“Sounds good.” Lauren smiled, in an encouraging way. “Do you want to rehearse it?”

“No, thanks.” Christine knew that rehearsing would bring her jitters to the fore, not only the nervousness she had about asking him but from the fact that this was the last time she would see him. It wasn’t that she wanted to see him again, but she didn’t like the idea that she would never see him again, and her emotions hung somewhere in the middle, in a netherworld between attraction and repulsion. She’d tossed and turned last night, trying to visualize how this final meeting would go. And she couldn’t help but think that he could be innocent, especially after she’d learned from Linda Kent that he wasn’t Gail Robinbrecht’s only hookup.

“You’re stressing, I can tell.” Lauren’s lower lip puckered. “Why don’t you just come clean? Tell him the truth. Tell him that the reporter thing was a lie to meet him and find out if he was your donor.”

“No, I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

“Why? It will be easier than trying to get him to say it. So what if he knows you lied? You’re never going to see him again.”

Christine didn’t like the sound, never going to see him again. “But the fact that we used a donor is still a secret. You and my parents are the only ones who know. My in-laws don’t even know. I hate the idea of the exposure.”

“Oh, right.”

“Marcus doesn’t even know that I told my parents. He wanted to wait to tell the rest of the family, maybe until after the baby’s born. You’re the only one who’s allowed to know.”

“I’m so special.” Lauren smiled.

“Exactly.” Christine knew Lauren was trying to lighten the mood. “It feels weird to me that he should know before my in-laws do. I want as few people to know as possible.”

“I get it,” Lauren said, nodding. “Strictly need-to-know, like the CIA. But don’t you get tired of the family secrets? We have them, too. My aunt knows things my mother doesn’t know, my mother knows things that my sister doesn’t know. It’s hard to keep it all straight.”

“Sometimes it’s necessary.” Christine spotted Zachary’s blond head bobbing behind the guard in the secured part of the hallway and she straightened up in the hard chair. “He’s here.”

“Remain calm. You can do it.”

“Fingers crossed.” Christine caught Zachary’s eye, and he smiled. He looked genuinely happy to see her, and she didn’t think it was her imagination.

“I see him,” Lauren said, and they both watched as the guard unlocked Zachary’s handcuffs and showed him into the secured side of the booth, where he sat down, with a new smile.

“Good morning, Christine. Hi, Lauren. You two look nice.”

“Thank you.” Christine placed her legal pad and golf pencil on the counter, as if reestablishing her journalistic bona fides. “I have great news for you. We found you a really good lawyer.”

“That’s great!” Zachary’s eyes widened, his relief plain, and he beamed. “How did you do that so fast?”

“We got busy. He’s from West Chester, and he’s a very experienced criminal lawyer. His name is Francis Griffith but he goes by Griff. He knows about your case and he really wants to take you on. He gave me a business card, but they wouldn’t let me bring it in. So I’m going to have to tell him to contact you, is that okay?”

“Sure, that’s great. You sound like you know him.”

“No, but we met with him and really liked him. We talked about your case—”

“You told him I was innocent, right?” Zachary interrupted, newly urgent. “I don’t want one of those lawyers who thinks it’s fine to represent somebody guilty. I’m not guilty.”

Christine thought again of what Linda Kent had said and took a quick detour. “Zachary, can I just ask you, how well did you really know Gail Robinbrecht?”

“Honestly, I told you, I didn’t know her at all.”

“The first day you met her was the night before she was murdered?” Christine knew she was treading into forbidden territory, after the warning by Griff, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Yes.”

“Did you exchange emails with her or texts before you met her?”

“No, I met her in the cafeteria, chatted her up, and she said she was free that night, so we made a date. I didn’t even have her phone number.”

“How did you know where she lived?” Christine could feel Lauren trying to catch her eye, warning her off the questions.

“She told me the address.”

“You don’t know if she had a boyfriend or was seeing anybody else?”

“I have no idea. I know she wasn’t married, that’s all. Why?”

“Just curious,” Christine answered, avoiding Lauren’s disapproving eye. “Now, anyway, to get back to the lawyer, I told him what you told us and he completely understood. I’ll have him visit, or contact you; he probably knows how to do that.”

“He probably does. I don’t. I know I can get email, but they didn’t give me my email address yet. They’re saving all the email. They screen it before it goes to me.”

“Oh, even the lawyer’s? He said that would be privileged.”

“I don’t know. They told me most of the email is from media people and women who write the Death Row inmates here, whatever.” Zachary rolled his eyes, like a goofy teenager.

“The other thing Griff said is that he needs a retainer of $5,000.”

“Oh no.” Zachary grimaced.

“I hope that’s not a problem. I told him that you would pay him.”

“But five grand? I didn’t think it would be that much. I don’t know how I’m going to get the money. I have, like, $2,300 saved. I’d have more than that, but I’m paying off my student loan debt. Could you find someone cheaper?”

“Not that I know of, it’s the weekend. He said it’s low and I believe him.”

“Will he take less?” Zachary’s eyebrows lifted, with hope. “He should be able to get money later, like those lawyers on TV. They say they only get paid if you get paid.”

“That’s not the same kind of case, that’s a civil case,” Christine answered, touched by his naïveté.