Aftermath

by Terri Blackstock

  Taylor choked on her food and started to cough. Tears came to her eyes, and she tried to clear her windpipe. “Did they say Jamie Powell?”

  Harper was staring at the TV, too. “That’s the woman we talked to.”

  Taylor cleared her throat. “That woman is the bomber’s attorney! Where’s her card?” She grabbed her phone and looked for the number. She found it, but her hands were shaking. “I’m calling her.” She tapped the number. She didn’t expect her to answer, but the attorney picked up on the third ring.

  “Jamie Powell.”

  “This is Taylor Reid.” Her voice was raspy, broken, and shaky. “We talked the other day? At the police station? You bought me coffee?”

  “Yes,” Jamie said. “How are you, Taylor?”

  “How would you be if you’d just found out you were lied to, so some terrorist’s attorney could pump information out of you?” Her pitch rose with each word. “You’re representing the guy who murdered my friends!”

  Jamie’s tone seemed unruffled. “I didn’t lie. He’s not the killer. I know how it looks to you, but I can promise you, he’s the wrong person. I’m trying to find the right killers. My client was set up by them. He’s as much a victim as you are.”

  Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, and Taylor’s head began to throb. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m onto you. You’re a bloodsucking, lying leech. Don’t ever come near me again.” She clicked the phone off and threw it across the room.

  “Okay, that’s it,” Harper said. “We’ve got to get out of this house. Come on. Get your shoes on. We’re going to a movie.”

  “I’m not going to a movie!” Taylor screamed. “I don’t want to go anywhere there’s a crowd.” She screamed it as if Harper had something to do with the bombing, as though her sister was trying to lure her into another murder scene. She knew even as she shrieked it that she was overreacting. She had to get herself together, but she could not quell the rage pulsing through her.

  “Then we’ll go to a store,” Harper said quietly. “We’ll get you something to wear to the funeral.”

  “I don’t want to shop.” She sat down and sobbed, unable to stop.

  Harper brought her a box of Kleenex and let her cry for a few minutes. “I’m upset, too,” she said. “I feel betrayed. I shouldn’t have let her talk to you.”

  “I should have realized. When does a lawyer help the police? What did I even tell her?”

  “About the truck. Nothing she wasn’t going to learn anyway.”

  Taylor blew her nose, wiped her face, and tried to take a deep, cleansing breath.

  “Come on,” Harper said. “Get your shoes on.”

  Taylor was trembling. “I hope that man rots in hell. And his lawyer with him.”

  Harper went and got Taylor’s shoes. “Put them on,” she said.

  Taylor followed her sister’s orders, but the rage wasn’t buried. It still rippled through her heart and her pounding head.

  33

  Travis checked his watch and counted the hours that Crystal had been asleep. She needed her rest, but whenever she slept this soundly, he couldn’t help wondering if she would ever wake up. She was losing the battle, but he wouldn’t let her stop fighting.

  Her hair was soaked with sweat, and her face had a slick sheen. There was a new purple bruise on her upper arm, adding to the ones on her lower arms. Her lips were crusty and cracked, only slightly more pigmented than her pale skin.

  He wanted to take off his mask and crawl into bed with her, press his lips against her face, and just hold her. But she was so fragile, and he couldn’t feel her cheek through this blasted mask.

  He noted a difference in her breathing and sat down beside her. “Crystal?” he asked gently. “You awake, love?”

  Her eyes fluttered open, the green of them providing a startling contrast to the death-gray pallor of her skin. Still, a suggestion of a smile curled her lips infinitesimally upward. “I am now,” she said.

  He took her limp hand and laced his fingers through hers. “I have to leave for a while this morning, but I’m worried about you. You’ve been asleep a long time.”

  “Tired,” she said. “How could I be so tired?”

  “You’ve been working very hard.”

  “I’ve been lying here like a log.” She reached up and touched his face, the part that wasn’t covered, and he took her hand and held it against his cheek. “You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”

  “Of course I did,” he said.

  “You haven’t even changed clothes. Where are you going like that?”

  “I have to meet Dustin at his lawyer’s. Your mom is coming to stay with you.”

  “You should shower and change.”

  He checked his watch. He didn’t have the time or energy to do either.

  She closed her eyes. For a moment, Travis thought he’d lost her to sleep again.

  “Hey, Grey,” she whispered after a moment, not opening her eyes.

  “Yeah, love?”

  “When can I see the boys?”

  “Not yet, babe. Your resistance is too low. They’re little petri dishes . . .” His voice trailed off, but he didn’t have to finish. They both knew what that would mean. But he couldn’t brook the sadness in her eyes. “We’ll FaceTime later.”

  “You can dress them in little biohazard suits. They’d love it. Tell them they’re astronauts.”

  “The doctor doesn’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “I just want to hold them. Feel their hair. Look into their sweet little eyes.”

  He leaned over and pressed a kiss on her cheek through his mask.

  “We’ll do it soon. We just have to get through this rough patch.”

  She got tears in her eyes, and he wished he could take them away. This was a cruel disease. He wished he could defy it and sneak the kids in. But he knew better.

  There was a knock on the door and Wendy stuck her head inside. Crystal tried to sit up. “Come in, Mom.”

  Her mother stepped inside, wearing the prescribed mask, hair covering, and gown over her clothes. She seemed to assess her daughter’s condition as she came toward her. “How you doing, sweetie?”

  “Good. Slept well.”

  “Awesome.” Wendy looked at Travis. “You go on. I’ve got this.”

  “I’m going.” He bent over his wife and pressed another kiss on her cheek through his mask, wishing he could pull it down. Then, addressing her mother, he said, “Call me if . . . if you need me, okay?”

  Her mother nodded grimly, then rallied and pulled two papers out of the bag she’d brought. She brandished them for Crystal. “Miles and Mason made these for you.”

  Crystal managed to sit up slightly and, delighted, slapped her hand over her mouth. “Fingerpaintings?” The word was spoken with more energy than Travis had heard in her voice all morning. “You let them fingerpaint!”

  “They’re naturals,” Wendy said. “The paint is made of pudding, by the way.”

  “Which explains the mouth print on Mason’s.”

  “That’s a kiss,” Wendy informed her matter-of-factly. “Especially for you.” She laughed. “You should have seen the mess!”

  Knowing Crystal was in good hands, Travis slipped out of the room to meet Dustin.

  34

  “Can I get you some coffee?”

  Dustin looked up at Jamie’s assistant, Lila. “No thanks, I’m good.”

  She left him sitting in Jamie’s office, and he looked around at the place where Jamie spent much of her time. It looked like her, with its warm touches and pictures of Avery. She had come a long way.

  Somehow that made him feel worse.

  Her association with him, especially now, couldn’t be good for her. It might ruin her reputation and make her as hated as he was.

  He pulled out his phone, googled his name, and scrolled through all the horrible things being written about him. This morning, on the way here, he had made the mistake of driving by his house to see whether the pr
ess was there. He had seen so many reporters and cameramen on the street that he’d turned off a block before his house.

  What had this person done to him, this enemy who had planted evidence in his trunk? How would he ever overcome it?

  He looked up when he heard her voice, talking to Lila before coming in. She got her messages and walked in. “Sorry I’m running late. I was with the partners, so I couldn’t leave.”

  “Were they giving you a hard time about me?”

  “Not at all. They’re glad I took your case. Did any of the media bother you after I left?”

  “My phone’s been vibrating constantly, but I’m not taking any calls.”

  “Good. So where’s Travis? Is he coming?”

  “Yes, he’s running late,” he said.

  She sat down at her desk and locked her gaze with his. Just the sight of her eyes made him feel a little better. It always did.

  “Dustin, I’ve been thinking since we went to your office, running everything through my mind. Things about you and Travis.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want to suggest a possibility that I know hasn’t even crossed your mind. And you aren’t going to like it. But as your lawyer, I have to consider everything.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  She took a deep breath. He could see that she was choosing her words very carefully. “Travis. He knew how to break through the security system, he had the blueprint of the building—”

  “No.” He stared at her, unable to believe she would suggest such a thing. “Travis did not set me up.”

  “I’m just saying that we can’t rule anything out. He knew when you were going to be at the hospital and he knew when you left. He may be the only one who did.”

  “He never left when I was there. He couldn’t have gone out to smuggle something into my car. Besides, others knew. Nurses, doctors . . .”

  “He’s the only one who knew what you knew about ChemEx. What if he was working with the people who did this?”

  “It’s not possible.” Dustin got up, paced across the room, and turned back to her. “I’ve known Travis for years. You know when someone is capable of something like that. Besides, you met the man. He’s a basket case over his wife. You think he took the time to plan a theft of an ammunition plant, make bombs, and commit a major act of terrorism in his spare time?”

  She came around her desk and looked up at him. “Again, I’m just brainstorming. In order to help you, I have to figure out everyone else who could have done it. And I’m not suggesting he did all of it. Just like the DA is not suggesting you did.”

  “He can’t suggest that, because I can confirm my alibis.”

  “So can Travis, probably. We’ll see.”

  “Travis did not steal those explosives!” Dustin’s voice was so loud that she closed her door. “He’s as much a victim of circumstance as I am! And he would never do that to me. Frame me like that, make me go to jail . . .”

  She sat back down. “Sometimes friends can let you down.”

  Dustin had to make her understand. He dropped into his chair, set his elbows on his knees. “I’m not claiming Travis is a saint,” he said more quietly. “But he’s no more a thief than I am. You know the way you believe in me, Jamie? The way you knew without asking that I was innocent? Well, that’s how I feel about Travis.”

  “I understand,” she said. “But it strikes me that he hasn’t been all that helpful. He’s not going out of his way to be interviewed so I can help you.”

  “He is going out of his way, right now. He’ll be here any minute.”

  “I hope so. I know he’s stressed out about Crystal, but if someone came to question me about you when you were in a position like this, I would be there answering every question they had to help clear you. I wouldn’t put it off and make excuses.”

  “That’s not what he’s doing.”

  “Okay. If I’m wrong, I’ll be the first to admit it. If he shows up, I’m going to question him hard, Dustin. I have to.”

  He hated that. It wasn’t right. “Just remember he’s not at his best.”

  “I will. But it strikes me that you look sadder about my suggestion that he did it than you do about the allegations against you.”

  “I’m just—”

  Lila opened the door. “Mr. Grey is here.”

  “Okay.” Jamie looked at Dustin, and he drew in a deep breath and tried to clear his head.

  “Send him in,” she said.

  Travis walked in still wearing the clothes he’d had on yesterday, and his hair looked like he’d forgotten to brush it. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I ran into the doctor on the way out of Crystal’s room, and I had to talk to him.”

  Dustin stood up and gave him a hug. “Did he have anything good to say?”

  Travis looked distracted. “Not really. We can talk about it later.”

  Jamie was glad he didn’t want to delve into it now. As tragic as Crystal’s situation was, Dustin’s was tragic, too, and she didn’t want them getting off task. “Thank you for coming in,” she said as he took the chair next to Dustin. “It’s helpful for me to work in the office so I can have a couple of paralegals and my assistant sit in on our meeting.”

  “The doctor didn’t have any new revelations, did he?” Dustin cut in.

  Travis glanced at his friend. “She’s okay right now. Her mom is with her, and she was in good spirits, mostly.”

  “Good,” Jamie said, seizing that. “I needed you here this morning so we could go over what your activities have been for the last couple of weeks. I’ve gotten Dustin’s, and I know yours will probably come up, too.”

  “My activities?” Travis asked. “Why mine?”

  “Because you’re Dustin’s partner. It’s inevitable that you’ll be part of this equation.”

  He sat stiffer. “Do I need a lawyer, too?”

  “Maybe,” she said truthfully.

  “Well, I’d want you if I need one.”

  She looked down at her legal pad. “I appreciate that. I’m not entirely sure that would be in Dustin’s best interest, but we don’t have to worry about it right now. Just be thinking about someone else in case it turns out you need one.”

  “In my best interest?” Dustin asked. “It would be in my best interest for you to represent Travis.”

  “No,” Travis said. “Listen to her.”

  “I am listening, but if you need a lawyer—”

  Travis’s phone rang, and he glanced down at it. “I’m sorry. I have to take this. It’s Wendy.” He picked it up. “Hello? Yeah, Wendy, what’s going on?”

  Jamie met Dustin’s worried eyes. Was this The Call? The one they’d feared?

  Travis’s face twisted and a vein popped out on his forehead as tears pushed to his eyes. Jamie could hear Wendy’s voice. She sounded upset.

  “Oh, no. No, it’s okay. I’m coming. I’ll be right there.”

  Travis tapped the phone off and got to his feet. “I have to go. Crystal’s . . .” He stopped, swallowed, tried again. “She’s got a really bad nosebleed, and her fever has spiked. Her platelet count is so low that they can’t get it to stop.”

  Dustin sprang out of his chair. “I’ll drive you.”

  “No, I’m fine. I want you to stay here and finish this with Jamie. You’ve got to stop thinking about me.”

  “But, Travis—”

  “I mean it,” Travis said, as if Dustin’s gesture of sympathy angered him. “I’ll call you later.”

  “If there’s anything I can do, man. Anything at all—”

  “I know.”

  Jamie stood up. “Travis, when things calm down, could you send me a copy of your calendars for the last few months?”

  Dustin looked irritated. “Jamie, he can’t think of that right now.”

  “I’ll do it,” Travis said. “Just . . . I don’t know when I can. I have to go.”

  Travis went out the door and disappeared out of sight, and finally Dustin turned back to Jamie and closed
the door behind him.

  “A nosebleed,” he repeated. “When she gets those, sometimes they last for days. They give her transfusions. It can be really serious.”

  Jamie didn’t know what to say. “She’s in good hands, Dustin.”

  He nodded and sat back down. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I’m sure they’ll let you know if she gets worse.”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed his jaw and studied her. “Jamie, he’s not faking this. He was here, all set to answer your questions. He’s not being evasive.”

  “I know. I could hear Wendy’s voice on the phone. She sounded pretty upset.”

  “Yeah.” Dustin stared into space, as if desperately trying to decide what to do next. “I just don’t want you to think that he’s dodging questions. He’s not. She’s really, really sick.”

  “I know, Dustin. Let’s try to shift our focus to you. I’m going to get my paralegal in here, and we’re going to go over your schedule for the last few weeks.”

  “Sure. I have everything on my phone calendar.”

  Jamie called one of her paralegals, and as she waited, she wondered if she could get Dustin’s head back in the game.

  35

  If he hadn’t been able to tell from Crystal’s continuing nosebleed that her condition was getting worse, Travis would have known it from the worry in the doctor’s usually hopeful face that afternoon when Dr. Grafton led him into the hall. The oncologist had struggled with them through this long battle of disease, remission, and more disease. Now he tapped his pencil on his chin, then scratched the eraser against his forehead that was pleated with the burden of his profession. “Travis, it’s not good news,” he said. “Her platelet count is down to zero. She has a fever of 106.”

  Travis rubbed his stubbled jaw. “She could have seizures or brain damage.”

  “We’re trying to get it down. But I have to warn you. She may not have much longer.”

  Travis felt something snap in his chest. “So you’re giving up on her? Just quitting?”

  “No, of course not. We’re still fighting. But I have to be honest with you.”