Connie Rubirosa stormed away from the courthouse, briefcase in hand. That stupid bastard, she thought. That stupid tool, pimping me out to the jury like that. She felt like just collapsing on to a street corner and crying. That can wait until I get home, Connie thought.

Michael returned to the office in a daze. He sat down at his desk, shocked at how things had gone with Connie.

"So," said Jack, poking his head through the door, "what was the verdict?"

"Guilty," sighed Mike.

"You don't look so enthused about that," said Jack, sitting down in a chair in Mike's office. "Is it about Connie?"

Michael sighed. "I just feel guilty about the whole thing with Mr. Campbell."

"And a bit jealous?"

"Why would I be jealous?" said Mike. Jack's question had caught him off guard.

"Because you feel just the same way about her," said Jack. "And honestly, I get. Did you hear about Claire Kincaid and me? Okay, everyone has heard about Claire and me. All I'm saying is just make sure that your heart is in the right place." With that, Jack got up and left.

Mike sat for a few seconds, absorbing what Jack had told him. Then he stood up.

He had an apology to make.

Connie, in sweatpants and a baggy sweater, sat on the couch, her eyes glued to the TV. Greasy cardboard cartons that were at one point filled with Chinese food sat beside her.

She was trying not to burst in to tears for the third time that hour. She still wanted Mike. She wanted him bad. Even when he did stupid, boneheaded stuff to her. How could she love and hate someone at the same time as much as she did.

A knock at the door interrupted her musings. Who would want to talk to me at seven-thirty on a Wednesday night? She thought. Some deep part of her wished that it was Mike.

Unfortunately, her wishes were not answered. Her mystery knocker turned out to be Juror #8, Mr. Campbell.

"Mr. Campbell," Connie said firmly, "I received your e-mail. You confronted me on the street. I have always said no. Now please leave."



"Oh come on," said Mr. Campbell, "you should be out celebrating that verdict. But not with that prick of a co-prosecutor you have."

"Whether Mike Cutter is a prick or not and whether I celebrate my court victories or not is my business," Connie said, her voice wavering. "Now, please leave, or I will phone the police."

Mr. Campbell did quite the opposite. He burst through the door and pinned Connie to the wall.

"Oh you'll celebrate," said Mr. Campbell. "With me."

Connie began to shake uncontrollably. Then, she screamed.

Mike was all prepared to apologize. He had just stepped off the elevator with a red rose in his hand. And then he heard the scream. Holy crap, he thought as he started to run down the hall, that sounded like Connie.

Connie was pinned against the wall, screaming for her life. She was writhing, and trying to escape from Mr. Campbell.

And then all of a sudden, like a beacon of light, Mike burst through the door.

"Let her go you creep!" he shouted. This distracted Mr. Campbell enough for Connie to escape. She bolted in to her bedroom and dialed nine-one-one.

"Hello? 33rd Precinct? Lieutenant Van Buren… yes, this is ADA Rubirosa. Someone is attacking EADA Cutter and I in my apartment… yes, it has something to do with that creepy juror from the Melinda Whitman case… thirty seconds? Thanks."

The police, as promised, burst through the door thirty seconds later. Connie went out to greet them, and then looked at the floor.

"Oh my," Connie said. "Oh my god."

And then she fainted.