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hard not to, Ms. Dent.” The judge’s lips twitched and Andy made a strangling sound.
    With grim determination, I plowed on. “As I was about to point out, Your Honor, there’s a birth mark on the right side of my client’s penis. It resembles…” I drew in a deep breath. I must not laugh, I must not laugh.
    “It resembles a seashell.”
    “Oh, do you mean like a sand dollar or, given your client’s size, a conch?”
    Andy’s shoulders shook.
    I bit the inside of my mouth—hard. “No, Your Honor,” I managed to say, “more like the banded tulip. See how the mark bulges in the middle?”
    Andy reached out and gripped the edge of the bench.
    “I see. Counselor, this science lesson in mollusks is very educating but what does it have to do with admissibility of these photos?”
    “If you review the charging affidavit, the victim describes in detail how her attacker’s body was shaved and how he made her stroke his penis, but she never mentions a birthmark.”
    Suddenly, tension radiated in the room. Andy straightened and reached for one of the pictures while the judge scanned the affidavit with a serious expression.
    I cleared my throat. “The probative value of these exhibits goes to identification of my client being the assailant.”
    “So I see. All right. I rule that the model will be excluded on the basis of dubious probative value. I will, however, allow photographs, cropped to the extent that they show only the birthmark and the location of the mark on your client’s penis. Do I make myself clear, Ms. Dent? No sensationalism will be permitted in my court.”
    Victory hummed through my veins. “Crystal clear, Judge.”
    “Good.” The judge rose and left the chambers.
    I let out a long breath.
    “Didn’t see that ruling coming in a million years,” said Andy. “You’ve never lost your touch for sweet-talking judges.” Surprised at the bitterness in his voice, I glanced at him and saw that his jaw was set. As a public defender, I had tried a number of cases against him. Andy tended to be a sore loser.
    Particularly when it came to rape cases. Every criminal attorney has his or her hot button, and Andy’s was rapists. He never cut deals unless he absolutely had to. Once he had commented that he didn’t want to put the slime back on the streets unless he was certain vigilante justice would get the criminal.
    Normally, though, outside the courtroom Andy was genial. With his blond hair and blue eyes, he epitomized the all-American guy. Once, when I had asked him about his last name, he had explained that his family came from a northern region of Spain where being fair was the norm. They had moved first to Cuba and then fled to America during Castro’s reign.
    He turned and stalked to his side of the table. I shrugged, crossed to my table and began packing up. My sleep hadn’t exactly been restful.
    “Carling?”
    “Hmm.”
    “Sorry for that crack just now. How about I make up for it by buying you a cup of coffee?” His expression was earnest. At one point, I’d thought he might be interested in me, but I’d never felt any zing with him. Unlike the way my heart sped up when I thought of Jared.
    “Sorry, Andy, perhaps another time. I’ve got a full schedule today.”
    “I heard about your accident,” he said. “I hope you’re all right.”
    “Nothing that two aspirin won’t cure.”
    I hitched the strap of my briefcase over my shoulder and picked up the box containing the model. “See you around.”
    Thirty minutes later I sat facing another good-looking all-American male. However, my client had a definite “ick” factor.
    While I’d never own up to it to Nicole or Kate, there were times Larry Clark made my skin crawl. Another blond man with blue eyes, but for the prison garb, my client was the clean-cut collegian every mother wished her daughter would marry.
    Unless the mother really looked into his eyes.
    If she did, like I was doing now, she would see the cold arrogance, the