Fatal Judgment

by Irene Hannon

  “No. I brought some food. And drink.”

  She eyed the eclectic assortment. Small plastic containers of vanilla pudding and lime Jell-O, plus a turkey sandwich. The beverages included a small carton of low-fat milk, a container of orange juice, and two different kinds of soda.

  Liz shook her head. “I’m not hungry. But thank you.”

  “I admit the selection isn’t great. But you might want to eat a little until we can round up more substantive fare.”

  She skirted the bed and took a seat on the far side. Away from the food. “I don’t think I can manage anything right now.”

  “Coffee’s on the way, if you’d rather have that.”

  “No. I had too much caffeine last night.” She surveyed the drinks. “Maybe I’ll try the milk.”

  When she started to rise, he waved her back. “Let me see if there are any cups in the bathroom.”

  He found one, ripped off the covering, and carried it and the milk container around the bed to where she sat. Setting the plastic cup on the windowsill, he opened the carton and poured the milk for her.

  As she murmured a thank-you and reached for the cup, he frowned. Her fingers were red. Almost as red as her crimson nail polish. As if they’d been burnt. Or rubbed raw.

  After a quick shift into analytical mode, it took him all of two seconds to evaluate the evidence and arrive at a conclusion.

  She’d spent the past few minutes scrubbing off her sister’s blood.

  No wonder the sight of food—and the thought of eating—turned her stomach.

  He retraced his route back to the other side of the bed, picked up the tray, and headed for the door. “I’ll get this out of the way.”

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  At her question, he angled toward her. “Yes. But I can eat in the hall.”

  “You don’t have to leave on my account. I can tolerate watching someone else eat, even if my stomach won’t let me do the same.” Her gaze locked with his. “However, if you’d rather not spend any more time than necessary in my presence, don’t feel compelled to stay.”

  Taken aback by her blunt remark, he froze. A flush seeped onto her cheeks as he stared at her—suggesting the comment had surprised her as much as it had him.

  Before he could think of a response, she spoke again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be snippy. Just . . . forget I said that. Chalk it up to stress. Go ahead and eat out there with your colleague. I’m sure he’s far better company.”

  She took a sip of her milk. Lowered the cup.

  Jake suddenly found himself fighting an impulse to wipe away the white mustache that clung to her upper lip.

  Which was nuts.

  He should be hightailing it out of the room instead of thinking about getting up close and personal. She’d given him an out. He ought to take it. Because her assessment was correct. He didn’t want to spend any more time in her company than necessary.

  Or he hadn’t, anyway, when he’d first been handed this assignment.

  Yet somehow, in the past few hours, his attitude had undergone a subtle shift. The Liz sitting across the room from him, facing a crisis alone, digging deep for strength as she kept vigil over her sister, didn’t jibe with the mental image he’d created of a selfish woman who ranked matters of the heart low on her priority list.

  Then again, for all he knew, she might have called her office while he was away. Taken the opportunity to catch up with voice mail or email. He was certain a BlackBerry lurked somewhere in the recesses of her purse.

  But somehow he didn’t think she’d done that.

  And for whatever reason, the thought of leaving her alone in this sterile room didn’t sit well.

  Besieged by conflicting impulses, Jake went with his gut. “I’ll eat in here.”

  Did the tense line of her shoulders ease a hair? Or was it his imagination? Jake wasn’t certain as he set the food back on the adjustable bedside table, propped a hip on the mattress, and opened the plastic container that held the sandwich.

  She continued to sip her milk in silence, focusing on the closed blinds as he devoured the sandwich and the pudding. Still hungry, he considered the Jell-O. Passed.

  He chose a soda instead, the fizz echoing in the quiet room as he pulled back the tab. After taking a long swallow, he regarded Liz.

  As if sensing his perusal, she looked toward him. “How was it?”

  “Hospital food.” He shrugged. “But when you’re hungry, you can’t be too picky.”

  “Not hungry enough for the Jell-O, I see.”

  He grimaced at the clear green substance in the plastic dish. “I’ve never been able to stomach food that jiggles.”

  The ghost of a smile whispered at her lips. “I’m with you. My mom always forced me to eat Jell-O when I was sick, which did nothing to endear it to me. I wouldn’t even eat the cherry Jell-O salad with whipped cream and blueberries she always made on Fourth of July, despite the rave reviews it got.”

  He found himself smiling in response. “My mom’s cure-all for any kind of sickness was much more palatable. Homemade chicken soup. Sometimes my brother and sister and I would fake being sick just so she’d make it.”

  “Pretty devious.”

  “Hey, it worked. For a while. Now she makes it whenever we come to visit.”

  “Where’s home, Jake?” She took another sip of milk, never breaking eye contact.

  “Here. But Mom moved to Chicago a few years ago to live with her sister. They were raised there, and they decided to combine households after they both became widows. Now that I’m based in St. Louis, I should be able to see her more often.”

  “That will be nice . . . for both of you.”

  “How about you? Does your mom still make that Jell-O salad?”

  As she ran a finger around the rim of her cup, every vestige of her fleeting smile vanished. “She died when I was twelve.”

  He should have remembered that. At Doug’s wedding ten years ago, he’d noted the absence of the mother of the bride and asked his friend about it.

  “I knew that. Doug mentioned it once. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. She’s been gone a long time. But you know what? I still miss her. Especially on days like this.” Her words came out scratchy, and she took another sip of milk. “Dad did his best to fill in the gap for Stephanie and me, though. Hard as he worked in his law practice, he was always there for us.” She fingered a loose thread on the oversized scrub top. “He died of a heart attack four years ago. Way too young. He was only fifty-nine.”

  Meaning she had no one except Stephanie.

  Jake couldn’t imagine being that alone. He might not have seen his family as much as he’d have liked in the past few years, but he knew they were there if he needed them. Except Dad.

  “My father died too young too,” he offered. “Sixty-one. He got up one morning five years ago, put on his uniform, and keeled over from a stroke on his way to work. I’ll never forget the shock of that phone call.” His own voice hoarsened, and he cleared his throat.

  “What sort of uniform?”

  “Police. He never wanted to be more than a street cop. But he made a difference. People on his beat knew if they had a problem, Joe Taylor would see that justice was served. Everyone loved and respected him. I never met a man with more strength of conviction and integrity.”

  Liz’s expression softened. “I have a feeling our dads might have been cut from the same cloth.”

  “Could be.” Jake tipped his head back and drained his soda can. He had no idea how the conversation had edged into such personal territory. While he wasn’t averse to sharing information about his upbringing and his family with friends, Liz didn’t fall into that camp. Not even close.

  But he had to admit she was easy to talk to. Must be her legal training. Putting people at ease on the stand and encouraging them to talk by asking the right questions would be a critical skill for an attorney. One it was clear she’d mastered.

  Jake was saved from having
to find a way to shift the conversation back to more neutral territory by a soft knock on the door.

  Spence stuck his head inside. “Dr. Lawrence is here.”

  As Jake’s gaze met the other marshal’s, some sixth sense told him what was coming. He rose, circled the bed, and stationed himself beside Liz as Spence pushed the door all the way open.

  The doctor, still attired in surgical scrubs, entered.

  At the man’s grim demeanor, Liz drew a sharp breath and her posture went taut as a bowstring. When her fingers clenched, crushing the empty plastic cup in her hand, Jake bent down to take it from her.

  The surgeon snagged a chair, placed it at the foot of the bed across from Liz, and sat. Exhaustion had deepened the smudges under his eyes since his visit to the ER, and the lines etched on his brow were mute testimony to sustained, intense concentration.

  “There’s no easy way to say this, Judge Michaels.” His tone was gentle and filled with quiet sympathy. “We did everything we could. But the bleeding and swelling were so severe that your sister’s brain stem, which controls the body’s most critical functions, stopped operating. We’ve done an EEG, and there’s no electrical activity. In light of our earlier conversation about organ donation, we’re keeping her on a ventilator and moving her to the ICU. But brain death has occurred. I’m very, very sorry we couldn’t save her.”

  As the doctor gave Liz the bad news, Jake watched her knuckles whiten on the arms of the chair. Tracked the shudder that rippled through her. Heard the catch in her breathing.

  But when she spoke, she once again sounded steadier than he’d expected.

  “I know you did your best, Doctor. And I thank you for that. May I . . .” Her voice caught, and she tried again. “I’d like to see her.”

  “Of course. Just give us a few minutes. One of the ICU nurses will come and get you.” He looked up at Jake. “Because of the nature of her injury, we’ll need some direction from the coroner before we can proceed with organ retrieval.”

  “I’ll get things in motion.”

  The doctor nodded, then leaned toward Liz and took her hand, cocooning it between his. “I wish we could have repaired the damage to your sister and given her many more years, Judge Michaels. But some things can’t be remedied, even with modern medicine. If it’s any consolation, the quality of her life, had she lived, would have been severely compromised. The damage to her brain was extensive.”

  “Thank you for sharing that. It does help.”

  With one more squeeze of her hand, the doctor stood and spoke to Jake. “When you have some information, just let the ICU know.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  In the quiet that descended after the doctor exited, Jake tried to think of some words of comfort. But if they existed, he couldn’t come up with them. So he resorted to the standard, trite expression of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Liz.”

  “Thank you.” She blinked and swiped the backs of her hands across her eyes. “I knew all along there wasn’t much chance she’d survive. But I . . . I guess I kept hoping for a miracle.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “No. Thanks. I’d just like to sit for a few minutes.”

  “Okay. I’ll be in the hall.”

  With one last glance at her, he exited the room, let the door click shut behind him, and joined his colleague.

  “I take it the news was bad?” Spence handed him a cup of black coffee.

  “Yeah.” Jake took a long swallow of the lukewarm brew and kneaded the back of his neck. “Her sister didn’t make it.”

  “How’s the judge holding up?”

  “She’s still on her feet. But my guess is she’s close to folding.”

  “It’s been a rough night.”

  “Yeah.”

  “While you were talking to the doctor, I checked in with Matt. He’s lined up a condo for her until we sort this thing out. Two of our guys have already done a sweep and are waiting there.”

  “Good. We should be ready to leave shortly. She wants to stop by the ICU, so we’ll do that on the way out. Also, her sister left a directive to donate her organs. Can you find out what the coroner needs?”

  “No problem. I’ll arrange for some transport for us too.”

  “We need to swing by her house on our way to the condo. The police want her to see if anything is missing.”

  “I’ll get a couple of our guys over there.”

  As the nurse who’d briefed them earlier appeared from around a corner at the far end of the hall, Jake drained his cup. “They must be ready for the judge.”

  Handing the cup back to Spence, Jake reentered the room. Liz was sitting where he’d left her.

  “Susan Grady is headed our way. Do you need a few more minutes before going to the ICU?”

  “No.”

  Standing, she walked around the bed with the exaggerated care of a drunk and picked up her purse. Her slow, precise movements confirmed his assessment of her condition.

  She was about to fold.

  As she stopped beside him, waiting for him to cue their departure, Jake gave in to his earlier impulse.

  “Hang on one sec.”

  He ducked into the bathroom, dampened a washcloth, reentered the room, and positioned himself in front of her.

  She inspected the cloth. Gave him a puzzled frown. “What’s that for?”

  “Milk mustache.”

  The furrows in her brow eased. “I never did learn to drink milk properly.”

  “Easy to fix.” He dabbed at her upper lip, trying to ignore those gold-flecked green eyes that harbored so much pain.

  “At least you didn’t spit on your handkerchief.”

  “What?” He stopped dabbing, taken aback.

  “That’s what my mom always did when I had a milk mustache. I hated it.” She tried for a smile. Didn’t come close to pulling it off.

  Admiring her spunk, Jake wiped away the last of the crusty white residue. “I can understand that. Although spit was probably very effective.”

  “But disgusting.”

  Flashing her a quick smile, he tossed the washcloth onto the adjustable table beside the remnants of his breakfast and took her arm. “I agree. Let’s head out.”

  The walk to the ICU was short. Once they arrived, Spence took up a position by the door. Jake released Liz’s arm, intending to wait outside with his colleague. The nurse pushed through the door and held it open.

  Liz didn’t budge.

  Susan Grady transferred her attention from Liz to Jake and arched an eyebrow.

  “Liz.” He touched her shoulder. “Would you rather not go in? You don’t have to.”

  “Yes, I do. I have to s-say good-bye.” Her voice was determined, but he saw the panic in her eyes. “Would you mind c-coming in with me?”

  He shot a quick glance at Spence. “You okay with that?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got it covered.”

  Taking Liz’s arm again, he stepped with her into the ICU.

  And into a sea of memories that blindsided him.

  It had been a different city, a different hospital, a different set of circumstances . . . but the muted sounds, the equipment, the smell—they took him back four years. To the night he’d lost Jen.

  All at once, he was sorry he’d eaten breakfast.

  When his step faltered, Liz looked up at him. “Jake?”

  He gritted his teeth. Sucked in a deep breath. “Give me a sec.”

  Understanding—followed by remorse—flashed through her eyes. “I’m sorry. You probably have your own bad hospital memories. I should have realized that. Look, I’m okay. Just wait for me outside. I c-can do this by myself.”

  The stutter belied her reassurance.

  Still, for an instant, Jake was tempted to take her up on her offer. To flee this place that awakened the memories of pain and loss slumbering deep in his heart.

  But the truth was, those memories would have been worse if he’d had to face his trauma alone. He’d made it through those dark h
ours because Cole and Alison had shown up and stuck by him 24/7. That’s what siblings did. That’s what family was for. But Liz had no one. And no matter his personal feelings toward her, he couldn’t let her do this hard thing alone.

  Firming his grip on her arm, he urged her forward. “I’m fine.”

  To his surprise, she held back and searched his face. “Are you sure?”

  She was giving him one more chance to change his mind. Putting her own needs secondary to his. Willing to spare him at her own expense—despite her clear recognition of his antipathy toward her.

  That was another disconnect with the image he’d drawn of her from his conversations with Doug.

  And another reason not to let her down.

  “I’m sure.”

  She drew a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

  Susan had stopped up ahead by a curtained cubicle, and she gestured toward it when they joined her. “Feel free to stay as long as you like.”

  As she moved away, Jake kept a firm grip on Liz’s arm. “Ready?”

  She straightened her shoulders. Lifted her chin. Nodded.

  Leaning forward, he took hold of the drape. And as he prepared to pull it aside, he dug deep for a silent prayer to the God he’d neglected of late, asking him to give Liz the courage and strength she would need to get through the next few minutes—and the days and months to come.

  4

  ______

  Liz thought she’d mentally prepared herself to see Stephanie.

  She was wrong.

  As her sister came into view, her slender form outlined beneath the white sheet, she faltered. Without Jake’s steadying grip on her arm, without the bolstering effect of his solid physical presence and aura of strength, she had a feeling she’d have crumpled into a heap on the floor.

  For close to a minute, she remained at the foot of the bed, willing the shakiness in her legs to stabilize as she watched the steady rise and fall of Stephanie’s chest. And reminded herself that the oxygen flowing through her sister’s lungs was being provided by a ventilator. That despite the lifelike movement, Stephanie was gone, leaving only a physical shell behind.