"Ask me how I sleep at night," he challenged her.

Connie looked McCoy straight in the eyes. "How do you sleep at night?"

Jack ignored the contempt in her voice and replied triumphantly," like a baby." He left the office without giving her a second glance.

He strode to the elevator, pleased at getting the last word in. He had felt Connie's disapproval all week. Jack knew in his heart Samantha Weaver was guilty. He had no qualms about the tactics he'd used to ensure her conviction. He wasn't about to pretend otherwise.

He turned around, the sound of high heels getting closer. He figured Connie was ready for round two and he was more than ready
to oblige.

"So, you convicted a woman for being a hard ass. You must be proud, Jack."

McCoy punched the elevator button, slightly harder than he intended. "I convicted a woman for being a murderer, Liz."

"Sure you did," sneered the statuesque blonde.

"Damn it, Liz. You of all people should know me better than that," McCoy replied as he stepped into the elevator.

Elizabeth Donnelly followed him into the car. "I thought I did. Until today."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me," he asked with increasing annoyance.

"I had lunch with your assistant today."

"Since when does a criminal courts judge have time to lunch with a lowly ADA,"McCoy asked, obviously annoyed.

"Jack,"she said sweetly," you know I always make the time to get to know your lastest...assistant. Seems your case against Samantha Weaver hung on a hooker's testimony and a character assassination that set women's rights back about a hundred years."

"You're a judge now, not a prosecutor. I don't second guess how you run a courtroom; don't second guess how I run a murder case," he snapped.

"If you'd been in my courtroom, the testimony of those men would have been deemed inadmissible. The defendant is supposed to be guilty of the crime she's charged with. Not guilty of being disliked by the jury. Or the lead procesutor."

"What are you talking about?"

"Come off it, Jack. We both know what this is really about. Samantha Weaver could be her twin."

"I'm not having this conversation with you."

McCoy strode towards his motorcycle, Donnelly on his heels.

"Jack. Putting an innocent woman in jail isn't going to give you anymore control over our daughter."

McCoy spun around, staring at his ex wife in utter disbelief.

"Have you lost your mind? You really think I'd send a woman to prison because she looks like Beth?"

"She not only looks like her. She's as cunning and ruthless. Weaver fired a man who was caring for his dying wife. Not much different than our girl declaring she's not only going to defend a child molesters, but she's going to live with one."

McCoy stared at Donnelly. "One of the benefits of divorce is: I don't have to suffer your dime store analysis of my behavior. In or out of the courtroom."

Donnelly grinned." Wrong, counselor. We share a child. That is a tie that never severs. Not even with divorce. You're going to have to deal with that and the choices your daughter has made. One way or another."

McCoy mounted the motorcycle, fastening his helmet. "To hell with you, Liz." McCoy turned the key. "To hell with you and to hell with her."

Donnelly shook her head as the motorcycle disappeared into the night.