by Irene Hannon
Then again, he wasn’t a psychologist.
“I saw him down a few times. I didn’t think it was anything to worry about.”
“Maybe it wasn’t, back in those days.” She drew a weary breath and ran her finger around the rim of her mug, then fixed her attention on the drawn shades in the room that held back the sunlight.
“Everything started to go bad the second year we were married, after his dad died. They were very close, and he took the loss hard. He turned to liquor to help him get through it, but that made the depression worse. From there, it was a downward spiral. In the beginning, he only drank on weekends. By the end of his life, he was never far from a bottle.
“He could put up a good public front, though, and he held his liquor well. But it was affecting his performance at work, as I discovered at the wake. His boss told me Doug had lost out on the assistant controller job a few weeks before because of mistakes he made on some key financial documents. And that the day he died, he’d been put on probation.”
When she looked at him, the sheen in her eyes twisted his stomach. “I begged him to get help. Offered to make appointments with his internist, with a psychiatrist. To go with him, if he wanted me to. But he refused to believe he had a problem. I prayed harder than I’d ever prayed in my life. Asked God to give him guidance and the strength to tackle the demons that were destroying him. I even considered leaving my law practice.” She dropped her chin, and he could see it quivering. “But in the end, my work preserved my sanity. When things got too bad, I could lose myself in a case and get a brief respite from the nightmare. But maybe I should have . . .”
Her words trailed off and she stood abruptly, her head still bowed. “I think I’ll get a refill.”
Without giving him a chance to respond, she bolted from the couch and made a beeline for the kitchen.
For a moment he thought about going after her. Decided against it. It was clear she needed a few minutes to regroup.
So did he.
From early on in this assignment, Jake had begun to suspect the woman who’d married his best friend, the woman Doug had demonized as a coldhearted workaholic who put career above everything, wasn’t the villain he’d painted her to be. Now that suspicion had been confirmed. The problems in his friend’s marriage had, for the most part, been of his own making.
Meaning for three and a half years of her five-year marriage, Liz had found herself living a nightmare.
How could you have done that to her, Doug? How could you have subjected the woman you loved to such torment?
The silent indictment came from deep within his heart. Yet even as its echo faded, he knew that while his friend deserved censure, he’d also needed help.
And he’d had an inkling of that during their last phone call. Doug had sounded down that night. Jake recalled trying to cheer him up by reminiscing about a few of their college adventures. Instead, the stories had had the opposite effect. They hadn’t talked long, but Jake remembered making a mental note to check back with him in a day or two, to see how things were going. Instead, he’d let a week go by. And his next phone exchange with Jefferson City had been when Liz called to tell him Doug was dead.
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
He looked up. Liz was hovering near the kitchen entry, her eyes puffy, the shadows underneath her lower lashes more pronounced than when he’d arrived.
“No, thanks.”
She retook her seat. Fiddled with the handle of her cup. “Sorry for the data dump. I’m sure that’s more than you wanted to know.”
“As a matter of fact, it’s exactly what I wanted to know.”
She shot him a quizzical look but remained silent.
“I have a confession to make.” He gripped the ankle he’d crossed over his knee. “I haven’t always viewed you in the most favorable light. But I was wrong. I’m sorry I misjudged you. And Doug.” He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “I’m also sorry I didn’t follow up sooner on my last phone call with him. I sensed things weren’t right, and I meant to get back to him. Maybe if I had—”
“Don’t go there, Jake.” She leaned close and placed her hand on his, her slender fingers pale and delicate against his sun-browned skin, her eyes intent. “At that point, it wouldn’t have made any difference. I lived with him. I loved him. I tried everything I could to help him. I even had my pastor come one evening as reinforcement. Nothing helped. You couldn’t have stopped what happened. And I’m finally starting to accept that I couldn’t, either, even if I can’t quite shake the guilt. Or stop the occasional ‘what-iffing.’ ”
“Yeah.” He knew all about guilt. And what-iffing. “So how do you cope with it?”
“Not well. I still cry at night sometimes. I work too much, trying to lose myself in my job. I pray. That helps the most. There’s a comfort in knowing God is always there, no matter how dark it gets.”
“I envy you that.”
She took a sip of her coffee and set the mug on the table in front of her. “I take it Alison hasn’t convinced you yet to start attending services again?”
“No.” He rose, not liking the turn in the conversation. His relationship with God—what was left of it—wasn’t something he discussed with anyone.
Moving to the blinds, he cracked them to look out into the sunlight. This conversation was supposed to be about her and Doug. Not him—and Jen. He needed to get it back on track.
“You’re not comfortable talking about faith, are you?”
The knot in his stomach tightened. Maybe if he was honest she’d drop it. “No. It’s a very personal subject.”
He held his breath. When the silence in the room lengthened, he released it, grateful she’d gotten the hint and . . .
“You mentioned once you’d stopped going to church after Jennifer died.”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he kept his back to her. And remained mute.
“Reestablishing your relationship with God might make a difference in your life, Jake,” she said softly, refusing to let the subject die. “It did in mine. Especially if you have any anger or guilt over what happened.”
He had plenty of both. And for an instant, he was tempted to explore the subject with the woman across the room, who had somehow infiltrated his heart. Except he didn’t talk about stuff like this. It was too risky. Far riskier, in many ways, than dodging bullets in Iraq. That’s why he’d buried his feelings deep in a shadowed corner of his heart. Not even Alison or Cole or his mother were privy to them.
They still ate at him, though, in the dark hours of the morning, when he sometimes awakened and found himself reaching for Jen, whose love had filled his life with joy for two short, swift years.
Maybe it was time to expose them to the light.
Digging deep for courage, he turned toward Liz. She remained seated on the couch. Sipping her coffee. Watching him. Waiting.
“I shut God out after he took Jen.” He cleared the huskiness out of his throat. “I was more angry than I’d ever been in my life. But the truth is, I also felt guilty.”
“Why?” The tone of her quiet question was curious rather than judgmental.
“I pushed her too hard on the last run of the day.” Suddenly restless, he jerked away from the window and began to pace. “I knew she wasn’t athletic. But I loved skiing, so the second year we were married, I convinced her to go to Breckenridge and let me show her the ropes. I don’t know what I expected . . . that she’d be Olympic quality after a day of lessons, I guess. Only she wasn’t. She was scared. And cautious. And her progress was far too slow to suit me.”
He watched a beam of sunlight as it struggled to infiltrate the barrier at the window, seeking to dispel the shadows in the room. “If you want the truth, I was a jerk about it. I felt like she was holding me back. I kept pushing her and grousing and losing my patience. She was in tears more than once. Finally she told me to go take some black runs while she stuck with the green ones. We agreed to meet for lunch at the base
of one of the beginner slopes.”
Fisting his hands, he stared at a blank wall in the condo, the cream surface acting like a screen as the final few minutes of the mountainside drama played out in his memory.
“I got to the restaurant early and decided to take the lift up and see if I could catch up with her somewhere on the slope. As I was riding up, I spotted her at the crest of a small hill, and when I waved she saw me. She motioned ahead, like I should watch her. And I did. I watched her take off faster than she should have, trying to impress me with her progress—and make me proud. I watched her lose control. And I watched her plow headfirst into a tree at the side of the run.”
He closed his eyes. Sucked in a deep breath. Blinked back the moisture obscuring his vision.
“I couldn’t even go to her.” His words came out in a broken whisper. “I had to ride the lift all the way to the top while the life seeped out of her as she lay on the cold snow.” He swallowed, struggling to regain control. “She was pronounced dead of massive head injuries six hours later without ever regaining consciousness.”
Silence fell in the room, broken only by the sound of his harsh breathing. He’d had a lot of moments over the past four years when he’d felt lost. Abandoned. Empty. But all at once, the acute loneliness overwhelmed him, crushing in its intensity. He felt his world spinning out of control again, just as it had when the ER doctor had told him Jen was gone.
And then, a gentle, steadying hand came to rest on his arm. As its comforting warmth seeped through his dress shirt, the world settled back onto its axis.
“I’m so sorry, Jake.”
At Liz’s emotion-choked words, he swallowed past the lump in his throat and slowly turned.
Her gaze met his, her green irises soft with compassion as she let her hand slip away. He was grateful she didn’t try to condone what he’d done, or justify it. She’d simply listened, and accepted, and understood. That was freeing in ways he hadn’t expected.
Would it be the same if he laid it before God?
The unexpected notion took him off guard.
“Thank you for sharing your story, Jake. And for reminding me how easy it is to get so caught up in our own traumas that we forget others have suffered too.”
“You’ve had more than your fair share of tribulations.”
The corners of her lips lifted almost imperceptibly. “Tribulation. Now there’s a biblical word.”
“My thoughts weren’t very Christian when I said it.” His lips settled into a grim line.
“Don’t blame God for all the bad things that happen, Jake.”
“Who else is there to blame?” Except himself, in Jen’s case.
“You make it sound as if God sits in his heavens casting out random lightning bolts to throw people’s lives into turmoil.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “It feels that way a lot of the time.”
“Bad things happen because human nature is flawed and we have free will.”
“What about natural disasters? Why doesn’t he stop those from happening?”
“I don’t know the answer to that. But I trust he does. A key component of faith is accepting without understanding.”
He knew that. He’d been raised in a Christian household. And he’d bought into it. Until he’d been asked to accept something he hadn’t understood.
“My faith has allowed me to accept that suffering is part of the human experience, Jake. Even Jesus suffered, far more than we ever will. I believe God allows suffering not to punish us but to bring about greater good. If I help someone who is hurting, they may see God’s love in my support—and I may learn to see Jesus in them.” Liz’s earnest eyes sought his. “Why don’t you take your sister up on her offer? Go with her to services. Maybe you’ll find more answers there than you expect.”
“I might think about it.” It would get Alison off his back, if nothing else. About that, anyway. “I did have some other news to share with you, before we got sidetracked.”
This time she seemed to accept that the subject of his faith was closed.
“You want to sit again?” She motioned to the couch.
“No. This will only take a minute. And I’m already late relieving one of the guys in the CP.” He told her about the hairs that had been identified by the lab—and their conclusion that the killer owned a cat.
She shrugged. “I don’t see how that helps much. Millions of people own cats.”
“True. But every piece of evidence we find is part of a puzzle. Gather enough of them, a picture starts to emerge.”
“Do you have any other pieces?”
“Not yet. But the FBI is giving this its top priority. And your case review may offer us some other leads.”
“What about me going back to work?”
He understood her desire to get back into her routine. To restore some normalcy to her life. But he also knew they needed her to focus on her own case. “Our strong preference is that you give the review your full attention, Liz. At least until you get through the past five years of cases. Why don’t you see where you are by Sunday?”
“I know I can get through five years’ worth by the end of the weekend.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you building in any sleep time?”
A soft flush colored her cheeks. “Some. Would you consider half days after that while I finish the rest? I have a full docket, Jake.”
He wasn’t certain how Mark would feel about that compromise, but he could see how much it meant to her. And staying cooped up here day after day couldn’t be healthy. “Okay. We’ll plan on that. Subject to change, depending on developments.”
A grateful smile was his reward. “Thanks.”
“Do you need anything before I go?”
She cast a glance at the dining area, chock full of boxes and stacks of files all tapped into neat, precise piles, and wrinkled her nose. “A reprieve?”
“Sorry.” He flashed her a grin. “I can’t make a ruling on that. It’s not in my jurisdiction.”
“Cute.”
The saucy comeback and quick grin offered Jake a tantalizing taste of Liz’s more playful side. And left him hungry for more.
“Are you hungry?”
Jolted by the timing of her question, he stared at her. “What?”
Tipping her head, she gave him a puzzled look. “I asked if you were hungry. I’ve got a few cannoli left that are about to expire.”
She was talking about cannoli.
Get a grip, Taylor.
“Sure. The guys will appreciate them.”
“Hold on a sec.”
While she disappeared into the kitchen, he retrieved his discarded jacket and draped it over his arm. It was still way too hot in here.
“Enjoy.” She came up behind him and held out a plastic-wrapped plate.
Taking the offering, he followed her to the door. She checked the peephole, flipped the lock, and pulled it open.
“Call if you need anything.” He paused on the threshold.
“I will.” She rubbed her arms, and he saw a tiny ripple shudder through her.
“Cold?”
“A little. I need to adjust the thermostat.”
He could think of another, more appealing way to warm her up.
Get out of here, Taylor.
Backing into the hall, he lifted the plate of cannoli. “Thanks again.”
A flicker of some emotion he couldn’t identify altered her features ever so slightly. “No problem.”
Before he could decipher her expression, she shut the door. The lock clicked into place.
Turning, he found Spence watching him from the CP, one shoulder propped against the doorframe, a smirk on his face. He had no trouble deciphering that expression.
“I was just about to come looking for you. Dan’s chomping at the bit to go home. He’s technically been off duty for”—Spence angled his wrist—“two hours.”
“Sorry. I got hung up.” When Spence didn’t move out of his path, Jake sent h
im a wary look. “I thought you said Dan wanted to leave?”
“He does. But I want to know what gives with you and the judge.”
Doing his best to keep the heat inching up his neck from edging above his collar, Jake tried for nonchalance. “What are you talking about?”
“Give me some credit. I’m a trained observer of human nature. And I’ve been observing some pretty interesting dynamics between you two.”
The heat crept higher. “I told you last week. She was married to my best friend.”
“Yeah. But you said you’d only met her twice. That’s not computing with the intensity my radar’s picking up.”
“Maybe your radar’s defective.”
“Nope. Don’t think so. Maybe yours is, though, if you’re not tuning into the vibes.”
“Here, feed your sweet tooth.” Annoyed, he shoved the plate of cannoli at the other marshal.
Pushing off from the doorframe, Spence took it, grinning. “Don’t mind if I do. Seeing as how you’ve already fed yours.” With a wink, he disappeared inside the CP.
For a full minute, Jake stayed where he was. He’d only been working with Spence for a week, but already the two had clicked, anticipating each other’s thoughts and developing the kind of easy banter that made the long hours of a protection detail endurable. He liked Spence. The man was smart, skilled, professional, and insightful.
Jake respected all those qualities. Appreciated them.
But truth be told, he could do with a little less of Spence’s insight when it came to his relationship with Liz.
Because he’d rather figure out what was going on between the two of them before his wisecracking counterpart did.
And there was something going on.
Score one for Spence.
12
______
Setting aside the case file she’d spent the past few minutes reviewing, Liz rubbed her bleary eyes and glanced at her watch: 5:30.