Fatal Judgment (8 page)

He suspected it was a combination of both.

“Hey!” She shifted in his arms. “I’m glad to see you too, but I’m suffocating in here.”

At her muffled comment against his chest, Jake released her. When she tottered a bit as she pulled back, he grasped her shoulders and held on until she got her footing.

“Talk about an exuberant hug.” She grinned, attributing her imbalance to his enthusiastic greeting. But he saw the flash of frustration and pain in her eyes and knew better. “Jake, meet Bert.” She gestured to the pup at his feet.

He bent down and gave the dog a distracted pat.

“Did you come bearing gifts?” She gestured to the foil-covered plate in his hands as he stood.

Already he could tell that getting her to talk about her injuries, let alone allow him to help in any way, was going to be a tough sell—as Cole had warned. Alison had always been an independent sort, and adversity seemed to have strengthened that trait.

“Cannoli. Courtesy of Liz Michaels. Her neighbor made it for her, and she’s sharing the wealth.”

“Yum.” Alison took it and led the way toward the kitchen, the pup trotting at her heels. “I have spumoni, but this is much better. Let me put it in the fridge.”

Jake followed, watching her walk. He could tell she was trying for a normal gait. But she couldn’t hide her limp from him. He’d watched her chase butterflies, climb trees, jump rope; he knew every nuance of the easy grace and power of her usual confident stride.

Hearing Cole talk yesterday about how close they’d come to losing her had been bad enough.

Seeing the evidence of it was like a kick in the gut.

“Alison.”

At his hoarse summons, she stopped and turned. “What?”

“You’re skin and bones. And you’re limping.”

She flushed. “I know. I had an accident, remember?”

“You said you were fine.”

“I will be. Soon.”

“It was a lot worse than a broken leg and minor internal injuries.”

“Some.”

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t let anyone tell me.”

Her shoulders stiffened, and the foil on the plate crinkled beneath her fingers. “We already discussed this. I didn’t want you to worry. And be distracted.”

“I appreciate your consideration. But that doesn’t change how I feel. I would have found a way to come home. To be here for you. Like you were for me when Jen died.”

He caught the sudden shimmer in her eyes before she dropped her chin and made a pretense of recrimping the foil around the plate. “I know you would have. And that means more to me than I can say. But you have enough on your own plate. Besides, I had David.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

Her head snapped up, and she compressed her lips. “Cole’s been talking to you.”

“He mentioned the two of you had broken up. And why. You didn’t tell me that, either.”

Ignoring his comment, she turned back toward the kitchen. “I need to put this away.”

He followed, the aroma of spicy tomato sauce and garlic bread greeting him as he entered the sunny room. Two places had been set at the café table in the bay window, complete with red checkered napkins, and a small bouquet of fresh-picked flowers from her garden stood in the center. She’d gone to a lot of effort to welcome him home. And he didn’t want to spoil the dinner she’d planned. But unless they hashed this thing out, he doubted either of them would be able to do justice to the meal she’d prepared.

She slid the plate of cannoli into the refrigerator and nodded to a bowl on the counter. “You can toss the salad if you want, while I get the bread out of the oven. Here’s the dressing.” She removed a bottle from a lower shelf and thrust it toward him before closing the door.

Instead of taking it, he waited until she looked over at him. Then he locked gazes with her. “I want details on your injuries, Alison. And your prognosis. We can go over it now or later. But you need to know I’m not leaving tonight until we talk about this.”

Setting the dressing on the counter, she locked her arms over her chest and tried to stare him down.

He didn’t so much as blink.

She narrowed her eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to put the whole thing behind me and move on.”

“I got that message. Loud and clear. And I think it’s a smart strategy. Focusing on the future is a good thing, and I’ll support you in that 100 percent. Once I get up to speed on the past.”

For another few seconds she held her ground. Then she huffed out a sigh. “Fine. You want a download? I’ll give you a download. A month after you left for Iraq, I was broadsided at an intersection on my way home from work by a car going at a high rate of speed. The other driver was drunk. He didn’t make it.

“My tibia and fibula were broken. The tibial shaft fracture was bad, and a metal rod was inserted and screwed in to hold the tibia in place. In the interest of full disclosure, the procedure is called intrameduallary rodding. I wore a cast from above my knee to below my ankle and used crutches for quite a while. Both of those breaks are almost healed.

“I also suffered an unstable pelvic fracture, which led to severe internal bleeding. The doctors inserted long screws into the bones on each side of my pelvis and connected them to a frame outside my body to stabilize the pelvic area. That allowed them to address the blunt trauma injuries to my abdomen. The worst was uterine avulsion, which required a subtotal hysterectomy. My pelvis was put back together with screws.

“As for the prognosis, it’s very good. I’ve already made tremendous progress, and in time, I should be able to walk normally. Other than never being able to have children, I should make a full recovery.” She leaned back against the counter, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the edge. “And now you know the whole story, in all its gory detail. Satisfied?”

Jake was still reeling from the fast-paced data dump. He didn’t understand half of the medical terminology she’d used or the subtleties of her injuries, but he filed away the information and planned to check it all out later on the Net.

What he did understand was that she’d recited the facts in a clinical, dispassionate voice—until she’d gotten to the part about not being able to have children. Then her composure had started to splinter and her words had grown shaky.

And that had spoken volumes. She might have come to grips with the physical baggage of the accident, and she might be making her peace with her shattered romance, but she was still working through her inability to conceive.

He’d known, when Cole had dropped that bombshell, how crushed Alison must be. She loved children. Had dedicated her life, through her work with Social Services, to seeking justice for little ones caught in bad situations. Had always talked about having a large family of her own.

As he watched her now, struggling to hold on to her self-control, a lump rose in his own throat. Following his heart, he closed the distance between them and took her in his arms.

“Oh, Twig.” He cleared the hoarseness from his voice. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through.”

He felt a shudder ripple through her, mirroring the quiver in her words. “I’ll be okay. But I have to admit, an occasional hug is really nice.”

“Count on plenty of them from now on.”

She leaned back and gave him a watery smile. “In moderation, though, okay? Mom was smothering me; that’s why I sent her packing. And Cole never stopped hovering. I need my space.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“I’ll remind you if you forget.”

He gave a soft chuckle. “I don’t doubt that.”

“Are we all squared away now?”

“Yeah. I guess. But I still wish you’d told me all this sooner.”

“Just remember, my motives were good.”

“What’s that old saying about a certain road being paved with good intentions?” He slung an arm around her shoulders and grinned down at her.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

As she repeated his words back to him with an impudent tip of her head, he laughed and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s good to be home.” Releasing her, he picked up the bottle of salad dressing. “Let’s eat.”

After the emotional prelude to their meal, Jake made a concerted effort to keep the conversation light and pleasant as he devoured her lasagna. Only when they got to dessert did it drift back to serious topics.

“It was nice of the judge to share her bounty with us.” Alison dug into the cannoli with gusto, closing her eyes after the first bite as an expression of bliss swept over her face. “Wow. These are as good as the ones from the best restaurants on the Hill.”

It had been years since Jake had sampled the famed cuisine of St. Louis’s Italian neighborhood, but he didn’t dispute Alison’s evaluation as he polished off his own offering.

“She said they’ll go to waste before she can finish them all. That’s probably true. I doubt she’s eaten more than a few bites of anything since Friday night.”

“Do you think she might like some of my lasagna? You could take a piece with you when you go back tonight.”

“It’s worth a try.”

Alison used her fork to break off a bite of cannoli. “How’s she holding up?”

“Better than most people would under the same circumstances. Every time I think she’s about to shatter, she manages to pull herself back together. She’s pretty amazing.”

Squinting at him, Alison speared the last bite of her cannoli and twirled it on her fork. “I seem to recall you making some sort of disparaging remark about her once. After her husband died.”

Had he? Jake didn’t remember that. But he might have. He and his sister had always been vocal in their opinions with each other. Now he regretted that particular comment.

“It’s possible.” He fiddled with his coffee cup. “But after spending time with her these past couple of days, I discovered I may have been operating on some faulty assumptions.”

She leaned down to give Bert a pat. “So you think she’s nice?”

The conversation had taken an unexpected turn. One he didn’t like. He’d seen that gleam in his sister’s eye in the past. For all her independence, she was a romantic at heart. Her own love life might be in the doldrums, but it wouldn’t stop her from meddling in Cole’s. Or his. Not that he had one. Or intended to.

Especially with Liz Michaels.

As he tried to think of some way to redirect the conversation to a less personal topic, his BlackBerry began to vibrate.

Yes!

Praising God for small favors, he pulled it off his belt and scanned the number.

“It’s Cole. Give me a sec, okay?” Tapping the talk button, he put the phone to his ear. “What’s up?”

“Good news. We’ve got our man.”

______

A bell was ringing somewhere.

From her prone position, Liz struggled to open her eyes. As the shadowy, unfamiliar room came into focus, the bell rang again.

A doorbell.

Trying to jump-start her muddled brain, she pulled herself upright as the pieces began to fall into place. She’d been reading a brief in the condo where she was sequestered. It now lay on the floor beside the couch, where she’d fallen asleep. And based on the dimness of the room, she’d been out cold for a couple of hours.

A knock sounded on the door. A
loud
knock.

Loud enough to suggest the door might be kicked in if she didn’t open it. Fast.

“Liz?”

The tautness of Jake’s muffled voice propelled her to her feet.

Her shin connected with the edge of the granite-based, glass-topped coffee table, and she yelped as she stumbled toward the door.

“Liz? What’s going on?”

A thread of panic wound through Jake’s curt question.

“Hang on. I’m on my way.”

In the foyer, she paused to peer through the peephole. Jake stood to the left, almost out of sight, gun in hand. One of the marshals from the CP was on the right, gun also drawn.

Embarrassment warmed her cheeks as she slid the dead bolt back and opened the door.

“Sorry, guys. I fell asleep on the couch and didn’t hear the bell.”

The marshal beside Jake flashed her a grin and holstered his gun. “No problem.”

As he returned to the CP next door, she stepped back to allow Jake to enter. Instead, he bent and picked up a foil-wrapped plate from the hall floor, which he handed her. A bouquet of flowers wrapped in newspaper rested beside it, and he retrieved that as well before joining her inside.

Trying not to be unnerved by the disconcerting juxtaposition of his gun in one hand and flowers in the other, Liz closed and bolted the door. He was sliding the small pistol into a concealed holster on his belt when she turned back.

“Sorry again for the delay in opening the door.”

“Don’t be. I’m glad you got a little sleep. What was that startled exclamation I heard?”

She wrinkled her nose and reached down to rub her shin. “A close encounter with the coffee table. What’s this?” She hefted the plate in her hand. “And that?” She waved her other hand at the newspaper-wrapped bundle.

“A little gift from my sister. I noticed the pots of flowers at your house and the bouquet on your kitchen table, so I sweet-talked Alison into letting me raid her garden.”

“They’re beautiful.” She took the generous, old-fashioned bouquet of roses, mums, zinnias, and feathery ferns from him. The aroma of the roses was like a balm to her soul, and she inhaled deeply.

“She has a way with flowers. And with lasagna.” He tapped the foil-covered plate in her hand. “She made plenty and thought you might enjoy some. Have you had dinner?”

“Not yet. And homemade lasagna sounds great. Much better than a frozen entree. Let me warm it up for a few minutes.”

He followed her to the kitchen. After she put one of the two pieces of lasagna in the oven and set the timer, she scrounged up a pitcher that worked fine as a vase for the flowers.

Moving aside the contents of her briefcase, she set the bouquet on the dining room table. “These really help warm the place up. Thank you. And please thank your sister.”

“I’ll do that.” He motioned toward the living room. “Let’s talk for a minute. I have some news.”

At his serious tone, a surge of adrenaline shot through her. “You found Alan?”

“Yes.” He moved to the couch and gestured for her to sit.

Liz complied, perching on the edge as he took a chair at right angles to her.

“Your sister’s husband showed up at his house today about 5:00. The Springfield police had it under surveillance and moved in immediately. According to their report, he seemed taken aback by the news of his wife’s death and claims he had nothing to do with it.”

“I didn’t expect him to admit his guilt.” Liz clenched her hands in her lap. “Does he have an alibi?”

“Not one he can prove. He claims he went fishing for the weekend. Camped out on some property owned by a friend of his. But no one saw him there.”

“What a surprise.” Sarcasm dripped from her words.

Twin furrows appeared on Jake’s brow. Resting his forearms on his thighs, he clasped his hands and leaned forward. “Here’s the thing, Liz. So far, nothing at the crime scene is linking him to your sister’s murder. The perpetrator left no trace evidence that we could find. And we’ve already run the prints the Springfield PD took of your brother-in-law. They don’t match any found at the house.”

The meager contents of her stomach began to curdle. She knew what that meant.

“You don’t have grounds to hold Alan for more than twenty-four hours, do you?”

“No. But we’ll be keeping very close tabs on him. And my brother and I, along with an FBI agent, are going down to Springfield tomorrow to question him. He’s still our prime suspect. But we can’t bring charges without any evidence. You know that.”

Liz tried to stay calm. Tried to be rational. But it took every ounce of her self-control to speak in a reasonable tone. “I don’t want him to get away with murder, Jake.”

“He won’t. This case is being given the highest priority. We’ll solve it.”

His words were steady. As was his gaze. She locked onto it, needing the strength she saw in his eyes. The only thing keeping her going was the conviction that Alan would be brought to justice. That he’d pay for what he’d done to her sister. If she didn’t have that to cling to . . .

She cut off that line of thought. Ruthlessly. She wouldn’t go there. Couldn’t go there.

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. Let it out. “I’ll just have to trust you all to do your job.”

“Count on it.”

He leaned down to pick up a sheet of paper that had slipped off the coffee table. Her notes about another painful subject she needed to discuss with him.

“I talked to the funeral director this afternoon.” She took the piece of paper from him and stared down at it. The words she’d jotted blurred, and she blinked to clear her vision. “I’d like to have the funeral on Wednesday. I talked to the pastor at Stephanie’s church, and he’s agreed to go to Kansas City and do a short service in the chapel at the cemetery. The funeral director is making all of the other local arrangements. Will that work for you?” Now that they had Alan under surveillance, she doubted the plans she’d made would present a security risk to her.

“It should be fine. I’ll connect with our Kansas City office and line up coverage at the cemetery. Spence and I will drive with you from here, unless you have a strong preference for flying.”

“No. Driving is fine.

“What time is the service?”

“At 1:00. I tried to plan it so we could drive there and back in one day.”

“Would you like to stay longer?”

“No. Everyone I loved in Kansas City is gone.” Her voice choked on the last word, and she dropped her gaze, struggling for control.

When she finally looked up, however, Jake’s expression did nothing to help her rein in her emotions. Empathy—and sympathy—lent an unaccustomed softness to his features, and at the tenderness in his brown eyes she again felt the pressure of tears behind her own.

In the next instant, however, his calm, professional demeanor slipped back into place. “Is there anything else we can help with in terms of arrangements?”

“I’d like to have my sister’s suitcases. They’re in the guest room at my house. I need to pick out some clothes for the . . . to send to the funeral home.”

“I’ll have them here first thing in the morning.”

The timer in the kitchen began to beep, and Jake stood. “I know you haven’t been hungry, Liz, but you need to eat. Try a little, okay?”

At his coaxing tone, she wavered. Usually, the aroma of Italian spices that was wafting through the condo would bump her salivary glands into overdrive. Tonight, it turned her stomach.

But the gesture by Jake’s sister had been kind. She’d sample a bite or two after he left.

“It smells delicious.” Rising, she pushed her hair back from her face. The uncombed mess must be a sight after her two-hour nap. She hadn’t bothered with makeup today, either. So much for the always-put-together image of the venerable Judge Elizabeth Michaels.

She started toward the door, but Jake’s voice stopped her.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

Angling back, she saw he hadn’t moved from his spot by the couch. “Aren’t you going to leave?”

“Not if you offer me coffee. I only had one cup at Alison’s. She’s a great cook, but she never has learned how to make a decent cup of coffee. If you ever tell her I said that, however, I’ll deny it.” He flashed her a quick grin.

She studied him. Was he being honest about wanting coffee . . . or just hanging around to make sure she ate?

But who cared about his motive? She was glad to have some company. Once he left, the heavy, oppressive silence would descend again in the condo. She might even have to turn on the television—always her last-resort fallback when in need of distraction.

“I’m not the world’s greatest cook, but I do know how to brew coffee. I made a pot before I fell asleep, although it might be too strong.” She retraced her route.

“Strong is the best kind.”

He followed her back to the kitchen, and as she poured the dark liquid into a mug, he took the lasagna out of the oven and carried it into the dining room.

Sliding into her place, she eyed the generous portion—and tried to contain the revolution brewing in her stomach.

As if sensing her dilemma, Jake began talking, asking about her work and the Morettis. In the end, she found herself sufficiently distracted to put a fair-sized dent in the savory pasta while she responded to his relaxed, conversational queries. It almost felt like a normal meal between two friends.

“I couldn’t help overhearing Mrs. Moretti mention a shelter.” Jake took a sip of his coffee and cradled the mug in his hands. “Sounds like you’re involved in some sort of charitable work.”

“Yes. People from a lot of area churches volunteer to help out a night or two each month at a shelter for abused women and their children. Serving meals, cleaning up, changing diapers, lending a friendly ear. Whatever needs to be done. It’s a temporary, safe place for them to stay until they figure out what they want to do about their situations. I could never get Steph to take that step, but at least I tried to support other women who did, even if only for one night a month.”

She poked at the last corner of her lasagna, laid her fork on her plate, and did her best not to let the turn in the conversation to darker subjects depress her.

“I’m surprised you have time for things like that.”

The studied casualness of Jake’s comment told her he was more interested in her response than his tone indicated.

She gave him a direct look. “In my experience, people
make
time for the things that are important to them.”

A few seconds passed while he took another sip of coffee. He seemed to be debating how to frame his next remark. “I got the impression from Doug that your work schedule was intense.”

She’d often wondered what the two men had talked about during their periodic phone conversations, and whether Doug had shared much about his marriage. Jake’s comment gave her a clue.

Now it was her turn to choose her words with care. “My work is demanding, and I put in long hours. But I’ve always given time to causes I believe in. And to the people I love.”

For a long moment, he appraised her with guarded eyes. Intuitively, she sensed he was wrestling with some sort of disconnect. That her response didn’t jibe with information he’d been given by Doug.

Wrong information, obviously.

A deep sadness welled up inside her. She’d known her husband had been losing perspective near the end. And she’d tried her best to help him get his life back on track. Instead, as the weeks and months went by, he’d drifted farther away from her. Far enough to scare her. Far enough to convince her to take desperate measures.

Far enough to make a tragic mistake.

Based on the vibes she’d picked up at the funeral, Liz figured that Jake had suspected that. Had assumed that the blame for Doug’s demise rested on her shoulders.

And the hard truth was, he was right about that. Even if he was wrong about other things.

But that was a burden she couldn’t think about tonight. Not on top of everything else that had happened in the past forty-eight hours.

No longer able to deal with the silence between them, Liz pushed back her chair and stood. “Please be sure to thank Alison for the lasagna. You’re right. It was fabulous.”

If he thought her abrupt end to the evening was odd, he gave no indication of it. Instead, he rose too, his gaze flickering to her plate, where only a small piece of pasta remained.

“You did it justice.” He drained his mug and carried it into the kitchen. “We’ll be leaving for Springfield early tomorrow morning. I’ll be in touch when we get back.”