Page 91 of Last Mile

When I stared into Mr. Greenly’s dark blue eyes, he nodded encouragingly. Slowly, I began turning my head to the defense table.

All the while, I kept my gaze on my lap, staring at the silk handkerchief

my mother had slipped into my hand right after they called my name.

“He’s over there,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry, but I need you to repeat that,” Mr. Greenly said.

Raising a shaking hand, I pointed at the table. “He’s there.”

The defense attorney’s voice caused me to jump. “Your Honor,

the witness has not visually identified my client.”

I pinched my eyes shut. My body trembled so hard my knee knocked

the microphone stand, causing a loud screech to echo throughout the

room.

“Samantha,” Mr. Greenly’s kind voice said.

“I can’t,” I murmured.

“Samantha, the court has to have you look at Mr. Bates in order for your testimony to be recorded.”

Tears of agony overflowed from my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. With my eyes still shut, I pictured my father’s smiling face in front of me— the way his strong arms felt when he drew me in for a tight hug. And it was then I felt my father’s strength enveloping me.

I opened my eyes wide and stared at Willie. Sitting in a suit and tie, he looked so much different from the way he had that night. But all I had to do was imagine him in the leather vest he had worn before, and there were no doubts.

As he sneered at me, I pulled my shoulders back and once again pointed at Willie. “Him. He’s the man who killed my father.”

I was jerked out of my flashback at the sound of the bathroom door flying open. “Sam?”

Lifting my head, I gazed at his reflection in the mirror. “Sorry. I just needed a minute.”

Bishop’s expression was filled with concern. He closed the gap between us and came to stand beside me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Sam. You just bolted from the courtroom,and I come in here and find you in tears.” He put his hands on my waist and turned me around to face him. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

I knew that I had two options. I could concoct an elaborate lie by saying that seeing Ansley had brought back memories of a young girl I had seen murdered. Or I could tell him the truth about my father— or at least the version that wouldn’t out me as an agent.

In the end, it was a no-brainer. I chose the second. “You know how my father died when I was eight?”

“Yeah,” Bishop replied.

“Well, he didn’t just die. He was murdered by a biker named Willie Bates.”

Bishop’s blue eyes widened. “Go on.”

Leaning back against the sink, I told him everything about that night. Then I told him about having to testify at the trial. “When Ansley took the stand, it sent me reeling with a flashback. I had to get out of there.”

Bishop drew me into his strong arms. His hands ran along my back. “I’m so sorry, babe,” he murmured into my ear.

It meant so much to have Bishop’s sympathy, because he knew what it was like to lose a loved one to a violent death. A quiet