Andi’s use of the word if didn’t escape Lila’s notice. “I’ve taken steps to make sure it never happens again. I promise—”

“Taken steps?”

Lila had hoped those words might slip past Andi’s keen ear, because behind them lay a sordid entanglement of things like PTSD, and therapy, and hospitalizations. To suggest that her panic attack was nothing—that they happened all the time—would not only be a lie, but would surely get her pushed to a division of the County Attorney’s Office where the consequences of a mistake like that would cause little harm.

But to say that it was a rare occurrence—which it was—planted the proverbial time bomb under her table in court. Andi could never be confident that it wouldn’t happen again, maybe at the height of an important cross examination or during a closing argument.

Lila tried a third option—deflection. “Being here is everything to me.” Lila heard the begging in her voice, and it sickened her. She could only imagine how those words sounded to a woman like Andi Fitch. Lila gathered her nerve and tried again. “I promise you, it will never happen again.”

“Lila, this is not an easy job. You were handling a first appearance. You should be able to do those in your sleep. What happens when there’s real pressure and you have the family of a murder victim in court watching you? You make a mistake at this level—you freeze up when it counts—and a murderer or a rapist walks free.”

Lila felt like she was clawing at the icy side of a glacier, desperately trying to keep from sliding down. “You’ve seen my résumé. I’ve handled pressure before.”

“This isn’t law school. It’s not pretend, and it’s not like TV. You won’t sleep the week of a jury trial. Your appetite messes with you. First you can’t eat, and then you’re famished but puke it up in the end. It’s pressure like nothing you’ve known before. If you can’t handle a first appearance, maybe there’s another part of the office where you might feel more comfortable.”

Be strong, Lila thought to herself. Show Andi what this means to you. “I didn’t go to law school to haul deadbeat dads into child support hearings. I want to be a prosecutor. I want to protect women from abusers like Donald Gray. I want to help you lock Gavin Spencer away so he’ll never rape anyone ever again. This job was why I went to law school in the first place. It’s here or it’s nothing. Give me another chance; I’ll show you. Please.” Begging. Stop it!