"It would have helped if Steve hadn't blubbered out the entire story to the detective questioning him." Dallas Kirby leaned back on a rickety wooden chair and pushed his over-sized Texas cowboy hat back as he watched her. Cynthia seethed.

That idiot, didn't the words "right to remain silent' ring any bells for him?

She considered Dallas' demeanor. He didn't seem overly ruffled by Steve's confession. Nothing did seem to ruffle the courtroom cowboy much. Cynthia never had liked Dallas' appearance. His western cut suits were garish, in her opinion. He didn't even fall on the chart of worst dressed men. He was simply worst dressed ever. Nobody dared tell the imposing man that. Cynthia figured she could understand the reluctance to confront him on his attire. His enormous hands that were smooth, and manicured, looked just about the right size to fit around a neck. Dallas' toothy smile was unfit for even a shark in its confident distain, and arrogance, and gave no hint whatsoever that he would shed any tear of remorse for squelching any opposition either.

"What are my chances?" Right at this moment, Cynthia couldn't care less what kind of time Steve ended up doing. She'd looked after her brother all her life. When they were children, her mother and father had better things to do than concern themselves over the needs of them, and nannies were a poor substitute for caring parents. So she'd taken it upon herself to be a mother to her baby brother. As they got older, no matter how she tried, she couldn't shake him. Now was as good a time as any.