27
Dustin’s house looked different in daylight. The yard was well kept, and the landscaping was simple yet well maintained. His land was more beautiful than she had realized last night.
He motioned for her to pull into the garage.
“No press yet,” he said.
“Probably because your house is hard to spot. They’ll figure it out. We need to hurry.”
“I didn’t see any news vans.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re not coming.”
He closed the garage door, and she followed him into the house. “Dustin, your house is beautiful. Did you do all this yourself?”
“Not really,” he said. “Crystal decorated most of it for me. When I bought the house, I only had a threadbare couch and a beanbag for furniture. She literally took me by the hand to the furniture store and made me pick out some things. The next thing I knew, I’d spent a ton of money and she was hiring people to paint.”
“So she’s a decorator?” Jamie asked, wishing she’d had the chance to get to know Crystal before her health had failed. Maybe she still would.
“No, she’s not a decorator,” Dustin said. “She just likes to spend other people’s money. ’Course, I approved everything as we went along. I really like how it turned out.”
He led her into the kitchen, which was clean except for a few breakfast dishes from the morning before. “I’ll just grab a few things and we can go.”
“Okay.” Jamie set her briefcase on the table. While she waited, she checked for any more Google alerts. Two more local TV channels had reported Dustin’s arrest. The third had connected the ChemEx theft with the bombing.
He came back with a suitcase and a bucket of what she assumed were Dude’s toys. “Ready?”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s it?”
“I figured there wasn’t time for much else.”
“You’re right,” she said. “The address of the Airbnb is on your bond paperwork. I’ll get Avery and meet you there. Remember to screen your calls. If anybody calls who’s not in your contacts, don’t answer. It could be someone from the press, and I don’t want you talking to them under any circumstances.”
“Right,” he said, checking his phone. “Let’s get out of here.”
28
Avery was over the moon when Jamie took her home to get Dude. She tried to protect her daughter from the dog’s overzealous affection, but Avery loved every lick. “Mommy, can we keep him? Please? He’s so cute!”
“No, honey. He belongs to somebody already.”
“But he likes me!”
“Of course he does. He has exquisite taste buds.”
Avery sat in the back seat with the dog as they drove to the Airbnb, and as Jamie drove, she glanced occasionally in the rearview mirror at how happy Avery was with the huge animal. They hadn’t had a dog when Joe was alive because of his allergy to them. Then, after he died, she hadn’t had the energy to be a single mom, a busy attorney, and a dog owner.
Now she wondered if she’d been depriving her daughter. Maybe she should reconsider that.
She watched for anyone following her as they wound through town to get to the Airbnb. By the time they arrived, she was satisfied they had made it alone. Avery insisted on holding Dude’s leash as they got out of the car, but as he bounded around the new yard like it was an amusement park with delightful new exhibits, Jamie followed them to make sure he didn’t pull Avery off her feet.
When Dustin came to the door, Dude burst toward him, pulling the leash out of Avery’s hands and leaping up on his owner. Dustin laughed and let the dog push him to the floor, where Dude slurped his face. Dustin hugged him like he was his own child.
Avery was captivated as Jamie introduced Dustin. The dog bonded them instantly as they both explored the backyard and made sure there was nothing Dude could destroy. This would work, Jamie thought. They would be fine here together.
As they ate their dinner of fast food, Avery zeroed in on Dustin.
“Dustin, why are you in trouble?”
“Because . . .” He thought for a minute, as if trying to figure out how to frame it. “Some people think I did something that I didn’t do.”
“Why don’t you tell them you didn’t?”
“I have. They don’t believe me.”
She stared at him with those big eyes, as if she was trying to imagine the whole scenario playing out. “My mom will make them believe you. She’s really good at that.”
He grinned. “That’s what I thought.”
“Was Mommy pretty when she was a little girl?”
He sent Jamie an amused glance at the sudden shift in topic. “She looked just like you.”
“So . . . pretty?” Avery asked with a smile.
Jamie had to cut in. “Stop fishing for compliments and finish your burger.”
Avery took another bite and kept looking at Dustin. “I saw a picture of you at my grandma’s house. You were smoking a cigarette.”
“Yeah, that was in my decadent days. I quit smoking years ago.” Dustin met Jamie’s amused eyes. “I had a lot of bad habits back then.”
“They’ll turn your teeth yellow and make you cough,” Avery said.
“Yep. That’s exactly why I quit.”
Jamie couldn’t help grinning at Avery’s questioning. When dinner was over and Dustin followed her into the kitchen, he leaned close and said, “She’s just like you. All those questions.”
“Yeah, she has that curiosity gene.”
“Let me do this,” he said. “You have mom duties.”
Jamie was happy to let him take over loading the dishwasher. She did have to check Avery’s homework and get her into the bath. She found herself growing too comfortable with him here, as though he and Dude had stepped into her family and were going to stay.
This was a bad idea. She pushed the thoughts out of her mind and tried to think like a lawyer instead of an old friend.
While Avery was taking a bath, Jamie turned on her bedroom TV to the local news.
The bombing was still the lead story, and the whole first programming block consisted of video and interviews about the tragedy. She flipped to the other two stations. They had the same lead story.
It wasn’t until after the commercial that she heard Dustin’s name. “Sources at the police department confirm that an arrest was made yesterday in connection with the bombing. Thirty-five-year-old Dustin Webb, an Afghanistan veteran, was detained yesterday after the bombing. He was arrested on charges of possessing explosives stolen from the ChemEx ammunition plant a week and a half ago, and sources tell us that they believe the bomb planted at Trudeau Hall was partially made with the same plastic explosive, RDX, as well as TNT and ammonium citrate.”
Jamie felt sick. That tied the bombing even more closely with the theft at ChemEx. Those were the three substances stolen from the ammunition plant.
“Mommy?”
Jamie turned the TV off so Avery wouldn’t see. “Yeah?”
“I’m kind of scared to sleep in my room.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s new, and what if those people come?”
“What people, honey?”
“The news people.”
“They wouldn’t hurt us. They’re just loud, and I didn’t want them to bother us.”
“But what if they do come?”
“They won’t. They don’t know we’re here.”
“It might be okay if Dude could sleep with me.”
Jamie smiled. “Dude is downstairs sleeping with Dustin. Maybe another night.” She drew in a deep breath. “Tell you what. Go brush your teeth, and you can sleep with me.”
“Will you go to bed now?”
“Yeah. I’ll work on my computer while you fall asleep.”
As Avery brushed her teeth, Jamie walked out of the room and partially down the stairs. Dustin already had the TV on, and she heard reporters discussing him by name.
So he knew. The thought of what he must be go
ing through brought tears to her eyes. You’re a lawyer, not a friend, she told herself. Blotting her eyes, she turned and went back to her room.
Really, this wasn’t all bad. So the press had learned of his arrest. She and Dustin still had time to prove his innocence to the public as well as the court.
As she got her bed ready for Avery, she prayed silently that the press wouldn’t track him down tonight.
Downstairs, Dustin turned off the kitchen TV after the news and went into his room, where Dude had already made himself comfortable on his bed. Jamie had given him the master bedroom with a bathroom so that he could stay in here without bothering her and Avery. He turned on the TV and pulled his laptop out of his suitcase. He crawled onto the bed and typed in the news station that had just shown his picture. He played the clip again.
They’d gotten a photo of him from his army days, dressed in his uniform. How had they gotten that? Had Aunt Pat given them pictures? That was probably a good thing.
He went to each of the other local stations. All of them had posted about him now. One station had dug far enough to find out about the business he owned and its connection to ChemEx. One of his neighbors had been interviewed. “Dustin is a good guy,” he said. “I can’t believe he would do a thing like this. When I had a tree fall on my house during a storm last spring, he was one of the first ones there with a chain saw to help me. I just keep wondering if they’ve got the wrong guy.”
He breathed a sigh of relief that someone had vouched for him.
“He was kind of quiet, almost brooding,” a woman he didn’t even know said of him.
“Do you know of any connection he had to Ed Loran?” the reporter asked.
“I have no idea. But obviously he had something against him. It seems like classic political derangement.”
He closed his computer and stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He had no feelings at all toward Ed Loran. He barely knew who the man was. How could he be accused of his death?
Jesus, how could this happen?
He turned onto his stomach and buried his face in his pillow. “I know I was a mess in my past,” he told God. “You know all about that. But I never would have done this.”
An old passage he remembered from a Bible study he’d done when he’d first found Christ years ago drifted across his mind. It was from Psalm 91. He whispered it as a personal, anguished prayer. “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, ‘My refuge and my fortress, My God, in whom I trust!’”
He pulled himself up and got his Bible out of the pocket in his suitcase. He found the passage and kept reading.
For it is he who delivers you from the snare of the trapper
and from the deadly pestilence . . .
His faithfulness is a shield and bulwark.
You will not be afraid of the terror by night,
Or of the arrow that flies by day.
Tears stung his eyes, and he looked up at the ceiling. From memory of the psalm, he personalized his prayer. “For you will give the angels charge concerning me, to guard me in all my ways . . . Because I have loved you, you’ve said you will deliver me. You said when I call on you, you will answer me and be with me in trouble. You will rescue me. You are my salvation.”
He wiped the tears on his face and lay back on the bed, letting the words seep into his heart. The passage was a prophecy about Jesus, but it applied to God’s people, too. The sure knowledge that God had his back filled him with strength laced with calm. He would fight this, but he wouldn’t be fighting alone.
“Whatever happens to me, use it for whatever purpose you want. I know you’ll help me endure it.”
In fact, God already had. God had put an urgency on his heart to call Jamie when he was in trouble. She had come in minutes. She was on top of this. God hadn’t left him to the wiles of whatever enemy was out there. He had provided so far. He would keep providing.
Dude woke up and scooted closer to him. Dustin stroked his head until the dog was back asleep. Slowly, God’s peace settled over him, and he thought he might actually sleep tonight. There would be time enough to fight tomorrow.
29
Dr. Delaney’s office was locked when Harper took Taylor there at seven in the morning.
Taylor had dreaded seeing her psychiatrist since Harper made the appointment, and now she wanted to leave. “She’s not here. Let’s go,” she said.
“We’ll wait. The office isn’t open yet. She said she’d be here at seven.”
“I don’t need to see her. I’m fine.”
“You haven’t slept for the last two nights. I’m seeing things that—”
“I’m not doing rituals,” Taylor cut in. “I’m just interested—”
A car pulled up next to theirs in the parking lot, and Taylor cringed as her psychiatrist got out. Would she be mad? Taylor wondered. She probably got calls in the middle of the night from suicidal patients, and Taylor had tried to be low maintenance. But now all that was out the window.
“Good morning, ladies.” The wind blew her gray hair as she got out of her car. She came to Taylor and offered her a rare hug.
“I don’t know why she called you,” Taylor said. “I’m having normal responses to trauma. I don’t need to see my shrink about it.”
“She isn’t sleeping,” Harper said. “She was up all night watching social media videos from the concert. She needs some help.”
The doctor unlocked the door and led them past the receptionist’s lobby and into her office. “It’s kind of an unspoken rule that when you suffer severe trauma, you check in with your doctor. There’s not a person alive who could skate through a bombing without problems, and you aren’t an exception.”
“I’ve been doing really well,” Taylor said.
“Let’s just talk. Harper, why don’t you go get some coffee while we meet?”
Harper hesitated, as if she had more to tell the doctor, but Taylor knew she’d unloaded every concern she had during the phone call that, no doubt, had woken her doctor up this morning.
“Text me when you’re finished,” Harper said.
When the door closed, Taylor took her seat in one of the plush chairs she’d sat in monthly for the past couple of years. She slipped off one of her sandals, pulled her foot up, and hugged her knee. “She’s the one who needs a doctor. All she does is hover over me like I’m going to jump off the balcony or something.”
“Have you had thoughts of doing that?”
Taylor rolled her eyes. “I live on the second floor. And no, I haven’t even thought of suicide. I’m happy to be alive after what happened.” It wasn’t true, not exactly, but it was what the doctor needed to hear.
“So tell me about your sleep.”
“Okay,” Taylor said, “can we get one thing straight first? Being obsessed with something isn’t quite the same as having OCD episodes, right? Didn’t you tell me that?”
“Yes, I did.”
“So I’m obsessed with working the bombing out in my head, looking at pictures, trying to figure out who could have done it, reading all the news that comes out. Wouldn’t you do that if you were with two friends who were murdered right next to you?”
“Probably. Every other survivor of that day is probably doing something similar. But your brain chemistry is of concern. PTSD could exacerbate OCD. I think we should adjust your medication. In fact, there’s a new drug that might address your issue better than what you’re on, and this might be a good time to try it.”
“I don’t want to be spaced out. Getting adjusted to a new drug is too hard right now. I’ll take something to help me sleep.”
“Are you having repetitive thoughts?”
“No. Just the usual ones.”
“Nothing new since the event? Because Harper mentioned hearing you say some things over and over.”
“‘We have to find him’ is not a repetitive thought. It’s a statement. We do have to.”
“We?”
“Yes. Them, us, we . . .”
“You?”
“Stop it.” Taylor got up and went to the coffeepot against the wall. She got a filter out of the bag next to the pot, put it in, and started scooping the coffee. “I’m not obsessing about myself flying in like Batwoman and saving the day. I don’t know who is going to find him, but someone has to.”
“How do you know it’s a him?”
“They, then. Whoever did this.” She filled the coffeepot with water from the sink next to it.
“Taylor, sit down, please. Look at me.”
Taylor finished pouring the water in, then turned on the coffeepot. Sighing, she dropped back into her chair and looked at Dr. Delaney.
“You’re probably fine,” the doctor said. “You have been doing well. You’re not going off the deep end. You’re just reacting to a deeply disturbing incident. But because of your brain chemistry and some of the issues we’ve dealt with over the years, I’d like to try this new medication and see if it helps you get through this a little better. If you don’t like it, we can change back. I’ll also give you something for sleep.”
“Okay, but if I feel worse, I’m calling you.”
“I want you to.” She typed the prescription into the computer, then printed it out and gave it to Taylor. “I need for you to call me if you start to get manic or unusually depressed, if you have thoughts of suicide, if your thoughts get more repetitive or your rituals seem more urgent . . .”
“Sounds like a great medication.”
“Those are rare side effects, but I want you to look out for them.”
Taylor took the prescription. She was suddenly too tired to fight anymore. She would just take it.
“I want to see you again next week.”
“Next week? I can’t. I have work.”
“Let’s make an appointment, and if it isn’t possible, we can change it.”
“Okay.”
“Give yourself a few days. Don’t rush back to work. Take some time.”
“I am.” She got up and texted Harper that she was finished, then she turned back to Dr. Delaney. “I’m sorry you had to be here so early.”
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