| they had an understanding, and it doesn’t work.” “Andie, we’re both Christians. We don’t have that issue.” “I’m not saying it’s the same issue. But we have the same problem.” “You’re drunk, and I’m not following you at all.” “No, don’t dismiss what I’m saying. We really do have the same problem. It’s like Molly told me. The understanding worked for a while. But as you get older, and you have kids, and things get more complicated, you realize that the old understanding isn’t working. You’re only pretending it works.” “So religion became more important to Amir as they got older. Is that what you’re saying.” “Yes!” “Fine. That’s them. That has nothing to do with us.” “Yes, it does! We have an understanding. It’s not exactly like theirs, but it’s just as important to our marriage.” Jack finally had a sense of where this conversation was headed. “You’re talking about our agreement: I don’t ask you about active investigations you’re working on; you don’t ask me about criminal cases I’m handling.” “Yes! Our agreement,” said Andie. “The one that we fool ourselves into thinking can make a marriage work between an FBI agent and a criminal defense lawyer.” Jack was starting to worry. “I don’t see the comparison between our agreement and the one that Molly and Amir have.” “Before you agreed to defend Xavier, I wouldn’t have seen it either. But now it’s so clear to me. After the deposition today, it’s crystal clear.” “You’re going to have |
the darkness, she stopped, listened, and reassessed. Roll-down steel shutters covered the windows and doors that faced the alley, blocking off escape routes. Corrugated boxes, flattened and stacked one on top of another for disposal, rose in cardboard towers along the wall near the Dumpster. She took another step forward, then stopped. There was a noise. Something—or someone—was behind the Dumpster. She took cover behind a thick stack of flattened boxes and waited. Her heart pounded. The chorus of sirens in the distance grew louder. Police were on the way. It gave her comfort, and yet it heightened the sense of urgency. Two quick shots rang out, followed by pops in the stacked cardboard that was her cover. Maritza returned fire, squeezing off ten quick shots. Abdul cried out in the darkness, and then she heard something hit the pavement. It was not at all like the sound of the fallen police officer hitting the sidewalk. It was something inanimate, metallic, like a gun. Slowly, sliding her back against the wall, Maritza moved deeper into the alley closer to the Dumpster. She heard Abdul groaning on the other side of it. He was definitely wounded. She maneuvered around the Dumpster, leading with her rifle, and saw him. He was down on one knee and clutching his bloody hand. She’d shot the pistol right out of his grip. There was no telling where it had landed, but Abdul was disarmed. “Don’t move,” she said. “You shot me, bitch!” “Move |
