She wished she’d met her.
She wished she’d helped her.
She wished she could change places with her. Give this young girl her life back.
But she had wished that before.
It hadn’t changed a thing.
Ethan stood at the back of the cathedral. The funeral was set to begin in approximately one minute. The mourners had been ushered in from the parking lot and were now settled into the pews.
His eyes rested for a moment on the back of Kate’s sleeked head. She hadn’t seen him. But he’d seen her. Oh, he’d seen her. His nerves had jolted through his body as she stood hesitantly on the threshold of the church. She wore a little black dress, with a cropped jacket that reminded him of Audrey Hepburn. It hung around her hips—she’d lost weight since they broke up; he hadn’t noticed that last Friday because she’d been wearing a raincoat. The starkness of her clothing also accentuated her pallor. As usual, she wore very little makeup, but her lips had a pale pink sheen that reminded him of the inside of a seashell.
She didn’t look left or right. Just walked over to the closest pew and slipped into it. Within minutes she was joined by a muted group of teenage girls who’d exchanged looks of dismay at having to sit so far in the back.
There must be at least five hundred people here. He pressed his lips together.
Four hundred and ninety-nine mourners.
And, the team fervently hoped, one killer.
Contentment swelled within him. And satisfaction. It’d been a good week so far.
He’d gotten another case. Again.
That’s what careful planning did for you. The weather forecast had held true—their accuracy for predicting rain was usually about ninety percent in his experience—and the girl had been found on schedule.
Fortune had thrown a little luck his way. The girl was a judge’s daughter! He liked to think it was fate telling him not-so-subtly that he would exact justice for the wrongs done to him. Dr. K had almost fainted when he found out.
It just goes to show that fortune favors the bold.
And to cap off his week, he’d come to her funeral to savor the moment. He usually didn’t get this pleasure. Most of his patients were lost to their families before he began his procedure. Hardly any had funerals, and when there was one, there were so few family members he would have stood out.
He sat still, feeling the energy of the mourners. Pain, shock, disbelief.
Fear.
He absorbed it.
It filled his cells, transmitting an energy to his muscles that only his body could accept. Getting his fingers ready for the painstaking, precise work they excelled at.
His gift.
The world was just seeing it now.
He basked in the energy around him.
He glanced across the aisle. Three little schoolgirls sat with tears smudging their makeup. Lovely, firm bodies on two. The third was out of shape. He bit back a sigh. The muscles might be flaccid, but there was always something to learn from it. He had to remember that.
And then the woman next to them. He couldn’t believe his luck when she’d arrived at the church. She was a class act, a lawyer by the looks of it. Again, it was a sign. He walked into the church next to her, breathing in her faint scent of lavender. He bet her muscles were nice and smooth, her flesh firm under that dress she wore.
If he killed her, the legal community would begin to wonder if they were being targeted. A deviation from his plan. But a tempting one.
He pictured laying her body out. He smothered the giggle that threatened to break through his lips and glanced at the woman. A whitish aura outlined her face.
He blinked.
When he looked again, the aura had gone. But her face was pale. Her eyes glowed like pools of warm whiskey. Hot toddy. He felt the blood pulse through him, his dick grow hard.
Stop. Stop.
He needed to be pure, sterile. Clean.
He would never be accused again of having an inappropriate relationship with his patient. He would never be called a dirty little bastard again. Right, Mom?
He scanned the crowd. There were other girls here. Ones whose eyes were already deadened. Like that black girl over there in the corner.
His gaze was drawn irresistibly back to Whiskey Eyes.
He’d have to wear sunglasses if he found her on the street. Her eyes were so clear. They looked right through him.
And he didn’t like that.
The service was interminable. Marked by poignant eulogies, reflective yet hopeful hymns and the solemn words of the officiating clergy who had baptized Lisa fifteen years ago and had never seen her since.
Kate had sat through a service similar to this. The year her sister died was the same year Lisa was born. You’d like to think that the eternal circle of life was kicking in, providing some order to the universe but, as life would have it, Lisa died a tragic death, too. Kate had no doubt there was another baby being born who would face a similar tragic death in fifteen years, whose passing would rend the fabric of her family and leave them unraveled.
God, why did it have to happen?
God didn’t answer.
She bowed her head. The program sat unopened on her knee. Lisa’s eyes met hers. But this time they were brown, deep. Fringed with darker lashes. Filled with laughter. They were always laughing eyes. Playful, flirtatious Imogen. Gennie. Wanted to be grown up, like her sister. Wanted to be part of the in crowd.
Those eyes had been glazed with drugs on a Friday night, tinged with defiance. Until their car rounded the corner too fast. Then those beautiful brown eyes rolled in wild panic, first at Kate, then at the guardrail. Within a few seconds, they were unseeing. How could Kate walk away from that accident, literally wrench open the door and stumble out of the car, but her sister be lifeless, her body smashed and bloody?
It was all about angles and impact and speed. That’s how the accident reconstruction experts looked at it. Kate looked at it differently. It was about one moment of careless judgment, one minute of pressing the gas pedal too hard while trying to make her sister understand that she needed to find new friends, ones that didn’t sneak off onto the back porch and snort up. Had it been frustration that had made her foot press too hard on the pedal or one drink too many? She’d never know. How ironic that she’d been trying to save her sister from making bad choices, when she herself had made not just a bad choice, but a fatal one.
Had Gennie suffered? Had there been agonizing pain before the final oblivion?
The organ began to play a mournful dirge. The refrain was familiar. Tears swelled in Kate’s throat. Bile was right behind it.
She needed to get out of here.
She looked wildly around. She was boxed into the pew by three girls, all of whom sat in tears. Mourners were rising slowly to their feet, folding the programs into their purses, murmuring phrases like, “It was a beautiful service,” to one another.
Kate stood. The air pressed in on her. Floral perfumes, citrus aftershave. Some really cheap cologne worn by the girl next to her. Her breakfast pushed up through her esophagus.
Ethan sat in one of the pews on the side. The rest of the team had distributed themselves at various preassigned spots. Walker and Lamond had filmed everyone entering the cathedral and were now watching the exits. Redding and Brown were videotaping the cars and license plates in the parking lot, as well as the side streets. After Ethan saw Kate go in, he chose an aisle seat slightly behind and to the side. He told himself it was an optimum vantage point to observe the mourners. It also happened to be an optimum vantage point to observe Kate. He’d caught her staring at the picture of Lisa MacAdam. She had a look of such stark anguish in her eyes that he felt a pang of sympathy.
And with that came doubt.
Maybe she hadn’t put her firm first over Lisa MacAdam’s interests. Maybe she had tried to do the right thing.
If she hadn’t, she sure as hell was paying the price for it now.
The organ filled t
he church with a deep, nasal chord that vibrated through his body. The service was ending.
Kate rose from the pew, her face a shocking white against the jet of her dress. The program slipped from her fingers. She didn’t notice.
Her jaw was rigid. She gripped the pew in front of her.
Jesus, was she going to faint?
He leaped from his seat.
Whiskey Eyes looked as if she needed a shot of whiskey herself.
Her face was white, even whiter than the aura surrounding it. He blinked again.
She stood shakily, her fingers curled around the edge of the pew. The tendons stood in rigid lines over her knuckles. Fine, strong tendons. He could almost make out the white of the bones underneath. His fingers itched to trace them with a scalpel.
Would she faint?
If he was quick enough, he could catch her.
He could take her outside.
To his car, he’d tell anyone who asked. Away from the crowds.
He patted his pocket. Good.
He’d remembered his sunglasses.
He longed to put them on right now, to block the white lights that danced around his vision, but he could wait.
He watched the woman, his body poised to jump from the pew as soon as the moment presented itself.
Fortune favored the bold.
17
Kate stumbled past the first girl, stepping on her foot. The next girl swiftly tucked her feet under her, but the last…
The bile was right there in the back of Kate’s throat. Pushing its way in a wave that was building, building.
The last girl had placed her bag down by her feet. Kate’s heel caught the strap. She lurched, falling forward into the aisle. Out of the corner of her eye, Kate saw a man—blond hair, gray suit—reach for her, but another man darted forward, blocking him.
“Kate?” Ethan grabbed her elbow, steadying her.
“Ethan?” Her heart simultaneously lifted and sank. It didn’t help the nausea. She took a deep breath. She wanted to appear strong. Not grief stricken and on the verge of vomiting.
The first group of departing mourners was closing in. Kate glanced over her shoulder to see if she could see the blond man, to thank him, but he had gone.
Ethan led her quickly toward the vestibule. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” No. She wouldn’t admit it to him. She felt disoriented, people swarming around her as they made their way to the sweet fresh air outside. Sweat beaded her brow. She tried to shake Ethan’s arm away but his fingers tightened.
“I need to talk to you.” He pulled her across the vestibule toward a side door that led to the church basement. Kate saw with a start of surprise that Lamond stood by the door. His eyes widened.
“Wait,” she said. Lamond had opened the door for them. “Let’s talk outside.”
“Please.” Ethan’s voice had an edge of desperation. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
Lamond’s big brown eyes signaled his agreement.
“Fine,” she muttered. All she wanted was to sit down and let the nausea pass.
The mourners had left the church. Marian MacAdam knew she should be in the vestibule, thanking the hundreds of people who had come to pay their respects to Lisa.
But she was frozen. Immobile. She could feel nothing within. Nothing without, either. When she finally pushed herself to her feet, she could not feel her legs.
She swayed.
A hand steadied her. She looked down at the fingers clasping her black wool sleeve. It was her son’s hand.
She waited for it to fall away.
Instead, his fingers curled protectively around her elbow.
She glanced at him in surprise.
His eyes met hers. And finally her tears came.
Flowing as freely as the ones that ran down his gray cheeks.
Ethan led Kate through the basement door of the cathedral, helping her down the stairs. Lamond closed the door behind them.
The air was damp, musty. The chill snapped her out of her nausea. She steadied herself on the railing, moving her arm so Ethan’s hand would fall away.
He pretended not to notice and led her to a small cloakroom. Low hooks marked the wall. Lambs and ducklings frolicked on the wall above them. A forgotten Dora the Explorer backpack lay in one corner.
She turned and faced him. He looked all business, his dark suit and midnight-blue tie bringing out his European good looks. Longing stabbed through her in jagged thrusts. She still wanted him. And that was the worst.
“We need to talk,” he said. Alarm bells went off in Kate’s head. He’d shown up at her house on Friday night, saying the same thing. And then had thrown one accusation after another at her.
She wasn’t going to let him do that again. Offense was the best defense when it came to the way he made her feel. “The only thing I want to talk about is why you threw me to the wolves,” she said curtly.
“The wolves?” Surprise, then guilt, swept through his eyes.
“Yes. The wolves. How do you think I felt, being ambushed by your team and knowing full well you could have called me but you didn’t? Especially after I’d called you about Lisa MacAdam!” That had really hurt.
His face tightened.
Good. She’d pissed him off.
“Why didn’t you call me about the intruder you reported last Friday night?” he shot back.
She stared at him. “Because you’d just finished accusing me of lying to you. Remember?”
A flush rose in his neck.
Her temples throbbed. She wanted to go home and bury her face in Alaska’s fur. “I need to go.”
“Wait. I need some information.”
Her heart sank. “I can’t help you.”
“I think you can. I need to know if Marian MacAdam told you anything that would give Judge Carson a motive for murder.”
Gooseflesh shivered down her arms. “You think Judge Carson killed Lisa?” She rubbed her arms reflexively, stunned by his question.
“She is on my list of suspects.”
“But why?” How could Judge Carson commit such a horrible crime to her own child? She was so shocked by Ethan’s accusation that she didn’t see the trap he was setting for her.
“That’s what I’m hoping you can tell me.”
The headache tightened into a band around her skull. “Solicitor-client privilege prevents me from saying anything, Ethan,” she said softly. She searched his face for understanding. All she saw was a man who’d had too little sleep and enough disappointment this week to etch lines around his generous mouth. “You’d have to ask Marian MacAdam.”
“I already asked her. She couldn’t tell me much except that you felt she didn’t have a good case for custody. I want to know why.”
“I can’t disclose the details.” The lambs frolicking on the wall behind Ethan’s head had an alarming perkiness. Too white, too fluffy, too innocent of the wolf at the end of the path.
He didn’t bother to hide his frustration. “Were you influenced by the fact that Lisa’s mother was Judge Carson?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t you call Child Protection?” The question came swiftly and with the unerring aim of a snakebite. “You have a statutory duty.”
“I know that.” She glared at him. “I didn’t think at the time there was evidence that Lisa was endangering herself.”
“Child Protection doesn’t think so.”
“What, exactly, is your point, Ethan?” His ruthless attack and her own guilt fanned her anger. “You know damned well I can’t disclose anything. I did the best I could.”
His lips tightened. “A girl died.” He added softly, “I’m not convinced she had to.”
She felt the blood drain from her cheeks. “You think I’m to blame?”
“Do you?”
The lambs froze on the wall.
“You bastard.” She spat the words. “You are so fucking sanctimonious. You believe the worst of everybody.”
“That�
��s not true.”
“Yes. It is.” She felt the anger and hurt spilling free. She relished it. “I made some terrible mistakes in my life and I pay for them every single day, Ethan. Every. Single. Day. I don’t need you to be my judge and jury.”
“I’m not trying to be.”
“You treat me like I’m a suspect.”
“No. I don’t.”
“You interrogate me as if I’ve committed a crime.”
“I was giving you a chance to make amends, Kate.”
“Make amends?” She was not going to stand there and let him heap more guilt on her. “You fucking bastard!”
She pushed past him. He grabbed her arm. His fingers were hard. “I’m not done with you.”
She looked at his face. It was hard. Angry. Bitter. As if he wanted her to pay. And she knew this wasn’t about Lisa. This was about them.
“Let go of me!” She wrenched her arm.
He grabbed her other arm and pulled her to him. “I’m not done yet.” His mouth ground against her jaw, seeking her lips.
She twisted her face away. “Ethan, stop it!” She pushed her hands against his chest. “Let go of me or…I’ll scream!” Jesus. Couldn’t she do better than that?
“Please, Kate.” His voice sank into a whisper. “Please.”
She heard his pain. Her own pain, clawing her now, overwhelmed her. She closed her eyes. Allowed herself to feel his chest against hers. His hands loosened their hold on her arms. His lips softened. All she was aware of was their warmth sliding along her jaw. Seeking her mouth.
Her breath caught between her lips, moist and suddenly desperate to feel his mouth on hers. Desperate for the sure oblivion they would provide.
His hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer.
She could not do this anymore.
She could not ignore everything that was wrong about them for momentary oblivion.
She stiffened.
“No, Kate,” he whispered. “Don’t.”
“Ethan, please,” she said, pushing him away. He resisted for a moment. But when she pulled back, his hands fell. “Don’t do this.”
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