“What did Travis tell you about her?”
“I’d rather hear what you have to say.”
Matt stepped back. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m not doing anything,” she said, and for the first time he saw a break in her composure. She was as emotional as he was. “I just want the truth.”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
“I honestly don’t care about past girlfriends. We both have old relationships. But I need to know that what I’m doing is for the right reasons, not because you have a personal conflict with Travis Hart.”
She might as well have kicked him in the gut. “If I had a personal conflict with anyone, I would fight my own battles,” he said. “I—I don’t know how I lost your trust.”
“You haven’t,” she said. “I just think ... I don’t know. Maybe you really didn’t think it was important. I’m okay. Yeah, I was mad at first, but I know how these things get twisted around and I can give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“I don’t want the benefit of the doubt,” he snapped. “I don’t want you to doubt me at all.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Sharon Anderson was my first law clerk. She was assigned to both Travis and me. I liked her a lot—she was smart and funny and very good at her job. But she was also very ambitious. So was I, so was Travis. From the beginning, Travis and I were rivals, and it wasn’t healthy. I was as guilty as he was in that rivalry, except I never did anything to jeopardize justice—on my cases or his.
“Travis convinced Sharon that I wanted her to fudge on a warrant. She did. I caught it and reprimanded her, and she told me I’d ordered her to do it, which wasn’t true. I thought she’d misunderstood what I said, so from then on I put everything in writing. But somehow, Travis convinced her that I was just protecting my own ass. Sharon was a workaholic, and Travis had her doing things he should have done himself. Yet—he would go to her with extra work and tell her I wanted it done by morning. I didn’t know any of this at the time, so when she turned things in early I just said thank you. She felt I didn’t acknowledge her sacrifices.” He rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t see what was going on. I admit I have tunnel vision when I’m working an important case, and it was worse when I was new. Once I figured out that Travis was sabotaging my working relationship with Sharon—why, I still don’t know—I tried to fix it, but it was too late. Sharon had changed. I suspected she was doing drugs, but couldn’t prove it. Then I found out that she and Travis were involved. It explained a lot.”
“What happened after that?”
“Sharon worked late one night and crashed her car. No one, except Sharon, was hurt. She tested positive for narcotics and was suspended from work pending rehab. She went to rehab, but never came back.”
“You don’t sound too sympathetic.”
What did that mean? “Can we sit down?” he asked.
“Matt—it’s late. I’m tired. I’m fine. I’m glad you told me your side.”
“My side? Did he tell you something different?”
She shrugged. “It’s a matter of perspective, I guess.”
“No, it’s not. I was wholly professional in my dealings with Sharon and Travis. I blame Travis for most of it, but Sharon chose to believe him.”
“And it wasn’t because you were jealous?”
“Jealous? Of Travis?” What the hell was she talking about.
Alex tilted her head. Now she looked confused. “Were you romantically involved with Sharon before Travis? I’m not saying it’s wrong, but it might explain why you hate him so much.”
Now it all came clear. Travis—that bastard—had told half-truths. Twisted things around. But this was an out-and-out lie.
“I never had a relationship with Sharon Anderson. Never. In fact, I’ve never dated anyone who worked in the D.A.’s office, except long before I ran for D.A., I went out a few times with the assistant director of the crime lab. Technically, the crime lab is under our umbrella, but they’re separate entities.” He paused. He wanted to be angry with Alex for believing what Travis Hart said, for not asking him for the truth immediately. But he was more desperate than angry.
He looked around her apartment. It was small—the kitchen opened into the living room. It was sparsely furnished, and she still had boxes stacked against one wall, as if she was moving in or moving out. What if he’d taken her to bed that night when she’d come to him after leaving her boyfriend? Would she have still moved into this place? It was clean, but generic. She hadn’t personalized it. It was like she was living in limbo, either waiting for her old life ... or a new one.