Exhibit A The Natalie Moreno Story

The morning sun had cleared the shorter buildings to the east and was beginning to reach the upper floors across the street, but down at sidewalk level most of the block remained in cool shadow. The concrete still held a little dampness from overnight humidity. Cars rolled through the intersection in uneven waves whenever the light changed, tires humming over pavement patched so many times that no two sections were quite the same shade of gray.

A city bus groaned away from the curb half a block down, leaving behind the brief smell of diesel exhaust.

Somewhere nearby, a truck was backing up.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Across the street, a man in a blue dress shirt hurried toward the courthouse carrying a leather portfolio and trying to drink coffee without slowing down. Two women wearing county identification badges stood near the employee entrance talking before work. A delivery driver had his van half on the curb while he unloaded boxes onto a handcart. Three people who looked every bit as thrilled about jury duty as Natalie felt were waiting at the crosswalk.

Above all of it stood the courthouse. Pale stone. Broad steps. Tall rectangular windows. Flags moving lazily in the weak morning breeze. The seal over the entrance gave the entire building the unmistakable appearance of someplace where somebody could tell you no and produce paperwork explaining why.

Natalie Moreno was headed directly toward it. At twenty-nine, Natalie had developed a theory about appointments with the government: arrive early enough that nobody could blame you when something went wrong.

She was twenty-three minutes early.

This would prove spectacularly insufficient.

For the moment, though, her biggest concern was the coffee in her right hand.

"Should've gotten the large," she muttered. Her purse hung from her left shoulder. Inside were her phone, wallet, car keys, a small makeup bag, and the jury summons she'd folded twice after parking two blocks away.

She had dressed carefully without really dressing up. Charcoal slacks. Black flats. A cream blouse tucked neatly at the waist. Small hoop earrings. Nothing flashy. Nothing memorable. Exactly what she wanted for jury duty. Her long brown hair was loose, freshly brushed, and still carried the faintest dampness underneath from her shower. Morning light brought warm golden undertones out of her medium-tan complexion whenever she crossed through a patch of sun. She had a naturally bottom-heavy figure, relatively small through the chest and fuller through her hips and thighs. The charcoal slacks suited her shape without making a production of it.

Her phone buzzed inside her purse.

Natalie kept walking.

"Not now."

Ahead of her, another sound joined the morning traffic.

A heavy diesel engine.

The source occupied several parking spaces immediately outside the courthouse.

A municipal vacuum truck sat against the curb with amber warning lights slowly revolving above its cab. Orange cones narrowed the sidewalk beside it. A round storm-drain cover had been removed near the gutter, leaving a dark opening in the

pavement. Two workers in reflective vests were working around it.

One stood beside the truck operating controls. Another was guiding a thick black suction hose into the opening. A second line, narrower but still substantial, snaked from the truck across the pavement.

The whole operation looked messy.

Water had already collected around the gutter. Muddy streaks ran toward the storm opening. The pavement immediately surrounding the workers was wet and almost black compared with the dry concrete farther away.

Natalie could hear the vacuum system working before she reached it.

A deep mechanical roar.

Then a sucking, gurgling sound from somewhere beneath the street.

She slowed. One worker glanced up.

"Morning, ma'am."

"Morning."

"Coming to the courthouse?"

Natalie lifted her coffee toward the enormous building directly beside them.

"Was it that obvious?"

He smiled.

"Stay close to the building for me. We've got this side blocked."

"Gotcha."

She moved closer to the courthouse wall.

The smell wasn't pleasant. Wet pavement, diesel exhaust, mud, and something stale rising from the open storm system. Natalie wrinkled her nose as she passed.

"That's lovely."

The worker heard her. "You get used to it."

"I don't think I want to."

He laughed.

Natalie continued walking.

She was perhaps fifteen feet from the hose when something changed. The vacuum's steady mechanical growl rose sharply. One worker looked toward the truck. The other looked down at the line. Natalie heard a metallic rattle.

Clank.

She stopped.

The worker nearest the hose suddenly shouted.

"SHUT IT DOWN!"

Natalie turned.

That was her mistake.

The coupling separated under pressure.

For one strange fraction of a second, Natalie saw everything with impossible clarity.

The worker throwing up an arm. The black hose jerking sideways. A spray of dirty water beginning to fan outward. Her coffee cup halfway to her mouth. Then the entire world became water. It hit her hard enough to knock her backward against the stone wall.

Her coffee disappeared.

Her purse swung violently behind her.

Cold, filthy water struck her face, hair, chest, and stomach before cascading down her legs. The force flattened her blouse against her body, becoming transparent, and filled both shoes almost instantly.

Natalie gasped.

Then it stopped.

The street seemed strangely quiet afterward, although it wasn't.

Traffic was still moving.

The truck was still running down.

Somewhere, that delivery van was still beeping.

Natalie stood against the courthouse wall.

Water streamed from the ends of her long brown hair.

Her cream blouse was no longer cream. Gray-brown water had soaked completely through it. Her charcoal pants were nearly black. Dirty runoff traveled down both legs and collected around her shoes.

Something small and brown slid off her shoulder.

Natalie watched it fall. She didn't want to know.

Then the smell hit her.

Her eyes widened.

"Oh."

Another second.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ." and she gagged violently.

The nearest worker came running.

"Ma'am, don't touch your face."

Natalie's hand stopped halfway toward her cheek.

She slowly looked at him.

"I wasn't planning on fucking tasting it."

"I'm serious. Don't wipe your eyes. That's storm-drain discharge."

Natalie looked down at herself.

Then back at him.

"I gathered that."

"I'm really sorry."

"Are you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Because I'm beginning to feel like you should be more sorry."

A sheriff's deputy who had been standing near the courthouse entrance came quickly down the steps.

"What happened?"

Natalie pointed at the truck.

"It attacked me."

"Coupling failed," the worker said.

Natalie looked at him.

"Whatever helps your insurance company sleep tonight."

The deputy looked at the muddy runoff, then at Natalie.

"Don't bring her through the main entrance."

Natalie blinked.

"I'm here for jury duty."

"That's fine." She stared at him.

"No. I'm pretty sure we've moved past fine."

Within several minutes, a fire department unit was pulling to the curb. That was when Natalie realized this wasn't merely an embarrassing accident anymore.

A firefighter approached wearing gloves.

"Ma'am, did any of it get into your mouth?"

"I don't think so."

"Eyes?"

"I don't think so."

"Any open cuts or wounds?"

"No." He looked toward the maintenance crew.

"What exactly were you pulling?"

One of the workers answered.

Natalie didn't hear all of it.

She caught storm system, standing water, and don't know what's in it.

Wonderful.

The firefighter turned back to her.

"We need to get you decontaminated."

Natalie looked down at her ruined clothes.

"Okay."

"That clothing needs to come off."

She looked back up.

"Less okay."

He handed her a white plastic bottle.

"Decontamination soap. Hair and entire body. Wash thoroughly and rinse thoroughly."

Natalie accepted it.

"Where?"

That single question would involve three firefighters, two deputies, a facilities employee, several radio transmissions, and an impressive demonstration of how difficult a county government could make finding a shower.

Eventually somebody remembered the holding area.

There was an unused holding cell with a stainless-steel shower.

Natalie closed her eyes. "Naturally."

The Holding Cell Deputy Harris escorted her through a secured employee entrance and down a fluorescent-lit corridor far removed from the polished public areas of the courthouse.

Every step produced the same humiliating sound.

Squish. Squish. Squish.

Natalie looked at him.

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You thought it."

"I've worked here seventeen years. I've never seen this happen."

"Wonderful. I'm historic."

The holding cell was concrete, stainless steel, and absolutely joyless. A narrow bench ran along one wall. The toilet was stainless steel. So was the small shower fixture. A drain sat in the center of the floor. The overhead fluorescent fixture produced a pale, unforgiving light that seemed specifically engineered to make every human being look tired.

Natalie stared inside.

"This is where I'm showering?"

"It's the only available shower."

"Of course it is."

The firefighter handed her two heavy plastic bags.

"Clothes in this one. Shoes in the other. Everything contaminated comes off."

Natalie looked down at herself.

Everything was contaminated.

The firefighter left.

Harris remained..

Natalie waited.

So did Harris.

Finally, she looked at him.

"Are you waiting for something?"

"I have to maintain security."

"You've maintained it." "I'm required to stay with you."

"Fine."

She pointed toward the corridor.

"Turn around."

Harris did.

Natalie set the soap on the bench.

Then she began removing what was left of her perfectly normal Thursday morning.

The blouse peeled reluctantly away from her wet skin. She had to work it over her head because the saturated material seemed determined to remain attached to her. When it finally came free, she dropped it into the plastic bag with a wet slap.

Her bra followed.

Cold courthouse air moved across her bare chest, raising goosebumps almost immediately. Her breasts were natural and relatively small, soft in shape, with compact medium-brown areolas and darker nipples. Her wet hair stuck to her shoulders and upper back. The temperature difference between the soaked clothing and conditioned air made her shiver.

Her slacks were worse.

She pushed them over her rounded hips, then fought the soaked fabric down her thick thighs until she could finally step free.

"Come on."

Into the bag they went.

Her underwear was last.

It was soaked through.

Natalie hooked her thumbs beneath the waistband and bent forward, pushing the wet material down her thighs.

There was no graceful way to do it.

Her rounded hips and backside were completely exposed beneath the hard fluorescent light. Her warm tan complexion naturally deepened around her pussy. The outer labia carried darker brown pigmentation, while her prominent inner labia were visible between them, transitioning toward softer pink along the exposed inner tissue.

It was simply her body.

Nothing posed. Nothing presented. Nothing remotely intended for somebody else's attention. And that made what happened next considerably worse.

Natalie felt it.

Someone watching.

She looked back.

Harris had turned his head. Their eyes met.

For one second, neither moved.

Natalie slowly straightened.

The embarrassment that had been creeping over her disappeared beneath anger.

"You were told to turn around."

His head snapped forward.

"I was checking the cell."

Natalie stared at the back of his head.

"Unless the fucking cell moved between my legs, try again."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Turn around and stay turned around." "Yes, ma'am."

Natalie finished removing her underwear and tied the contaminated-clothing bag closed.

Now she was completely naked.

Not bedroom naked.

Not stepping-out-of-her-own-shower naked.

Courthouse holding-cell naked.

Bare feet on cold concrete. Goosebumps covering her arms and legs. Long wet brown hair against her back.

Her small breasts, soft stomach, rounded hips, and thick thighs completely uncovered.

She picked up the soap.

"Can I shower now?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Outstanding."

The water came out cold.

Natalie jumped backward.

"OH, FUCK!"

Harris wisely said nothing.

Several seconds later it warmed.

Natalie stepped underneath.

The first warm water running over her skin should have felt good. Instead, all she could think about was what had been on her ten minutes earlier.

Hair first.

She washed it once. Rinsed.

Then washed it again.

Face. Neck. Shoulders. Arms. Chest. Stomach. Back as far as she could reach. Hips. Legs. Feet.

Everywhere.

The soap smelled medicinal and unpleasant. It dried her skin slightly and made her wet hair feel coarse beneath her fingers, but Natalie didn't care. She scrubbed until her skin felt clean, rinsed thoroughly, then washed again because she could still remember the smell from outside.

She scrubbed between her toes.

Under her nails.

Behind her ears.

Every fold and crease where contaminated water might have reached. By the time she finished, parts of her warm tan skin had turned pink from repeated washing.

Finally, she shut off the shower.

The sudden silence felt enormous.

Water dripped from the ends of her hair and traveled down her back, over the curve of her hips, and onto the concrete.

Natalie reached instinctively toward where a towel should have been.

Nothing.

She looked left.

Nothing.

Right.

Nothing.

She closed her eyes.

"Deputy."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Where's my towel?"

Silence.

Natalie opened her eyes.

"Deputy."

"I'll find one."

She stared at the concrete wall.

"You didn't bring me a towel." "No, ma'am."

"You brought a naked woman into a holding cell to take a shower and nobody thought she might eventually need a towel?"

"I'll get one."

"Please do."

Harris disappeared down the corridor.

Natalie stood alone, dripping onto the concrete.

She looked at the two sealed bags containing everything she'd worn into the courthouse.

Then another thought occurred to her.

"Wait."

She moved toward the doorway.

"Deputy?" His footsteps stopped somewhere outside.

"What am I supposed to wear after this?"

A considerably longer silence followed.

Natalie closed her eyes.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me."

Harris returned several minutes later carrying a stack of brown paper

towels.

Natalie stared at them.

He held them toward her without looking.

"They're all I could find."

"Those aren't towels."

"They're technically towels."

"They're what you dry your hands with at a gas station."

"I know."

Natalie took them.

"What's your name?"

"Harris."

"Well, Deputy Harris, congratulations. You've brought me the world's saddest bath towel."

She started drying herself.

The first sheet immediately disintegrated. Wet pieces stuck to her shoulder.

Natalie stared at them.

"Oh, perfect."

"What?"

"I'm molting."

Harris coughed.

She narrowed her eyes.

"You laugh and we're going to have another problem."

"No, ma'am."

She peeled soggy paper from her skin. The process was ridiculous. She would dry one arm and discover pieces of brown paper stuck to her elbow. Dry her stomach and leave a trail of fibers around her navel. She eventually abandoned the effort and squeezed as much water as possible from her hair with both hands.

"Did you find clothes?"

"Facilities is looking."

"That doesn't sound encouraging."

"They thought they had disposable coveralls."

Natalie's face brightened.

"Great."

"They don't."

Her face fell.

"Of course they don't."

"They're checking somewhere else."

"For pants?"

"Anything."

"I'll wear scrubs. Jail clothes. Somebody's gym shorts. I don't care."

Harris nodded.

His radio crackled.

"Harris?"

He reached for it.

"Go ahead."

"Jury administration is looking for Moreno." Natalie stared at him.

Harris closed his eyes briefly.

She pointed at the radio.

"No."

He keyed it.

"Moreno is with me. Medical decontamination."

"Copy. Her panel has been called to courtroom four."

Natalie shook her head.

"No."

"She's not available," Harris said.

"Jury coordinator says she's already checked in." "I'm aware."

"Judge wants the complete panel upstairs."

Natalie stared at the radio.

"Tell them I got sprayed with sewer water!"

"They know."

"Then why are we having this conversation?"

The radio answered before Harris could.

"Judge says bring her up. Court can address it."

Natalie looked down at herself.

Then at Harris.

"Does courtroom four have a different definition of naked?"

"I'm calling the jury coordinator."

"Excellent."

He stepped into the corridor.

Natalie could hear pieces of his conversation.

"Yes, she's here."

Pause.

"No, she isn't refusing."

Another pause.

"No. I mean she literally has no clothing."

Natalie covered her face. There were sentences nobody wanted spoken about them inside a courthouse.

That was one.

Eventually Harris returned.

"The coordinator is coming down."

"Good."

Natalie folded her arms across herself and waited.

The position covered very little, but doing something with her arms made her feel marginally less ridiculous.

A woman in her mid-fifties eventually appeared. Navy blazer. Courthouse identification clipped at her waist.

"Natalie?"

"Unless you've got another naked juror back here."

"I'm Linda Carver. Jury administration." Natalie gave her a tired little wave.

"Hi, Linda."

"I understand you've had an unusual morning."

Natalie looked at Harris.

"Unusual."

He wisely remained silent.

Linda continued.

"Your panel has already been sent to courtroom four."

"So I've heard."

"Because you checked in before the panel was assigned, the judge has to excuse you."

"Then have him excuse me."

"He wants to speak with you."

"Here?"

"Upstairs."

"No."

"I understand."

Natalie stared at her.

"Do you?"

Linda paused.

Natalie was tired of hiding behind the shower fixture.

She stepped farther into view. Linda's eyes widened momentarily before returning quickly to Natalie's face.

Natalie noticed.

Of course she noticed.

"I'm naked, Linda."

"I understand."

"People keep saying that, then immediately suggesting I walk somewhere. Those two things don't work together."

"I can ask again."

"Please."

Linda stepped away and made the call.

Natalie waited.

Harris waited.

Somewhere beyond the secure door, courthouse life continued as though nothing unusual was happening.

Doors opened. Radios crackled. An elevator chimed. Somebody pushed a cart past the far end of the corridor

without ever knowing that a naked juror was standing less than thirty yards away arguing about administrative procedure.

Linda returned.

Her expression gave Natalie the answer before she spoke.

"He said no."

"The judge wants the panel together before he handles excuses."

"Of course he does."

"We can hold the hallway."

Natalie looked at her.

"We can stop foot traffic between here and the elevator," Linda explained. "Harris can escort you directly upstairs. We'll clear the immediate hallway outside courtroom four."

"And inside?"

"The judge, bailiff, and court reporter would remain."

"And the attorneys?"

Linda hesitated.

"Probably."

Natalie began counting on her fingers.

"So we're clearing the courtroom except for everybody in the courtroom."

Harris suddenly became fascinated by the floor.

Linda sighed.

"I see your point." "Thank you."

Another radio transmission arrived.

"Harris, be advised, courtroom four is holding for juror Moreno."

Natalie looked toward the ceiling.

Somewhere upstairs, an entire courtroom was waiting for her.

She looked at Linda.

"How long until the judge gets pissed?"

Linda checked her watch.

"He already is."

Natalie nodded.

"Fantastic."

Lost and Found Linda made one final attempt.

"Let me check lost and found."

Natalie looked at her.

"You have a lost and found?"

"Security does."

"With clothes?"

"Sometimes."

For the first time in several minutes, Natalie felt something resembling hope.

"Please."

Linda disappeared.

Natalie waited.

Five minutes.

Then seven.

Harris remained outside the cell, now making an obvious effort to look anywhere except toward Natalie.

Finally, Linda returned.

She was carrying something gray between two fingers.

Natalie looked at it.

Then at Linda.

"What is that?"

"A hoodie."

"I can see that."

It was an old gray pullover from the courthouse lost-and-found.

Calling it gray was generous.

The cuffs were nearly black with ground-in dirt. Pale streaks of dried dust covered one sleeve. There was a faded construction-company logo across the chest, and the whole thing looked as though somebody had worn it through several twelve-hour shifts before abandoning it.

Natalie recoiled.

"Absolutely not."

"It's the only clothing we found."

"That's not clothing. That's evidence."

Harris turned his head to hide a smile.

Natalie pointed at him. "Don't."

"I'm not doing anything."

Linda held it out.

"We can keep looking."

Natalie stared at the hoodie.

Then at herself.

Then back at the hoodie.

"How long?"

"I don't know."

Harris's radio provided the answer in its own special way.

"Status on Juror Moreno?"

Natalie shut her eyes.

"Give me the fucking hoodie."

She took it between two fingers.

It smelled faintly of sweat, concrete dust, and somebody else's workday.

Natalie's nose wrinkled.

"Oh, God."

"You don't have to wear it," Linda said.

"Apparently I do."

She pulled it over her head. Her damp hair caught inside the collar. For several seconds, Natalie disappeared inside gray fabric while she fought to find the neck opening.

"Where's the fucking hole?"

Harris looked away.

Her head finally emerged.

She shoved both arms into the sleeves and yanked the sweatshirt downward.

Then stopped. The hem reached approximately to her belly button.

Natalie looked down.

"No."

Harris inspected the ceiling.

Linda pressed her lips together. Natalie pulled harder.

Nothing.

The hoodie was several sizes too small. It covered her breasts and shoulders and barely reached her waist.

Below that, it accomplished absolutely nothing. Her rounded hips, backside, groin, and legs remained completely uncovered.

She tugged again.

"Come on."

Nothing.

She tried stretching the hem.

Still useless.

Natalie released it.

There she stood, barefoot and naked from the waist down, wearing a filthy abandoned construction hoodie that smelled like somebody else's armpits.

She looked down at herself.

Her entire lower body remained exposed. The sweatshirt didn't come remotely close to concealing her backside or the darker pigmentation and visible contours of her vulva. If anything, the sharp line where the dirty gray fabric stopped at her belly made the absence of everything below it more conspicuous.

She looked at Linda.

"Whose hoodie was this, a twelve-year-old construction worker?"

"I think it shrank."

"Of course it fucking shrank."

Natalie pulled at the hem one final time. Nothing.

"You know what?"

Harris continued staring at the ceiling.

"What?"

"This is actually worse."

Linda nodded sympathetically.

"I can see that."

"No, seriously. Five minutes ago I was naked because something happened to me."

Natalie gestured at the hoodie.

"Now I look like I chose an outfit."

Harris made a noise. Natalie's head snapped toward him.

"Did you just laugh?"

"No."

"You absolutely did."

"I'm sorry."

Natalie looked down at herself again.

The ridiculous hoodie became the final insult.

She had tried.

Everyone had tried.

This was apparently the best the county government could accomplish.

For almost half an hour, Natalie had been trying to solve one remarkably simple problem.

She needed clothes.

That was it.

She wasn't demanding a lawyer. She wasn't asking for money. She wasn't requesting diplomatic immunity; she just wanted pants.

The county government possessed a courthouse, holding cells, armed deputies, elevators, computers, judges, hundreds of employees, and apparently seventeen different policies governing Natalie Moreno's whereabouts.

It could not produce a fucking pair of pants.

Something inside her finally ran out.

Natalie exhaled.

"Fuck it." Linda blinked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Fuck it."

Natalie stopped tugging at the hoodie.

"I'm done."

"Natalie, we can keep trying."

"For what?"

"We might find something."

"You've been trying."

"Yes."

"And have you found anything?"

Linda looked at the filthy hoodie. "No."

"Then I'm done."

She wasn't suddenly comfortable.

That mattered.

The embarrassment hadn't magically disappeared because she'd said two words.

Natalie remained intensely aware of the cool air against her exposed lower body. She could feel the temperature of the courthouse on skin that normally would have been beneath underwear and slacks. She knew precisely what was visible when she stood still, what would move when she walked, and what anyone behind her

would see.

Her heart was beating faster than normal.

Her face felt hot.

She hated this.

What had changed was something simpler.

Embarrassment apparently required energy.

Natalie had none left.

"Where's courtroom four?"

Linda hesitated.

"Third floor."

"Elevator?"

"End of this corridor."

Natalie nodded.

"Let's go." Harris looked genuinely surprised.

"Seriously?"

She stared at him.

"Deputy, thirty minutes ago I would've crawled through an air duct to keep somebody from seeing my ass."

Despite himself, Harris smiled.

Natalie pointed at him.

"Don't get comfortable."

The smile disappeared.

"Yes, ma'am."

She walked toward the cell door.

At the threshold, she stopped. Beyond it stretched a long institutional corridor beneath bright fluorescent lights.

This felt different.

Inside the holding cell, being naked had still felt temporary. Private. Something happening behind a secured door while everybody figured out how to restore normal life.

Walking into that hallway meant accepting that normal life wasn't coming back anytime soon.

Her stomach tightened.

Her heart started pounding.

For a moment, Natalie nearly retreated.

She could go back behind the shower.

She could demand they keep looking.

She could sit on that miserable stainless-steel bench for the next three hours.

Then she remembered the storm-drain truck.

The firefighter.

The plastic bags.

The shower.

The paper towels.

Harris looking when he wasn't supposed to.

The filthy hoodie.

And the judge upstairs who apparently couldn't simply say, Obviously, excuse the naked woman.

Natalie's expression hardened.

"Fuck it." She stepped into the hallway.

Her bare feet met cold tile.

The first step was the hardest.

The second wasn't much better.

By the fourth, she was committed.

Harris moved ahead of her. Linda walked several yards in front, checking intersections before waving them forward.

Natalie followed.

The dirty hoodie moved against her stomach with each step. Everything below its hem remained bare. Cool air moved across her thighs. She could feel her long damp hair brushing against the back of the sweatshirt.

She resisted the instinct to cover herself with her hands. If she started doing that now, she knew she'd spend the entire trip upstairs twisted into some ridiculous posture trying to conceal parts of herself that simply could not all be concealed at once.

So she walked.

Barefoot.

Half dressed.

Mortified.

Angry.

And increasingly determined to make the absurdity somebody else's problem.

If the county wanted Juror Moreno in courtroom four this badly, the county was getting Juror Moreno exactly as the county had managed to dress her.

At the elevator, Linda pressed the button.

They waited.

Natalie watched the illuminated numbers descend.

3.

2.

1.

Ding.

The doors opened.

A courthouse employee stood inside holding a stack of folders.

He looked at Linda.

Then Harris.

Then Natalie. His eyes dropped instinctively.

His mouth opened.

Then closed.

Natalie saw every bit of it.

There was a time, perhaps twenty minutes earlier, when that reaction would have made her want the floor to swallow her.

Now she simply stepped into the elevator.

"Morning."

The man snapped his eyes toward the opposite wall.

"Morning."

Linda stepped in and pressed three. The doors closed.

Natalie caught her reflection in the polished metal.

Four adults going upstairs.

Three dressed for court.

One wearing a filthy construction worker's hoodie and absolutely nothing below it.

She stared at herself.

Her hair was still damp and slightly tangled. Her makeup had been washed completely away. The oversized sleeves covered part of her hands even though the sweatshirt somehow couldn't manage to cover her hips. Her bare legs looked absurd beneath it.

Natalie shook her head.

"Twenty-three minutes early."

Harris looked over.

"What?"

She stared at the glowing number above the door.

"I got here twenty-three fucking minutes early."

The elevator began to climb.

And Natalie Moreno hadn't even reached the courtroom yet.

The smell got worse as the elevator climbed.

Natalie had noticed it downstairs, of course. Sweat. Concrete dust. Old fabric. Something faintly sour trapped deep in the fibers. She'd convinced herself she could tolerate it because the alternative was walking through a courthouse completely naked.

By the second floor, she was reconsidering the entire premise.

She hooked a finger inside the collar and pulled it away from her neck.

"Oh, God."

Harris glanced over.

"What?" "This fucking sweatshirt."

The courthouse employee standing in the opposite corner remained intensely interested in the illuminated floor numbers.

Natalie sniffed the collar again and immediately regretted it.

"It smells like somebody framed a house in August wearing it."

Linda tried to help.

"We're almost there."

"That's what people say immediately before something gets worse."

The elevator chimed.

Third floor. The doors opened onto a broad public hallway that looked nothing like the concrete holding area downstairs. Cream-colored walls. Dark wood trim. Framed photographs of judges. Wooden benches. Brass courtroom plaques. Muted carpet farther down the corridor. The air carried the faint smell of coffee, old paper,

furniture polish, and the peculiar cool dryness of an over-air-conditioned government building.

People were out there.

Not many, because Linda had arranged to hold the immediate hallway, but enough.

A clerk carrying files disappeared through an office door. An attorney stood farther down speaking quietly into his phone. Two people sitting on a bench looked up when the elevator opened.

Then looked again.

Natalie stepped out.

The hoodie rode up.

She yanked it down.

It immediately crept back toward her belly button.

"Goddammit."

She'd reached her limit.

"Nope."

Harris stopped.

"What?"

"I can't."

"Can't what?"

"Wear this."

Natalie grabbed the bottom hem.

Linda's eyes widened. "Natalie."

"This thing is fucking disgusting."

And in once quick yank Natalie removed the hoodie.