Chapter Seven

February 12, 3:15 p.m., High Prosecutor's Office, Room 1202

I stood outside Edgeworth's office door, sweating bullets and unable to knock. The manila folder I held now bore two damp sets of fingerprints where I was gripping it so tightly. Just when I was ready to turn around and pretend that I had no business being there, the door opened on its own.

Staring at me with his usual scowl was Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. He seemed mildly bewildered at seeing me outside his door, but hid his surprise well. "Wright," he stated. It was neither question nor greeting, just an acknowledgment that I was there, standing in front of his door clutching a manila envelope full of pictures of him kissing...

No, not kissing. It wasn't a kiss, it was CPR, I had to remind myself. So why did I feel the heat rising in my face every time I thought about it? Why did my stomach twist so sharply at the thought of these particular two individuals engaging in, er, "romantic activities"?

Maybe it's because even the hypothetical idea of them together, when Edgeworth treats Gumshoe so badly, makes me sick, I decided, the anger rising in me and erasing any doubts I had about coming here. "Edgeworth, we need to talk."

I shoved past him into his office, eliciting an indignant, sputtering reaction from Edgeworth that normally would have amused me. "Please, Wright," he invited dryly as he regained his composure, "invade my office at your leisure. Goodness knows I've nothing better to do than entertain your endless prying into my personal matters."

"That's exactly why I'm here, actually," I told him, turning to face the prosecutor as he closed his office door. "Edgeworth, drop the case. I have enough evidence already to cast reasonable doubt on Gumshoe's involvement in the murder. You can just throw the case, or let someone else..."

"I can't do that, Wright," he interrupted, folding his arms and giving me one of those aloof glares. "You know that I never 'throw' a case. It's a matter of personal and professional pride. I couldn't let anyone else handle this case, either, for the same reason."

"Then you're saying you would condemn an innocent man-- and a friend-- to death, for your own pride?!"

He set his jaw stonily. "He hasn't been proven innocent yet, Wright. How do I know he didn't really kill that reporter?"

I gaped at him openly, shocked that he could even think such a thing. "You know he's innocent!" I exploded. "Why else would you have asked me to defend him?!"

"Because I knew that if he were innocent, you would do everything in your power to prove it," he answered easily. "So, can you prove it?"

"I can prove that he's willing to die rather than soil your spotless reputation!" I snarled, flinging the folder at him. He fumbled it, and managed to grab the edge of the folder itself, but the photographs tumbled out and drifted to the floor like autumn leaves.

Kneeling down, he tried to scoop the pictures back into the folder, but paused as he caught sight of the contents. I held my breath. The prosecutor had gone very still, but he couldn't control the trembling of his hands as he slowly lifted each photograph off the floor. He stood, though his legs didn't seem to want to support him, so he took a shaky step backwards and dropped onto the couch. "These are..."

"You know when these were taken," I said, no less sternly, but in a quieter tone. "You remember the promise you made Gumshoe keep. You didn't want anyone to know. Well, he got himself into this because of his promise to you. He kept these pictures a secret, even from you, and when he tried to get them back..." I shook my head. "I know he didn't do this. Someone else had to have been involved."

"But you still don't have proof, do you?" The challenge was back in his voice, though he still appeared to be shaken by the news. "You can't point to the real killer."

"Not yet, but I've got a hunch, and it's only a matter of time before I find the evidence to back it up," I promised, sounding more confident than I felt. It was a tactic I used in the courtroom; Mia called it "Fake it 'til you make it." I was pretty sure I could figure this out, too, but at the moment I was just trying to get Edgeworth to stop looking so hopeless. Funny, I was ready to punch him in the eye just a minute ago, and now I wanted to make him feel better. "Anyway, I don't think you should be on this case. If you got Gumshoe the death penalty, how could you live with yourself?"

He stared at me then, gray eyes blazing. "Detective Gumshoe is his own man, and can make his own decisions. It's not my job to babysit him!"

"But if you keep fighting for a guilty verdict, you're effectively saying that his loyalty means nothing to you!"

A harsh, short laugh escaped him. "Do you really believe that?" He dropped the folder on the couch and stood, striding the short three steps to reach me. Though he didn't touch me, his presence was undeniable-- especially with that measly inch of height advantage he had over me. "Tell me, Wright, if I really wanted to get Gumshoe pronounced guilty, would I have called you to be his defense? You, the only attorney who has ever defeated me in all these years?"

That had me speechless. Was he saying...?

"Yes, Wright. I have to stay on this case. Believe me, it's not what I wanted, but I had no choice. If I were to suddenly pass this off onto somebody else, do you realize how suspicious that would make me look? People are already whispering rumors about myself and the good detective." His scowl was downright thunderous. "You condemn me for my pride, but I'm telling you now that I've swallowed every ounce of pride I had to ask you this favor! You, the only defense attorney who ever defeated me in court after all these years. I've done everything I possibly can to ensure that Detective Gumshoe receives a 'not guilty' by the end of this trial. It's in your hands now, Wright. You are the only person who can save him."

Tension sang between us like electrical wires. He was so close, I could have touched him just by breathing too deeply. "Edgeworth, I... I didn't know." I swallowed hard. "So, you really do care?"

His shoulders drooped a little, and he rubbed his forehead with one hand as he turned and leaned against the polished desk. "Of course I do. Why would I go to all this trouble if I didn't care, even a little bit? Detective Gumshoe is a valuable ally... and friend." That last part seemed to take a lot of courage to admit. "I just... I can't return the feelings... he has for me."

I felt my face burning through several different shades of red. "Wh-what do you mean, feelings?"

His knowing smirk was tempered with a sort of gentle regret. "Really, Wright, you hadn't noticed? The detective is smitten with me. He told me so that night those pictures were taken. It was, I'm embarrassed to admit, a bit too much for me to handle in my inebriated state, and I lost consciousness briefly. When I woke, Gumshoe was pumping water out of my lungs."

So, there were some feelings there, after all. Poor Gumshoe; having such a one-sided relationship with the prosecutor must have been torture for him. I almost felt ashamed for prying so deeply into this matter. There was no way any of this was going to help me in the courtroom tomorrow. "Edgeworth, if you know anything that might shed some light on this..."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Wright. If I did, I would have told you by now."

Turning to face me again, he hesitated when he realized how close I was still standing to him. Then, seeming to come to some sort of decision, he brought his hand up to my face. Two fingers drifted across my lower lip, and I froze, holding my breath for fear that any sort of movement would... what, I'm not sure. Encourage him? Frighten him away? I don't know which I feared more.

Just as suddenly, he moved away, and I blinked. He was behind his desk now, shuffling the photographs back into their folder. What had just happened? Or, rather, almost happened? "I'll be keeping these, if you don't mind. They have no bearing on the case. Except maybe for this one."

He handed me the last of the photos. I'd overlooked it before, because it wasn't like the other three. At first, I'd mistaken it for a fluke. Looking more closely, however, I realized that it was a picture of a gloved hand... holding a gun! It was a little blurry, but it couldn't be anything else. The end of the gun was pointed at a pale, roundish shape that was even more out of focus than the hand and the gun. I couldn't figure out what it was. "How could this possibly help?"

"I'm already helping you as much as I can. If I told you anything more, it would be compromising my responsibility as your opposition." He folded his arms and looked away.

I blinked, then smirked at him. "You don't know, either, do you?"

Edgeworth was too pale to hide the sudden rush of pink in his cheeks. "... You'd better get going, Wright. You have a case to prepare for tomorrow."

Giving him an exaggerated wink, I replied, "Sure, sure. Of course. Well, Edgeworth, thanks for your help. I won't let you down." Reaching over the desk, I offered him my hand. He hesitated, then took it in a firm grip and shook it once.

"I hope, for all our sakes, that you'll be able to uphold that promise." His expression was unreadable. Giving my hand one last, light squeeze, he released it. "Good luck, Wright."

As I left the office, I found myself bringing a hand up to my mouth, wondering about Edgeworth's actions. The look in his eyes had frightened me a little, but at the same time I found myself... curious. What did he want from me? More importantly, was it something I was willing to give him?

Edgeworth's parting words made me sigh. "Luck," I muttered to myself. "I'll need more than that to win this case."