by Irene Hannon
Now, she sensed his dedication to keeping her safe had a personal element. His demeanor, and the hand resting on hers, seemed evidence of that.
But perhaps Jake would offer the same kind of emotional support to anyone in his charge.
There would be time later to figure all this out, she decided as he gave her hand a squeeze and turned back to the front. When her emotions weren’t so tattered and he wasn’t occupied with a killer still on the loose—and possibly interested in finishing the job he’d started. They both had enough on their plates for the moment.
But after things calmed down, Liz had every intention of returning to their interrupted conversation at Doug’s grave.
And setting the record straight about her marriage to his best friend.
10
______
“My friends and fellow patriots, we live in troubled times. Dangerous times. Day by day, the unalienable rights set forth in the documents so painstakingly prepared by our founding fathers are being eroded through apathy and ignorance. While many people complain, few take action. I applaud all of you for attending this meeting. It means you share my concern about the fate of our great country. It means you want to learn the truth. But education without action is meaningless. How many of you here tonight can stand up and say, ‘I did something’!”
A murmur ran through the crowd as Jarrod Williams leaned forward on the flag-draped podium in the back room of Express Copies and surveyed the seventy or eighty people occupying the rows of folding chairs in front of him.
In his seat near the rear, Martin shifted as he sought a more comfortable position. He’d tried to do something—but he’d screwed it up. And he felt bad about that. Real bad. After reading the story about the judge’s sister last night, he’d tossed until the early hours of the morning.
But mistakes happened. When you had the courage to take a stand, there was always the chance of collateral damage, as Jarrod had once called it. It was unfortunate—yet justifiable if it advanced the cause.
“My fellow patriots, we must save our Constitution and Bill of Rights before it’s too late.” Martin refocused as Jarrod continued. “Even as we speak, the judiciary is conspiring to oppress us. Despite the Second Amendment, the federal courts want to disarm all Americans. They want to deny us our constitutional right to keep and bear arms. If you think I exaggerate, consider how difficult it has become to own a firearm. Have you tried to buy a gun lately? The regulations and licensing requirements make it an exercise in frustration.”
There were murmurs of assent from the crowd, and Martin nodded in agreement. He was lucky. He’d had a number of weapons for years, all now stashed in a locked cabinet in his basement. Purchased before the courts and the government began plotting to undermine the Second Amendment. It was too bad he’d had to drop his favorite .45 into the river as he left town on Friday night. But he’d used it for a good cause. And he had other handguns.
Martin watched as Jarrod came out from behind the podium and moved closer to the crowd. Tall and spare, always dressed in a suit and tie, his face shone with intelligence beneath his shock of white hair. He was a mesmerizing speaker, and Martin had been hooked ever since Tom Harris, the owner of Express Copies, had invited him to attend his first meeting. Here, he’d found like-minded people. Citizens who loved their country—not the corrupt government.
“My friends, the press and the terrocrats have called organizations like ours disgruntled fringe groups and subversive factions. Let me tell you something—we’re in good company. That’s what they called our founding fathers too. Now, like then, the cause is righteous. And we are at a crossroads. America’s demise is accelerating, and I fear that in our lifetime, the flickering light of liberty may be extinguished forever.
“Remember this, fellow patriots. Truth and justice are on our side. When your natural birthrights are violated, it is your right to ask for redress from the government. And if our corrupt courts fail you, if our tyrannical government fails you, you are under no obligation to offer them your allegiance or obedience.”
He joined his hands in front of him, fingertips touching. Almost like he was praying, Martin reflected.
“Let me leave you with one more thought. Whatever actions you take to reclaim our country, don’t keep them hidden. As Matthew reminds us in the Holy Bible, expose them to the world so everyone can see the light. ‘Neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, but on a candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house.’ Spread the light, my friends. With pride. And if you are persecuted for your commitment to freedom, so be it. For it is up to us to keep the light of liberty burning strong. That is a cause worthy of martyrdom.”
The room erupted in applause, and Martin joined the others as they rose to their feet and gave Jarrod a rousing ovation.
But his mind was whirling as he pondered Jarrod’s closing comment.
He’d tried to do a good thing, and he planned to finish the job. But perhaps his method was wrong. He’d thought taking out a judge was sufficient. One less judge in America was a good thing, after all. Especially that judge. But no one would have known why she died. And that was important. To advance their cause, the world needed to know the reason for such a death. That it wasn’t a personal vendetta but part of a bigger purpose.
Suddenly, he saw his failure in a new light—as a God-given opportunity. A second chance to get it right. To shine the light on his actions through the media, so the world would know there were brave patriots dedicated to restoring America to its former glory.
“He was great tonight, wasn’t he?”
As the applause died down and the murmur of conversation replaced Jarrod’s stirring rhetoric, Martin turned toward Tom Harris. If it hadn’t been for Tom, he’d never have found out about this organization. Lucky for him, Tom had struck up a conversation with him fifteen months ago when he’d stopped in to copy some tax records after receiving a letter from the IRS claiming he’d underpaid his taxes. Tom had listened as he’d railed about the obscene fine he’d been slapped with for making an honest mistake, then invited him to his first Patriot Constitutionalists meeting. He hadn’t missed one since.
“Yeah. He’s always good.”
“You staying for the seminar? Should be interesting . . . paper terrorism at the local level.” He grinned. “We’re going to bury those aldermen on this eminent domain issue.”
It was a good cause, and he wouldn’t have minded pitching in. Too bad he hadn’t known about this group when his own house had been declared blighted a year and a half ago in the interest of “progress.” Like the world had needed another strip mall. His lips curled in disgust.
But he couldn’t stay tonight.
He had plans to make.
“I’d like to, but my sister’s coming to visit, and I have some business to take care of before she arrives.”
“No problem.” Tom slapped him on the back. “You having any luck finding a job?”
That was another sore subject.
And another kick in the pants by Uncle Sam.
After six months, it was still hard for him to believe his twenty-four-year career was toast. But that’s what happened when a company had to downsize after the government reneged on its defense contracts. So at fifty-three, he’d found himself on the street. Too young to retire, too old to find a job. And no one to commiserate with, now that Helen was gone.
Except she shouldn’t be gone. Wouldn’t be gone, if that doctor hadn’t botched things in the emergency room three years ago. Not that the court had seen it that way.
Fighting back the surge of anger those rancorous memories always provoked, he did his best to keep his tone conversational. “No. Economy’s bad.”
“Yeah. I hear you. Well, good luck. Are you coming to the next meeting?”
“I plan to.” He’d make up some excuse for his absence to Patricia. Tell her he’d gone bowling, maybe. He’d been a bowler once. A long time ago. She’d buy that.
“Y
ou gonna say hi to Jarrod before you leave?”
That had been his intention. He’d looked forward to letting the leader know he wasn’t one of the cowards who complained from the sidelines without ever joining in the fight. Not that he’d intended to provide details. He’d just wanted the man to know his words had inspired someone to take action.
But he had to finish the job first. The right way.
After that . . . he’d speak with Jarrod.
“Not tonight.”
“Okay, buddy. See you next time. Keep the faith.”
As Tom dived back into the crowd, Martin headed toward the door at the rear of the copy shop. A tall, thirtysomething dark-haired guy dressed in jeans and a T-shirt was ahead of him, and he held the door open for Martin as he approached. Martin had noticed him at some recent meetings. A construction worker, he figured. Or maybe he had one of the few landscaping jobs not held by illegal Mexicans. You didn’t get those kinds of biceps sitting behind a desk.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” The man let the door close behind them and fell into step beside him as they rounded the building and headed toward their cars in the front parking lot. “Looks like we’re in for a storm.”
Martin glanced up at the night sky. The moon was hidden, and no stars twinkled through the clouds. A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, low and ominous.
“Yeah. Best get home before it hits. See you around.”
“I’ll be back. You a regular?”
He lifted one shoulder. “I’ve been coming for about a year.”
“I’m newer. Name’s Mark.” He stuck out his hand.
The gesture took Martin off guard. Most people at these meetings didn’t introduce themselves. It seemed to be kind of an unwritten rule. But he didn’t see any harm in it. It was only a first name.
He returned the man’s firm grip. “Martin.”
“Nice to meet you, Martin. Drive safe going home.” Lifting his hand, he strolled toward an older model Camry on the parking lot.
Martin headed the other way, toward his newer Accord, picking up his pace as another rumble of thunder sounded. Closer now.
No question about it.
There was unsettled weather ahead.
“Thanks for bringing this by, Neil. You can set it there.” As she led the way toward the dining room in the condo, Liz gestured toward the table.
Hefting the box in his arms, the younger of her two law clerks followed. After depositing it in the spot she’d indicated, he brushed off his hands. “Hard to believe you’ve accumulated this many files after just four months on the job. There are five more boxes in my car.”
The faint hint of a smile tugged at her lips. At twenty-six, with the ink not yet dry on his law degree, Neil Clark still had much to learn.
“The practice of law is synonymous with mountains of paper, Neil. And books. That doesn’t go away once you leave law school. It only gets worse.”
He grimaced. “Good thing you hadn’t been on the job eight months. We would’ve had to hire a moving truck.”
“I can ask the marshals to bring up the rest of the boxes from the parking garage, if you want.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m also learning that the practice of law plays havoc with the waistline. Running around campus kept me in shape.” He patted his trim midsection. “I’ve put on a few pounds already since I’ve been at this job. Too much desk time.”
A grin twitched at her lips. She liked Neil. From the shock of unruly blond hair that persisted in falling across his forehead, to the studious horn-rimmed glasses he favored, to his perennial gee-whiz expression, he reminded her of an earnest schoolboy, always eager to please. Looking at him, no one would suspect he had an incredible analytical mind and sharp, intuitive insights. She was glad she’d hired him two weeks into her new job.
“If you’ve gained any weight while clerking for me, I haven’t noticed.”
“Victoria has.” He gave her a rueful smile.
Her other clerk had already been on the job for a year when Liz had been named to replace the retiring judge, and she valued the woman’s experience. It had helped smooth the transition. She’d also watched in amusement as Neil had fallen for her hook, line, and sinker—though as far as she could see, Victoria gave him no encouragement. The woman was a total professional and completely focused on her work. Reminding her of herself at that age.
Before she’d fallen in love with an up-and-coming financial wizard who’d stolen her heart and altered her priorities.
Before their fairy-tale marriage had fallen apart and she’d turned back to work for solace—and escape.
Her smile faded.
“I’ll be back up in a jiffy.” Neil started toward the front door.
As he shuttled the remaining cartons up from his car, Liz blocked out the melancholy memories and opened the first box. With a sigh, she poked through the contents halfheartedly. Reviewing past case files to look for a needle in a haystack—as she’d described it to Mark Sanders—was a daunting . . . and unappealing . . . prospect.
But the FBI agent, as well as Jake, seemed to think it was a worthwhile exercise. And she supposed that was true. If she had any enemies, it was logical to assume they were buried somewhere in her thirteen-year law career. And the probability was high that she’d find them in a more recent case rather than older ones.
Neil came and went several times, with one of the marshals on duty in the command post acting as doorman to her unit. The young clerk was huffing as he lugged the last box through the condo and set it down with a thud. She noticed he’d ditched his suit jacket in the car during his last trip.
“That’s my exercise for the day.” He took his handkerchief out of the pocket of his slacks and wiped his forehead.
“I appreciate you delivering these.”
“No problem. Got me out of the office for an hour.” He flashed her a grin as he tucked the handkerchief away, then grew serious. “I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I am about your sister, Judge Michaels. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through. I hope they find the perpetrator quickly.”
“So do I.” She closed the lid of the box she’d been riffling through. Since arriving home from the funeral early yesterday evening, she’d tried to focus on doing her part to make that happen. She’d stayed up late into the night, sorting through the case files the marshals had delivered from her home office on Tuesday afternoon. But she’d start her detailed review with the most recent ones, as Mark had asked. The ones that had defined her first few months as a U.S. District Court judge in St. Louis.
Then she’d delve into the cases she’d tried during her three years as a circuit court judge in Jefferson City. Only if those yielded no leads would she go farther back, to her years as a trial attorney.
She hoped it didn’t come to that. Jake had hinted she might need to remain sequestered until she finished the task they’d given her, and she didn’t relish the confinement. Her preference was to go back to court next week. Lose herself in her work, as she’d always done when life got tough. It was easier to focus on other people’s problems than her own.
“Any idea when you’ll be coming back, Judge?”
She gave Neil an amused look. “You must be reading my mind.”
“Not quite. I haven’t been in your office long enough for that yet. But I’m working on it.” He grinned. “It would be a good skill to have as a law clerk, don’t you think?”
She returned his smile. “I don’t expect miracles. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing. I’m happy with your work.”
“Thanks.” A flush stained his cheeks.
“Good work should be recognized.” To save him further embarrassment, she moved on. “To answer your question, I talked to Judge Shapiro Tuesday. I know my absence has been hard on everyone.” She combed her fingers through her hair and expelled a frustrated breath as she thought back to the conversation she’d had with the chief judge.
“These are extra
ordinary circumstances.”
While she appreciated Neil’s loyalty, she deflected the slight edge of indignation in his voice with a smile. “He couldn’t have been kinder. But facts are facts. The calendar is backlogged and I have a full docket.”
She regarded the boxes of material Neil had delivered, plus the ones the marshals had retrieved from her house. Then there was all the case data stored on her computer . . . it was overwhelming. But she intended to hunker down and plow through it as fast as she could.
“I’m hoping for Monday. At least part-time. I’m going to talk to the marshals and the FBI about it today. In the meantime, hold down the fort, okay?”
“We’ll do our best. Is there anything else you need?”
“A normal day would be nice.”
“Yeah.” He gave a sympathetic nod. “Normal is nice.”
As she walked him to the door, Liz pondered his comment. She could recall a time when she’d thought normal, predictable days were boring.
Not anymore. Boring would never again seem banal. She would welcome boring.
Unfortunately, she had a feeling that wasn’t a word she was going to be able to apply to her life anytime soon.
Pressing the elevator button in the lobby of Liz’s condo, Jake tapped his foot impatiently. He’d meant to get here sooner, but his morning hadn’t gone as planned. Thanks to his siblings.
He was still annoyed with Alison. And she was none too happy with him after he’d insisted on driving her to work and arranged for Cole to pick her up. If he hadn’t swung by her house last night on his way home after the trip to Kansas City, he’d never have discovered her car was out of commission and that she was planning to take the bus to work. An exercise that would require blocks of walking. Correction. Limping.
Expelling an exasperated breath, he jabbed the elevator button again. She didn’t have to do that, not with two brothers willing and able to help. Except that’s not the way little Miss Independent saw it. If he hadn’t shown up at the crack of dawn, he had no doubt she’d have carried out her threat to take an earlier bus.