Trent smiled easily as his friend grasped his hand to shake it. "It’s good to talk to you without the phone," Carlos told him.

"Yeah, or the glass partition." His face grew serious. "How’s Jessie?"

"Her parents left yesterday morning to take her back to New Mexico. I’m sorry, manno." Carlos could read the depth of pain in his friend’s eyes. Trent tried to hide it but Carlos knew. "She’ll be back, Trent." After a momentary pause, Carlos said, "I think I know what pushed her over the edge."

"What?" Trent remembered the moment when Jessie stopped fighting back. The paper.

"Oates had someone print up a fake newspaper. This one had a headline," He hesitated slightly. "A headline about your death." Rage filled Trent as Carlos continued. "Sarah told me Jess had been having nightmares about Dave Henderson. Except it wasn’t him shooting himself, it was you. Then this bastard went and printed this article about you dying from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. It probably seemed to Jessie that her dream had come true."

"She must have known, Carlos. A gun? No way." Trent had so many unanswered questions he didn’t know where to start. Why hadn’t she told him about the nightmares? How would Oates have known? Wouldn’t Jessie know he would never even fire a gun? He looked at Carlos who could only shrug.

"No one knows because she won’t or can’t say anything."

"Shit, Carlos. What if she still thinks I’m dead? I haven’t had a chance to see her." The caged anger was beginning to show through. "I have to get out of here, soon, manno." He started to pace. "What about the gun at Oates’ place?"

Carlos expression told him things weren’t going well. He whispered, acutely aware there were people trying to eavesdrop. "We know the gun was found in the house. We have a witness who saw someone take it out."

"They found it?" Trent asked, incredulously, his hopes rising. His smile was gone almost immediately as he saw the look on Carlos’ face. "It’s not in evidence, is it?"

"No, but Gage is working on it. We think we know who has it."

"Pitts." Trent said flatly. Carlos, startled, nodded his head. "That bastard is doing everything to get me convicted and himself elected." For the first time since this mess started, Carlos saw hopelessness in the face of his friend.

**

"Jacob," Alex asked, sitting at her desk in the District Attorney’s office. "Are you going to ask for the death penalty if he is found guilty?"

Across the desk, her boss looked at her. She posed a threat to his political aspirations, he was sure. "Yes," he answered. "Does that bother you?"

"Yes, it bothers me." The tension was evident in her voice and her posture. "How can you justify that?" she asked. "Trent has helped us with so many cases. I mean, his wife was killed because he testified." Sarah’s words echoed in her head.

"Alex, we can’t go soft. If we don’t ask for it, the public will think we are protecting our own." He straightened himself up, "If you have a problem with that, maybe I need a new Assistant DA."

"Maybe you do," she whispered.

"Pardon me?" Pitts couldn’t believe what he heard.

"Nothing," she muttered.

Pitts stood up. "You look over the evidence for next week and we’ll discuss it before court on Monday." As he turned to leave, Alex spoke.

"What do you know about the gun, Jake?"

She saw his body tense before he turned to face her. "What about it?"

"There was a witness who saw someone take a gun out of the house. That someone looked like Mitch." Alex was referring to Pitts’ investigator, Ron Mitchell, nicknamed Mitch. Alex looked at her notes. "An older gentleman who lives next door told a friend of the defense." Alex failed to mention that the friend also was a Texas Ranger.

"Yeah, right. Some old fart thinks he saw our guy taking a gun out?" He laughed outwardly. "C’mon Alex. If we had the gun don’t you think I would tell you? I may want to win this case but I’m not going to do anything stupid to jeopardize my career." He turned again to leave. "I’ll see you on Monday." She could hear him chuckle as he walked down the hall.

**

"I DON"T KNOW HIS NAME! Listen, he lives next door to Oates…Yeah…make sure….BE CAREFUL this time," he hissed into the phone. "Remember what’s at stake." Silently, he put the phone down. This had better work.

**

He was awakened by the sound of footsteps entering his cell, leaving only a split second to react. As they grabbed for him, Trent thrust himself off the bunk, getting caught by at least two sets of hands. A fist connected with his solar plexus, knocking all of the wind from his lungs. As he gasped, he heard a voice whisper, "No one breaks my nose and gets away with it." Summoning all his strength, Trent was able to free his right arm, jamming his hand into the other assailant’s midsection, bending him in half. Feeling the grip on his left arm loosen, Trent spun, kneeing the man in the jaw, rendering him unconscious. He turned his attention to the others, feeling a kick to his ribs that almost dropped him. A punch to his jaw left him tasting blood, but he had no time to acknowledge the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew they were hitting the stitches in his side, feeling the blood warm and sticky on his shirt. He spun, kicked and punched, knowing he was fighting for his life.

**

Bleary eyed, Sarah reached over the sleeping Cuban, and picked up the ringing phone, cursing under her breath about people who could sleep through a marching band. "Hello?" A glance at the clock told her it was 3:17 am.

"Sarah?" The voice was familiar, but the cobwebs in her mind veiled his identity. "Uh…I’m sorry,….is …uh….Carlos there?"

"Just a minute," she muttered sleepily. For a brief second, she was tempted to hit the man beside her with the phone in her hand, but instead settled for a gentle push. "Carlos, it’s for you." Handing him the phone, she rolled over.

"Yeah?" After listening for a moment, Carlos was instantly awake. "Is he dead?" Sarah’s eyes shot open as she turned to face Carlos, listening to him speak. "Yeah, sure Gage, I’ll be right there." Hanging up the phone, he threw back the covers and headed for the closet.

"Is everything okay?" he heard Sarah say, as he pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans.

"No. I gotta go." He offered no further explanation as he grabbed his shoes and headed for the front door.

**

He lay exhausted on the floor, gasping for air. Looking up, he saw a towering hulk above him. The man known throughout the prison as ‘Tiny’ was watching him. As he tried to get up, a big beefy hand held him down. "Whoa, there son. You ain’t goin’ nowhere for awhile. ‘Cept for maybe the infirmary."

Trent shook his head, aware of the pain searing through his skull. "No, I’ll stay here." He lay back down on the floor, becoming aware of all the places that hurt. He guessed he had at least a few broken ribs, and had undoubtedly rebroken the bones of his hand. He raised his good hand to his forehead, where it came away sticky with blood. He didn’t have to look to see his shirt was also caked with the coagulating liquid. "What happened?" he managed to whisper, every word an effort.

"Well, you were outnumbered so I thought I would even it up a bit. Even so, you’d done pretty good before I got here." As Trent nodded, the mountain of man smiled. "They even bought off the guards to turn a blind eye to you. Boy, you sure pissed off somebody important!"

"Ya think?" Trent tried to return the smile, finding it a major effort.

Tiny reached down and lifted Trent up off the floor. Trent bit his lip to stop himself from screaming as pain raced through almost every fibre of his body, but was grateful when he was put down gently on the bunk. "Now, don’t you worry, I’ll be right here. No one else is gonna come near you tonight." Trent closed his eyes, slowly succumbing to the exhaustion. He knew he would be safe, at least for the time being.