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Court? You’re testifying today against that bastard killed that college student? The one almost killed you?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou okay with it? I mean, ain’t easy going up against a demented individual the likes of Jesse Boone, up close and personal as you got to him.”
    â€œWhatever it takes to put him away, I’m good with.”
    â€œI got a feeling there’s a whole lot more we’re going to learn about Mr. Boone before his days in court are done. He’s the kind of bastard that belongs in an insane asylum, lock him in a room and throw away the key. If I believed in it, I’d say kill him. Strap him in the chair and inject his behind. But that’s God’s place, not ours, I don’t care if we do have the death penalty.”
    â€œCalm down, girl. They may not lock him up in an insane asylum, but you can bet he’s going away for the rest of his life one way or another. No key necessary.”
    â€œAmen to that. Come by tomorrow, we’ll talk more and I’ll fix you up. Love you.”
    I clicked off as I turned to the right, down to my driveway. It ran between the three-story brick houses on my street, Long-shore, and the houses one block over on Disston Street. Each home had a fenced-in driveway and garage. My kitchen window looked out on the driveway from the second level. I got out of the car and opened the gate to the driveway, then looked up, halfway expecting Travis to be at the window. He was supposed to be home that morning and I had not heard from him. I couldn’t worry about that now, though. I had court to get ready for.

C HAPTER 3
    I diverted my gaze from Jesse Boone and looked out over the courtroom from the witness stand. And yet I felt forced to look back at Boone, like he was magnetized. Did he just wink at me? The smirk he sported sizzled when our eyes locked, sending centipedes scurrying along my arms to my shoulders. He exuded charisma with a smidgeon of evil. The blue-gray Armani suit he wore hugged his biceps, which accented his chiseled physique. His eyes were black and sparkly, his nose small and pointy, his perfect hair blown out and back—a beastly variation on handsome.
    My body twitched.
    A heat boiled up inside me and lodged just beneath my skin. Not now, I prayed. Sweat trickled down from my left armpit, almost tickling. Of course. If I was holding a gun on a suspect who had a hostage in his grip and both our lives depended on me making the shot, bam! A damn hot flash would ravage my whole body.
    I backhand swiped at my brow and forced my attention to the district attorney.
    â€œYour Honor, I would like to offer Officer Muriel Mabley as an expert witness in the area of firearm identification.”
    â€œWhat qualifies this officer to be accepted as an expert witness in my court?” the judge said.
    â€œOfficer, please give your duties, responsibilities, and qualifications.”
    Boone’s attorney sprang from his seat. “I will stipulate to the qualifications of this witness.”
    â€œMr. Jameson, please take your seat. This is for my enlightenment also. I want to hear what Officer Mabley knows. She is new to my courtroom.”
    The DA nodded to me to speak.
    â€œMy duties are to accept all firearms and firearm-related material, such as fired bullets, cartridge cases that have been turned in or collected or confiscated within the city of Philadelphia. All evidence is examined and compared against all like evidence. I am trained in the microscopic comparison, photomicrography, which is photographing through the microscope, serial number restoration, tool mark comparison, distance determination through gunshot residue, wound ballistics, and crime scene reconstruction. I am also an armorer for Berretta, Smith & Wesson, SIG Sauer, Hi Point, Ruger, Colt, and have observed the manufacturing of these firearms from the beginning as raw steel to the finished product you see and identify as a