When public defender, Juliana ‘JJ’ Jordan is presented with new evidence in the case of convicted double murderer, Brenden McDaid, shortly before his scheduled execution, she looks into it out of professional obligation. Her first surprise comes when the evidence pans out, but there are countless more to come as she uncovers a multitude of mistakes, lies, even corruption.

With the help of Jack Wilmont and Terry Carson, JJ and her team push to prove McDaid was set up, but there is great resistance from high in the ranks, including the prosecutor and the State Attorney General. Every victory JJ achieves is met with a seemingly insurmountable obstacle. But the corrupt politicians have three things against them – Jack, Carson and JJ Jordan, who has rediscovered her passion for the law, feelings for the enigmatic McDaid, and an unrelenting need for justice.

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EXCERPT :

"Visitor for Smith, Garrison, Jackson. Visitor for McDaid." The announcement over the loudspeaker jarred JJ back to reality. She was not seven years old anymore and she wasn't here on display. She was here as a court official, to make sure a travesty of justice hadn't occurred.
She walked back toward the guard waiting to frisk her at the end of the metal detector. She ignored the curiosity on the faces of the waiting visitors and the security personnel, who watched from behind thick green glass and observation cameras. "Hold your head high," her grandmother had told her a thousand times when walking a similar route. Now she heard an echo of the voice and heeded the words. She'd had years of practice.
* * * *
A guard led her to a long room divided by a Plexiglas partitions and pointed out where to sit. Visitors sat on one side of the Plexiglas, inmates on the other, and communication occurred through an intercom system in a phone handset. There were other people visiting, immersed in their conversations. She felt like a voyeur as she heard snippets of private matters.
"I had to sell it. The rent's got to be paid."
"–could still come through. We got that one guy we could talk to."
"I love you, too."
"–made the honor roll again."
"I caint keep him in school. Caint control the boy, I'm tellin' you!"
Love and pain, denial and desperation. JJ sat and stared at her fingernails with their French manicure and tried not to hear anything. She looked up as the inside door swung open and Slick led a man in, then pointed at her. JJ held her breath as she surveyed McDaid. Somehow, he wasn't what she'd been expecting. He was maybe 6'2 and 200 pounds with long, dark brown hair and a full beard and mustache. He was rugged, but not bad looking. He could be cleaned up and made very presentable for court.
He sat. His dark brown eyes flicked down her body, what he could see of it, then back up to hold her gaze. It was a brief, frank, unapologetic appraisal.
She picked up her handset and he did the same. "Brenden McDaid?"
He nodded before he spoke. "Yeah."
"I'm Juliana Jordan." For a moment, she was stymied by the fact she'd just called herself that. She never referred to herself as Juliana anymore. "I'm with the Public Defender's Office."
Except for a slight narrowing of his eyes, he didn't respond.
"Your attorney, Mr. Mathis, retired, as I'm sure you know. He left without stipulating new counsel for you, so I brought a form for you to sign, authorizing me–"
"Why?"
Her mouth went dry all the sudden. "Margaret Doherty went to the police yesterday. She claims she was part of a conspiracy to put you here."
Again, he didn't respond. He sat totally impassive.
"Do you have anything to say about that?" Now, she saw a change. His color deepened and he stiffened with fury.
"What do you want me to say?" he hissed.
It was the first he'd spoken more than a one word answer. She heard his Irish accent, but she was more taken by the bitterness that consumed him.
"I said it was all a lie all along. Now, she says so and you sit up and take notice? You people are hypocrites. You want to help me now? Now? Because that lying bitch says it was all a lie? Fuck you! They've already given me a date to die. Why don't you let them kill me and then fucking live with it!"
She heard the venom, the hate behind the words and it froze her. She had heard it before. Her father had always been funny and warm, always the optimist, until the end. By then, he hated. He not only hated the system–he hated. It was the reason she'd gone into law, to defend the Paul Jordan's of the world. Now here she sat, staring at a man her own office had probably failed. His words hurt in a way he could never have comprehended.
She willed herself to be calm. "I wasn't involved before, Mr. McDaid. If you want me to be, I'm leaving a form for you to sign, authorizing it. That's all I came to say." It was a lie. She'd intended on having him answer questions, which she then had planned to evaluate. She was going to have been a real iron maiden, royal bitch of the public defenders office but now, that's all I came to say was as bitchy as she could get.
Walking into the visiting room only a few minutes ago, she'd been concerned about being able to concentrate on their conversation due to the distraction of the other people in the room. But, in their short exchange, she'd forgotten the others. Unnoticed by her, a Hispanic inmate had been led to a booth two stations away from them and now he stood, enraged at the male visitor on the other side. He began shouting in Spanish and banging the handset against the Plexiglas barrier. She couldn't make out what he said, but she could hear his voice, muffled from the other side and clearer through the headset his visitor had dropped as he jumped backwards, leaving it on the counter facing her.
The inmate looked crazy, but he wasn't as frightening as the guards who burst in to subdue and remove him. One of the guards hit him with a short club. The brief, violent altercation made her stomach hurt. The inmate was dragged out of the room, screaming at his visitor and fighting the guards. The doors slammed shut leaving the room shocked still both in terms of movement and sound.
JJ looked back at Brenden McDaid and discovered his eyes fully on hers, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Are you all right?" his voice said, from far away.
She saw his lips move as he spoke. Only then did she realize she'd gripped her handset with both hands, pressing it against her chest. She nodded, rather stupidly, she would think later, assuring him she was fine. She stood to leave. This interview needed to be over. She had said enough and experienced enough for one day.
There was a momentary flickering of concern in his eyes which gave her pause. At this point, she would have preferred defiance, flying her the bird, for example. It would have bolstered some of that much needed steel she was known for and desperately needed at the moment. She hung up the handset and walked out, feeling every bit of seven years old again.
* * * *
For Brenden, the unexpected visit had been short and utterly perplexing. All of the rage he had vented at people thus far in this nightmare life had found one blank wall after another. It didn't affect the wall, it didn't change anything. It just deflected right back on him. But she'd reacted. He'd actually seen tears well in her momentarily widened blue eyes. He'd taken aim and hit something. It made him feel strange and guilty–then pissed because he shouldn't be the one feeling guilty. Different emotions shot through him faster than he could reason them out.
When the hack, Whitledge, had come for him, he'd said a bitch lawyer had come to see him, that he must be some political cause she had decided to jump on because nobody would jump her. The mental picture that had formed as he was escorted here was nothing at all like Juliana Jordan.
"On your feet, convict," Whitledge said behind him. "Looked to me like she couldn't get out of here fast enough."