STILL FEELING STUNG by Davis’s cross-examination of Rich Conklin and the stress of the entire horrid day, Yuki left the Hall of Justice by the back door and walked several blocks out of her way, checking her BlackBerry as she walked.

  She deleted messages, made notes for the file, sent an e-mail to Red Dog, who was now back in his home office asking for a report. She entered the All Day parking lot from the rear and had just opened the door of her brownish-gray Acura sedan when she heard someone call her name.

  Yuki turned, frisked the crowded lot with her eyes, saw Jason Twilly loping toward her against traffic on Bryant, calling out, “Yuki, hey, hang on a minute.” Yuki reached into the car, put her briefcase on the passenger seat, and turned back to face the superstar writer, who was closing in.

  Twilly looked fantastic, Yuki thought, as she watched him maneuver through the crowded parking lot. She liked everything about the way he put his act together: the cut of his hair, the Oliver Peoples glasses framing his intense dark brown eyes. Today he was wearing a fine blue shirt under a well-fitted gray jacket, and his pants were buckled with a plain Hermès belt that must’ve cost seven hundred dollars.

  Twilly pulled up to where she stood with her car door opened between them, not even blowing hard from his run.

  “Hey, Jason. What’s wrong?”

  “Not a thing,” he said, eyes locking on hers. “I just wanted to tell you that I thought you rocked today.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No, I mean it. You’re great on your feet, and it’s smart the way you’re handling the press. Davis is out there campaigning on the front steps and you’re -”

  “The defense has to spin this,” Yuki said. “I have to prove Junie Moon is guilty, a............