As Richard pushed him toward the open doorway, Ethan twisted his head around to look back.

His eyes found mine across the corridor, wide and frightened, his fingers twitching against his coat sleeve.

I took half a step forward, but the bailiff moved into my way, and the heavy double oak doors of the courtroom swung shut in my face while Ethan was still looking back over his shoulder.

I spun on my heel and went down the granite steps to my sedan.

At half past nine, the readiness room at the Oakridge Military Reserve Depot smelled of pine cleaner and gun oil.