Interview with ANGELA SMITH author of DARK JUSTICE @angelaswriter

DARK JUSTICE
Angela Smith
* Romantic Suspense *

Title: DARK JUSTICE
Author: Angela Smith
Publisher: Independent
Pages: 249
Genre: Romantic Suspense

She’s in love with her sister’s killer…Lauren has loved Luke since first grade. They planned to marry—until
he murdered her sister. The moment he was sentenced to prison, Lauren
fled with her secret baby and made a new life. Now she’ll do anything to
keep their daughter safe. But her hard won peace shatters when Luke is
exonerated, and it sets her on a path of mixed emotions to discover the
truth. Letting a killer into their tightly knit family is out of the
question. Or is it?She almost destroys her life by threatening his…

Prison stole his future with Lauren and twelve years of Luke’s life,
so the last thing he needs from her is a knife in the back or a gun in
his face. Lauren believes he killed her sister, and he has no plans to
pick up where they left off. Luke can’t afford to trust her, but he
wants nothing more than to convince her he’s worth fighting for.Their daughter is in danger…

Luke is heartbroken when he learns they had a child together. Now his
daughter is in danger. Lauren trusted the wrong person for far too
long, but he hopes she’ll now trust him. Luke will risk everything to
keep them safe. And Lauren will risk everything if she lets him into her
heart.

★★★★★ ORDER YOUR COPY ★★★★★

Amazon → www.amzn.com/B07TZWHCC3

Barnes & Noble → https://tinyurl.com/y4j5n4yd

INTERVIEW

· What is on your nightstand?

The latest book I’m reading! My phone (always dark and silent at night though) a sleep mask, and water!

· What author would you totally fan?

Sandra Brown!

· What makes you cringe?

My former boss, District Attorney (because I work at fulltime at DA Office for past 21 years) always said he is never surprised but often disappointed. It’s kind of my mantra now. I’m not sure anything truly makes me cringe anymore. Except a snake. Because snakes are always scary if you sneak up on them , or vice versa.

· Do you obsessively plot out each point or just go with the flow?

I go with the flow. My characters don’t let me be too obsessive. They will tell me if I write something that doesn’t belong in the story.

· Is there a word you love to use?

I have to watch myself using that too often. It’s a throwaway word, something that many readers might not realize that they see, but it can unknowingly distract us from that scene.

______________________

Luke—Twelve Years Ago
 
“All rise for the jury.” 
I stand, my legs unsteady. The jurors filter in, one by one, their eyes downcast. Those who look, only glance at the prosecutor. 
Not me or my defense attorney. 
Wayne’s breath hitches. It’s a whispery whoosh, a sound he likely doesn’t realize he’s made, but it tells me everything I need to know. I almost collapse in defeat. 
He thinks they found me guilty. And by their expressions, I agree. 
I size up the crowd gathering in the courtroom. 
Most of them sit on the prosecutor’s side. Clint is there. Once my best friend,

but now I’m convinced he’s a killer. He’s next to Lauren. The love of my life

and the one I presumed would stand by my side forever. But since she believes I

killed her sister, I guess I can’t blame her for turning her back on me.
But Clint? Fear curls my spine. He’s charming, I’ll give him that, but he’s an absolute psycho. Nobody in Lauren’s family will listen, especially Lauren. And before all this, I wouldn’t have believed Clint is the killer. He killed her sister. How do I know she won’t be next? How can I protect her if I’m locked in prison for the rest of my life? 
The judge drones on about the charge, then asks the jury if they’ve reached a decision. Wayne shifts and gives me a blink that tells me he wants to make sure I’m aware of what’s going on. I’m eighteen, for God’s sake. How could anyone my age understand criminal justice? 
He’s warned me of how you can never predict a jury, but this group of fourteen holds their heads high as if they’ve never been surer in their lives. Two of them are alternate jurors, so it’s up to five men and seven women to decide my fate. 
An older gentleman hands the bailiff the verdict.

I hold my breath, and the judge reads. “We the jury find the defendant, Lucas

Donovan Fuller, guilty of murder.” 
Gasps fill the room. Chaos erupts, at least in my

bones. More like a commotion, nothing too disastrous to alert the judge, and

something he’s probably accustomed to. He only regards the crowd. A lot of loud

talking, crying, and my mother’s wails. He’s way more patient than me and waits

for everyone’s reaction to subside. 
My muscles grow weak. I badly want to sit and

wonder when I’m allowed. I want to reach out to Lauren. Tell her I’m sorry this

happened, I didn’t do it, she has to trust me, and please, please don’t trust

Clint. I open my mouth to say these things, but my attorney stations his hand

on my shoulder, as if his one palm is going to keep me silent. 
He warned me over and over not to react. I’m not

allowed to speak. I am barely allowed to move, and I can’t look her way,

although I shift to do so. The bailiff puffs out his chest and walks closer, as

if I’m going to bolt. 
“Calm down,” Wayne says. “We still have

punishment. Don’t make a scene.” 
Why shouldn’t I react? This is life changing. My

life is over. I’m going to prison. The judge hasn’t declared a final sentence

but after everyone’s testimony, I’ve started to believe my own guilt. I’m

likely going to prison for the rest of my life. 
****
Luke—Present Day
Luke Fuller’s pen scribbled across the page. His

heart hammered while he wrote the words, ears filling with the deep drum of his

heartbeat as if he was re-experiencing the event. Tired of writing, he shut the

notebook and tossed it on the wrought-iron table beside him, along with his cap

and shades. He stood and opened the grill to check the ribeye. 
Food would be ready in a few minutes, and all he

needed was right here. A little salt and pepper, paper plates and plastic forks

to eat with, and a cooler full of drinks. Even a hundred feet from the river,

the bullfrogs’ croaking put him at ease.
A sound he never expected to hear again. 
He closed the grill, grabbed a beer from the ice

chest, and lounged on the patio chair. It took a while for his heartbeat to

settle. Writing these memories was difficult, harder than he expected, and his

body ached from the flashbacks. 
The sun descended, a showcase of gold fueled by

rain clouds and humidity. He loved the open porch and didn’t want a screen to

filter him and the outdoors. With bug spray, sleeping out here at night was a

dream come true, despite the oppressive mugginess. Lightning flashed in the

south, implying the much-needed shower was near. Nothing better than the

clatter of rain on the roof. 
Even the mosquitoes avoided the Texas July heat,

but he’d take heat over the prison cell where he’d spent the past twelve years

of his life. He’d take it over that any damn day. 
LED lights strung across the porch offered a soft

glow to ease him come sundown. He hated the darkness. Too many reminders of

prison and the things he wanted to forget. But this darkness out in the country

was peaceful, welcoming, different. Almost bearable. 
A car drove up, the headlights zipping through the

trees. His muscles tensed. He studied the nearby monitor attached to the front

security camera. The car parked, the lights shut off. His lungs tightened,

burned, then disintegrated when the woman stepped out and sauntered to the

back.
She remembered. Friends always came to the back

door. But she was no friend.
He blinked, his gut churning. Was he dreaming?

Hallucinating after writing those memories? Lauren shone bright in his mind,

even the seductive scent of honey and berries he once loved to sample behind

her ear. 
Her footsteps echoed up the stairs, and she came into

view. She was no illusion. He remained sitting, nonchalant and drinking his

beer as if he had no care in the world.
His mouth dried. The beer a sour tang. Her

presence meant nothing good. 
She thought he’d killed her sister. The entire

community deemed him guilty before a jury of his peers sentenced him to life in

prison. His sisters never stopped fighting to prove his innocence. He was

released two months ago thanks to Adrienne and Charlotte and the team of

defense attorneys who fought for him. 
But he favored prison over the look of revulsion

on Lauren’s face. A flowing skirt skimmed her knees, the imprinted flowers

rivaling the charm of the countryside. Her slender body was as gorgeous as

ever, heating him in ways better left ignored. She wore open-toed sandals. He

never understood why she chose those shoes while hiking. They had to stop many

times during their treks to pluck out grass burrs.
At one time, they didn’t mind the interruption. 
Her dirty blonde hair was darker, accented by rich

caramel, and the image of her ocean blue eyes burned in his memory. Despite the

similarities, she wasn’t the same woman who once loved him. 
He didn’t flinch when she pointed the pistol his

direction. He continued to sip his beer, his ears tingling with the chatter of

June bugs and crickets. If she wanted to shoot him, so be it. 
Although he hadn’t killed her sister, he was just

as much to blame. He had been selfish in spending his time with Lauren and

didn’t mind leaving her sister alone. He trusted his best friend, had known him

since grade school, but ignored his recent questionable tendencies. The town of

Terrence was quick to point fingers while the real killer roamed free.
****
Lauren—Present Day
Lauren Cooper pointed the pistol at Luke, knees

knocking and thighs quaking. She was proud of herself for keeping a steady grip

despite her sweaty palms.
She’d practiced plenty, eyeing her target,

strengthening her resolve. Today, Luke Fuller was her target. Maybe her first

moving target—although he didn’t move, didn’t even flinch—and definitely her

first human target. Still, she’d often imagined him on the other end of her

gun.
What was she thinking? She risked losing her job

over this, even facing jail time, for threatening with a firearm. Was it worth

it to lose everything she’d worked so hard for? Even worse, to risk her

daughter’s wellbeing? 
Luke had murdered Elizabeth, was released, and now

another man accused. But not just any man. Clint Merkel. A close friend. Almost

family. 
Thousands of times she’d confronted Luke in her

dreams. Robbed him of life as brutally as he had robbed her twelve-year-old

sister’s. More like nightmares. The man she once loved with all her heart. The

jury had convicted him, but now he was exonerated. Doubts still clouded her

mind. The newest facts couldn’t obliterate twelve years of certainty, no matter

how credible.
Her spine clenched. She had tossed and turned and

cried herself to sleep for years. Her emotions skyrocketed all over the place.

Suppressed memories jumbled out of her. Memories of his kiss, his embrace,

their shared lives, their plans. In high school, they’d been dubbed Luke and

Lauren. She didn’t want to plan college without questioning where he’d go. They

were a team, a couple and everybody—including her—presumed they’d stay together

after high school. 
Stupid to give her life away to a man, to halt her

ambitions and plans. And then one fateful night the truth had been discovered,

and the cops had placed the cuffs on his wrists. 
He was still the most handsome man she had ever

seen. Still captivated her. The sting of attraction needled through her

muscles, her bones, her heartbeat. Her pulsed thrummed into her toes. She

fought to stand her ground and reveal nothing about his effect on her. 
Thunder boomed. She jumped. The rain began a harsh

and fast hammering on the roof. 
He sipped his beer, body relaxing as if knowing

she wasn’t about to pull the trigger. He remained unaffected by the thunder, by

the deluge, and by her presence. 
“You going to shoot me or not?” He shrugged one

shoulder, his drawl tightening the shivers in her stomach. Heat flared under

her skin, the familiar anger—the reason she came here—blazed to her core. Him

all casual, enjoying a beer while smoke billowed from his fire pit. The spices

of the steak tore knots in her throat. 
But she wasn’t only angry at him. She was angry at

herself for letting him charm her. 
The storm doused the dusk, but miniature lights

lined the porch. She saw every inch of him and the way his gaze slid over her.

They had studied each other for hours when they were younger, in love and

carefree. The green of his eyes soaked up the earth and emitted the colors of

eternity. They were harder, his face bearing a few scars only she might notice.

He dropped his beer to the table beside him. “What

are you doing, Lauren? Just shoot me already. I’ve practically been dead these

past years, anyway.”
Her throat closed. She refused to imagine what he

experienced these last few years. 
Luke shifted forward and frowned, let out a

rickety cough, then perched his elbows on his knees. He swiped a hand over his

face, then continued. “Look. I’m sorry about everything. Sorry you had to go

through the loss of your sister and you believed I did it. Sorry I couldn’t

comfort you. I’m… just sorry.”
His wobbly voice shattered her reserves. His

movements broadcasted an unexpected nervousness. She let out a whoosh of

breath, every fiber of her being sinking into a black hole of misery. Tears

rolled out of her, hot and choking. Her grip on the gun wavered but remained

clasped in her fingers. 
He stood and swaggered toward her. His

heavy-booted steps on the wooden planks thudded in her ears. She wanted to back

away, but her butt rested against the porch railing and an invisible anchor

rooted her to the ground.
She swayed. 
Her hands shook, and her best interest was to put

down the gun before somebody got hurt. Most likely her.
She lowered the pistol. He stopped in front of her

and took it. She was too weak, too helpless to fight. His presence suctioned

every bit of her power.
He set the gun on the ground. She jumped as

another round of thunder boomed. Rain pounded the roof. Droplets hit her skin,

but not enough to matter. She craved the cool refreshment. He stood facing her,

his eyes boring into hers. She licked her lips as if drawing sustenance from

that one small move, a move that drew his gaze to her mouth. 
She swayed again, about to fall. He grabbed her

and pulled her into his arms.
“Careful.” His words wisped across her ear and

trailed down her spine to spool into a reservoir of lust in her loins. 
She planted the top of her head against his chest

and sobbed as he held her. Her shoulders shook, the tears escaping in violent

torrents. She couldn’t stop no matter how hard she wanted to. 
He smelled like mesquite smoke and musk, along

with crisp grass cuttings under Texas sunshine. Stupid, stupid to imagine such

things. 
The tears were a release. A goodbye she never had

a chance to say. 
Had she believed he was capable of murder? She

refused to listen to his sister when she begged. All the evidence pointed to

him. The police, the prosecutor, even the city mayor had convinced her.
How could they all be wrong? Her mind churned with

questions. Questions she should have asked before she’d threatened him with a

gun. 
His fingers skated up her hair, and he tucked a

piece behind her ear. She straightened her spine and lifted her head, willing

her body to fight the attraction as her tears dried. 
“I don’t know if I believe it,” she finally said.
“What? That I didn’t do it?”
She nodded, her limbs weak and

trembling. 
 “Well, if Clint didn’t do it, why did he run?”
She wondered the same thing, but Clint

being a killer was terrifying, even more so than Luke, considering she’d

entrusted her daughter with him.
She lowered her head and sniffled. He

placed his fingers under her chin and forced her to look at him.
Not a force but a slow, gentle move.

He had always been gentle. Clint had been the edgy one, the one who tested her

nerves. And yet after Luke had been accused of murdering her sister, she had

turned to Clint as a friend and let him take part in her life. How had he

manipulated her? How had she allowed it? Her belly flopped, the drying tears

searing her throat.
She’d always felt safe with Luke.

Safe, yet vulnerable, because her heart was at risk. 
He dropped his hand from her chin and

finger brushed her hair. Her neck tingled. She longed to savor his mouth on

hers after all these years. 
“I’ve imagined being in front of you,

begging you to listen.” His voice was a slow deep penetration to the core of

her being. Something impossible to pull away from. “I did not kill your sister,

and as much pain as I knew you were in, it broke my heart you never gave me a

chance.”
She lifted her chin higher and stared

straight into his eyes. “And I imagined having the chance to stand in front of

you and kill you.”
A strangled sob escaped him. His eyes

flickered. Her body grew warm with regret. Regret for her words, regret for

refusing to hear him out so many years ago, and regret for wanting him so much

she hurt. 
“You’ve got that chance now. Why don’t

you take it?”
 

______________________

Angela Smith is a Texas native who, years ago, was dubbed most likely
to write a novel during her senior year in high school. She always had
her nose stuck in a book, even hiding them behind her textbooks during
school study time. Her dream began at a young age when her sister
started reciting ‘Brer Rabbit’ after their mom read it to them so often.
She told her mom she’d write a story one day and never gave up on that
dream even though her mom was never able to see it come to fruition. By
day, she works as a certified paralegal and office manager at her local
District Attorney’s office and spends her free time with her husband,
their pets, and their many hobbies. Although life in general keeps her
very busy, her passion for writing and getting the stories out of her
head tends to make her restless if she isn’t following what some people
call her destiny.