Fatal Judgment (6 page)

A jolt of shock ricocheted through him, followed by a surge of white-hot anger. “And no one told me?”

“Alison’s orders. She didn’t want you worrying.”

“I’m her big brother. That’s my job.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that. Her independent streak is wider than ever. And much as she loves you, she has mixed feelings about you coming home. She’s afraid her accident is one of the reasons you suddenly decided to move back to St. Louis.”

“It is. It was a wake-up call that I need to spend more time with my family. To be here for you guys.”

“A word of warning—keep that tidbit to yourself if you want to preserve the peace. Alison even sent Mom packing back to Chicago, amid much maternal protest.”

“Okay. So you tell me how’s she doing, since she obviously gave me the sanitized version.”

“She’s made progress. But she still goes to therapy twice a week. The fractures in her leg are healing. I’m not so certain about the one in her heart.”

Jake frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sticking his hands in his pockets, Cole blew out a breath. “I’m getting in way too deep here. Alison will be furious if she finds out I spilled all this before she had a chance to talk to you.”

“You’re in too far to back out now. Let’s have it.”

“I take it she didn’t tell you about David.”

“What about David?” Last he’d heard, things were heating up between his sister and the up-and-coming Legal Aid attorney she’d been dating. He’d assumed an engagement announcement was imminent.

“He dumped her.”

“What! Why?”

“Because as a result of those internal injuries she casually mentioned to you, she can’t have children. And he wanted a family.”

As he worked through that latest piece of news, Jake’s lips settled into a grim line. “What kind of man walks away from a woman because a drunk driver robbed her of the ability to have children?”

“A jerk?”

“I have a stronger word in mind. But better she saw his true character now than before they tied the knot.”

“I’m sure she agrees with that assessment. In theory. Anyway, you might want to give her a call when you have five minutes.”

“Like that’s going to happen anytime soon.” Jake shoved his fingers through his hair. “You know, I expected things to be quieter in St. Louis.”

True to form, his brother had a smart comeback. “Maybe trouble just follows you around.” With a mock salute, he strolled toward the hall. “One of your guys made a coffee run. I think I’ll help myself. And when you talk to Alison, do me a favor. Don’t mention this conversation.”

As Cole headed toward the muffled voices in the kitchen, Jake toyed with the idea of calling his sister now. But he’d rather be focused on her when they talked. And at the moment, he was preoccupied with the safety of a certain judge.

Once Liz was ensconced in the condo and he was satisfied with the security measures, he’d go home for a few hours. Shower. Eat. Sleep. Then, after he was rested and thinking clearly, he’d call his sister. And instead of trying to convince her the accident wasn’t the main reason he’d returned to St. Louis, he’d give her serious grief for swearing Cole to secrecy about it until he was back from Iraq.

Because as he’d learned the hard way, with Alison the best defense was always a good offense.

______

Draining the dregs of his coffee, Jake checked his watch. Again.

Liz was taking a lot longer than he’d expected with her shower and packing. Cole had left, and the deputy marshals lounging around her kitchen were getting restless.

So was he.

Setting the cup on the kitchen counter, he addressed the group. “I’ll see if I can speed things up. Let’s plan to head out in ten minutes.”

Thirty seconds later, he knocked on her door. “Liz, it’s Jake. Everything okay in there?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

He didn’t like her vague tone.

“May I come in?”

“Yes.”

The woman sitting on the bed was a Liz he’d never before seen. She’d exchanged her usual power wardrobe for jeans and a black knit top, and her hair was still slightly damp, a few loose tendrils around her temples curling softly from the humidity in the bathroom. She was barefoot, one leg tucked under her, and her attention was fixed on the cell phone in her hand.

It would have been an appealing picture. Except for her shell-shocked expression.

He crossed the room in three long strides, noting as he covered the short distance that the tape on two of the sealed packing boxes had been pulled back, as if she’d rooted for some items to take with her. The two suitcases sitting at the end of the bed appeared to be packed.

But she wasn’t making any move to leave.

“Liz? What’s going on?”

Without looking up, she blinked once. Twice. Again. “I’ve had my phone on mute. There are twenty-five voice mails since last night. I need to call my boss. Talk to my law clerks. Make funeral arrangements. Cancel some commitments. Get back to my landlord so he can send a plumber to fix the leaky faucet in the bathroom.” Panic seeped into her voice. Along with a touch of hysteria. “And I haven’t even checked my home machine yet.”

She was on overload. Overwhelmed by the enormity of the decisions to be made and the details to be dealt with. Given enough stress, even competent, organized, in-control people like Liz Michaels had their limits.

And she’d reached hers.

Leaning down, he flipped the phone closed. “We’ll deal with all that once we get to the condo. And we’ll do whatever we can to help you.”

She lifted her head, and the searing anguish in her eyes bridged the professional distance he was attempting to maintain. “Can you make this nightmare go away?”

“I wish I could.” He swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat.

With one more look at her phone, she slid it into her purse. Took a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. “Let me put on my shoes and I’ll be ready to leave.”

She rose, walked to the open closet, and pulled a pair of casual shoes off of a rack.

“Is this everything?” Jake gestured to the bags at the foot of the bed.

“I’ll need my briefcase. And my laptop.”

“Where are they?”

“On the floor beside my desk in the office.”

“I’ll get them. And the guys will load your suitcases in the car. Meet us in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

Jake detoured to the office, found the briefcase and computer, and cracked the blinds on the front window as he passed. Two media vans were now parked in front of the house.

Great.

Back in the kitchen, he delegated bag duty to the two marshals who’d been waiting for them when they arrived—and issued a warning.

“We’ve got company. Someone tipped off the press that we’re here.”

Spence crumpled his cup and tossed it into an empty donut bag as the two men exited. “I heard from the coroner’s office a few minutes ago. No problem on the organ donation. You want me to call the hospital and pass the word?”

“Yeah. I’ll let Liz know once she’s settled in at the condo.”

“I’ll get the engine warmed up.” Dan disposed of his own cup and headed out the door.

Three minutes later, as the two marshals returned from stowing the bags, Liz appeared in the doorway. She’d pulled a sweater over her head and carried a jacket over her arm. Meaning she’d have no more need of his.

Stifling an unexpected surge of disappointment, Jake forced himself to switch gears as he addressed her. “We have some media out front, so we’re going to make a quick exit. Dan’s already in the car.”

He took her arm, and the remaining men closed in tight around her.

“It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic.” She surveyed the circle of marshals.

“Bear with us for two minutes. Once you’re in the car, you’ll have more breathing room.”

At Jake’s signal, the group exited the front door and headed toward the Suburban.

The instant they appeared, the quiet Saturday morning came to life. The media vans spewed out camera-toting technicians, and reporters waving microphones began calling out to Liz.

Jake tightened his grip on her arm and glanced down. To his surprise, she didn’t seem fazed by the shouted questions and circus-like atmosphere.

Then again, she’d been involved in some high-profile cases through the years. Doug had mentioned once that one of them had drawn national attention. She’d even been quoted in
Newsweek
. No doubt she’d had more than her share of exposure to the press.

As she slid into the Suburban and he prepared to close the door, one of the young officers who’d been stationed at the perimeter of the property jogged over.

“Excuse me, sir, but there’s a neighbor from across the street who’d like to talk to the judge. Delores Moretti.”

“Delores is here?” Liz bobbed her head, trying to find an opening in the wall of men. “I’d like to see her. Jake?” She touched his arm.

He hesitated. The exposed position wasn’t good. But it was hard to say no to her after all she’d been through. And as long as they formed a human shield, it should be okay. For sixty seconds.

“This has to be quick.”

“I understand.”

“Okay.” Jake turned to the officer. “Let her come over.”

The man walked a few feet away and motioned to a stout, gray-haired woman standing on the sidelines. She ducked under the police tape and trotted up the driveway.

“What’s she holding?” Jake eyed the shallow aluminum container in her hands and directed his question to the officer.

“Some kind of food.”

Behind him, Jake heard a tiny, soft chuckle from Liz. “That would be Delores.”

When the woman drew close, Jake spoke again. “Ma’am, we need to make this fast.”

“This won’t take but a minute.”

Stepping aside, Jake created a gap wide enough for the woman to squeeze through.

During the brief exchange that followed, he did a continuous scan of the neighborhood, as did Spence beside him. But the conversation behind him was more interesting than the view in front of him.

“Cannoli! Oh, Delores, you shouldn’t have bothered.”

“It wasn’t any bother at all. Not that they’ll offer much consolation. But words are no good at a time like this. They won’t change what happened to your poor sister or take away your grief. So I did what I could. I went to church and lit a candle, and I said a rosary. Then I came home and made your favorite dessert. You know Harold and I are here for you if you need anything, Liz. All you have to do is call.”

“I know, Delores. And I appreciate that more than I can say.”

Jake felt the woman move behind him, and knew she’d leaned forward to give Liz a hug.

“Don’t you worry about anything right now except keeping yourself safe. Just lay low until all this is over.”

“I don’t think I have a choice in the matter. As you can see, I’m surrounded by U.S. marshals. Will you let Reverend Mike know I won’t be able to help at the shelter tomorrow night?”

Jake frowned. Shelter?

“I’ll take care of it. And I’ll water all your plants too.”

Surveying the porch, Jake noted the pots brimming with colorful blossoms that hadn’t yet succumbed to the cooling fall nights. There’d also been a bouquet on her kitchen table. Doug had never mentioned that Liz liked flowers.

An elbow in his ribs clued him in that the meeting behind him was over, and he shifted aside to allow Delores to squeeze through.

“Thank you, young man.” She dropped her voice. “And you take good care of her. She’s our special angel.”

Angel?

Based on Delores’s speculative appraisal, he hadn’t done a very good job hiding his surprise. “Do you know Liz very well, Marshal?”

“No, ma’am.”

She lowered her voice. “We didn’t either, until she moved here four months ago. A week after we came over to welcome her to the neighborhood, Harold fell off a ladder and broke his wrist. Had to have surgery and couldn’t drive for three weeks. A few days after his accident, I sprained my ankle and couldn’t drive, either. Liz stepped right up to help us out, picking up our groceries and prescriptions, busy as she was.” Delores shook her head. “She is an amazing young woman. You keep her safe.”

“We intend to, ma’am.”

As Delores headed back down the driveway, Jake angled toward Liz. Buffered as she was by metal and bodies, he doubted she’d heard much, if any, of his low-pitched conversation with her neighbor. She was focused on the disposable container Delores had delivered, running her finger along the edge.

“We’re ready to move out, Liz.”

She lifted her head, and he caught the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “Sorry for the delay. But Delores is a treasure. I couldn’t not talk to her.”

“No problem. I’ll see you when we get to the condo.”

Closing the door, he turned to Spence. “Same formation?”

“Unless you see a reason to change it.”

“No. That works for me.” He shook hands with the two marshals who’d come to the house ahead of them to reinforce security. “Thanks, guys.”

With a wave they headed toward their own vehicles.

As the little motorcade once again got under way, Jake ignored the media vans and glanced at the house across the street. Delores was standing on her porch. Looking worried.

About her angel.

Back in the early days of Doug’s romance with Liz, Jake vaguely recalled him using that term once in reference to her. Jake had passed it off as the delirium of a man in love. And as time went by, Doug had viewed his wife in a far less angelic light. Self-centered, coldhearted, focused on her career to the exclusion of everything . . . and everyone . . . else—those were the qualities Jake had begun to assign to her after his conversations with his friend during the last few years of his life. Before he died in a tragic accident.

Or took his own life.

As far as he knew, no determination had ever been made about the cause of the one-car crash on that cold winter night. But Doug had been despondent after being passed over for a long-awaited promotion. And all these years, Jake had assumed that if Liz had given her husband the kind of emotional support he’d needed, if she’d had her priorities straight, if she’d been there for him instead of spending twelve hours a day at her job, things might not have ended in tragedy.

Now, she was busier than ever as one of the youngest federal judges in the nation. Yet she found time to help out her neighbors. To buy thoughtful gifts for the wife of a marshal assigned to protect her. And what was that business about a shelter?

It didn’t compute.

Jake checked his rearview mirror, his professional skills kicking into autopilot as he watched for tails even as his mind continued to wrestle with the conundrum of the judge in his charge.

Had Liz changed . . . or had he been operating on faulty assumptions all these years?

And instead of putting the blame for Doug’s demise entirely on her, had he overlooked his own culpability? He’d known his friend was down. Was there something more he could have done to offer support and help avert the tragedy?

The brake lights on the Suburban flashed as the signal in the intersection ahead changed from yellow to red. Jake slowed as well. And redirected his disturbing train of thought. He was too tired for heavy introspection.

But he couldn’t stop the little niggle in his conscience that prodded him to admit that maybe—just maybe—he might have been a bit too harsh in his assessment of Liz Michaels.

And perhaps a bit too lenient with himself.