Ochoa wasn’t completely stupid. He’d grasp that escaping
