No One Can Know

by Lucy Kerr

  “No wonder Kate wanted to leave you,” I said. “You’re crooked.”

  “She was my wife. I loved her.”

  “She must have been scared out of her mind when Josh started following her. How did you explain it?”

  “I told her I was being pressured to drop some of my cases, and the people involved were intimidating her to keep me in line. I said once I was elected, we’d be safe. She believed me.”

  “For a little while,” I agreed. “But she was a smart woman. Somewhere along the line, she realized you were lying. That you were the one scaring her. Or maybe she stopped believing you would keep your promises.” I shrugged. “Either way, it was time to go. She wouldn’t have trusted the police, would she? If you were crooked, anyone could be. She needed someone who would help her protect Trey no matter what. Who would be more loyal than Jess, considering everything Kate had done for her?”

  It made sense now. Kate had planned to hide in Hale while she figured out how to expose Steven. She might not have trusted Steven’s connections, but she’d want her own network, Jess included, close by. She’d waited until the cabin opened up, then waited a little longer, until Steven was busy with a campaign event. Storm or no storm, she’d had to leave that night or lose the chance of escape altogether. And Josh Miller had followed.

  “If she’d listened …” Steven began.

  “She’d what? Be alive? She’s dead because you sent Josh after her. When Kate came into the ER that night, Jess knew what you’d done, and she knew nobody would believe her. You were the town hero, a DA, and you were crooked. She was a foster kid who’d been screwed over by the system again and again. What other choice did she have? Jess took Trey to protect him from you, because she’d grown up with a monster and couldn’t imagine letting it happen to the child of the woman who’d saved her.”

  A change settled over Steven’s features, a hardening. A different Steven, one I hadn’t seen before.

  “Give me my son, Frankie.”

  “How did you figure it out?” I asked. Best to keep him talking, give the other searchers time to reach us. “Kate worked so hard to keep her connection to Jess a secret.”

  “I didn’t, at first. She never came near Trey while I was in the NICU. I’d known Kate had stayed in touch with some of her clients, but I’d never paid much attention. Still, when the police said it was a former case, I knew exactly where to get the information. I asked to clean out her office and took the files I needed. The trip to Hale was an annual tradition for those kids, organized by Kate. I hadn’t known where it was, but Kate kept excellent records.”

  I thought about the chatty woman at the rental office. Someone had called, she’d said, asking about wait lists. “You figured out where Jess was, and then you shot her.”

  “I was protecting my son. There’s a case for self-defense, you know. I was afraid she’d hurt him, and I have a constitutional right to defend myself and my child.”

  He was doing it again, the rehearsing. Practicing his story the way he had in the NICU that first night, when he’d told me how he wanted to honor Kate.

  Thinking of it, I nearly gagged.

  “You took him back,” I said slowly, trying to fit it all together, trying to buy myself some time. I glanced around the sugarhouse, saw the propane heater he’d used to keep the room warm, saw the empty bottles he’d fed Trey and the pile of dirty diapers. “You’ve been hiding out here since then, leaving him for a few hours, coming back to check on him. Didn’t Ted notice? Or has he been in on it all along?”

  “If it’s not a poll question or a lead story, Ted doesn’t care what I do. He’s had plenty of practice looking the other way. Besides,” he added, “it’s only been a day. I made sure Trey was warm. That he was fed.”

  All this time, we’d assumed Jess had snapped because of Kate’s death. But it was Steven who’d gone off the deep end. The guilt must have caused some sort of mental break for him to risk his son’s life like this.

  “He’s an infant, not a houseplant.” I was shaking now, not from cold or fear, but from anger. “He’s a newborn baby, and you left him here.” I paused. “You left him here so you could find him. Because it would make a great headline. You even posted that message on the website, didn’t you, so the news would break while you were on camera. How did you—?”

  He held up his phone. “Do you know how easy it is to be anonymous on the Internet? There are entire websites meant to hide your identity. It’s dangerous, really,” he added with a grin. “Someone should make a law about it.”

  He’d checked his phone right before he’d stepped up to the podium, I remembered now. He’d sent the message, then given the press conference of his career. He’d orchestrated it perfectly. He was testing out sound bites. Just like with the fire, all those years ago, he’d taken a disaster of his own making and turned it into an opportunity. No wonder he’d sounded so odd when I arrived.

  I could already picture it: Steven, emerging from the woods in the storm, triumphantly holding his son. It would be the front-page story of every newspaper in the country, the cover of every magazine. He’d sail into office on a tide of sentiment, and nobody would realize their hero was actually the villain.

  Nobody but me.

  “Give me my son,” he said again, and from the depths of his parka, he pulled a gun. “I don’t want to shoot you, Frankie. I’m not a killer. I’m really not. I’m just trying to protect my family.”

  “By killing people. By killing your wife,” I said and shrank at the anger that crossed his face.

  “I never meant for that to happen.” His hand shook, the gun barrel gleaming in the artificial glow of the lantern. “I loved Kate.”

  “I know,” I said quickly, “but you’re putting Trey at risk now. Do you really want to do that?”

  “You’re not leaving me any choice.”

  “There’s always a choice,” I said gently. The baby began to fuss, and I swayed from side to side. “Put the gun away, Steven. You could hurt Trey.”

  “You’re upsetting him.”

  “He’s wet,” I said, “and hungry. We should get him to the hospital.”

  “Hand him over.”

  “So you can shoot me? The woods are filled with FBI agents and cops. They’re going to hear the shot, and what will you tell them?”

  He thrust his chin out, a show of bravado belied by his trembling. “I’ll tell them we ran across the kidnapper together. He shot you while I went for Trey. You’ll be a hero.”

  “I’ll be dead. And nobody’s going to believe you.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” he shouted.

  “Give yourself up,” I said. “Tell your story. Make them understand it was an accident, that you were only trying to protect your family.”

  Did I believe that would fly? Not for a second. But I didn’t need to—I only needed Steven to believe long enough to get Trey to safety. Help wasn’t coming, but if I could circle around to the door, maybe we could make a run for it. Steven wouldn’t shoot me if I was holding his son, would he? I was no longer sure.

  “You’re a good man,” I said. “If you shoot me, people won’t see that. They won’t understand. You’ll lose Trey forever.”

  “I’m going to lose him anyway.” He sagged as if exhausted.

  “You’re his father. They’ll take that into account. But if you pull that trigger, you won’t be able to cover it up or explain it away. The only way to help Trey now is to be honest.”

  “I can’t,” he said brokenly and lifted the gun. But this time, he didn’t point it at me. He pointed it at himself.

  “Steven, please put the gun down. You want to protect Trey, don’t you? If you do this, you’ll hurt him.” Inspiration struck, sudden and desperate. “A gunshot this close would damage his eardrums. Would you do that to him? After everything, would you hurt him now?”

  He paused, lowering the gun and letting it dangle from his fingers. A flicker of movement near the door caught my eye.

&n
bsp; “Just set it down,” I said soothingly. “Kick it over to the corner. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  “You’ll come with me?” he said, like a lost child.

  “We’ll walk out together.”

  “Can I hold him?” Steven asked, still clutching the gun, and I froze.

  Kate hadn’t died because Steven was concerned about his son—he was concerned about himself. His image, his status, his future. I pictured Kate in the ER, the mama bear charm on her wrist. I saw Jess, bleeding to death in a bathtub. Those women had given their lives to protect this baby. Steven had done nothing but lie, hurt, and manipulate, all in the name of protecting himself.

  “Frankie. Please,” he said, but it wasn’t sorrow I heard in his voice. It was another manipulation.

  Trey began to cry in earnest, and I pressed a kiss against his forehead.

  “Frankie,” he repeated as the gun came up again. “Give me my son.”

  “Drop it, Steven,” came Noah’s voice. “Drop it right now, or I will drop you.”

  My gaze flew to the doorway where Noah stood, half hidden in the shadows.

  “Noah,” Steven said. “You don’t—”

  “Shut your mouth and drop the gun.” His tone was steely as he stepped inside. “Now!”

  Wearily, as if the effort of holding it had been too much, Steven let the gun slip to the floor with a crash. Noah quickly kicked it aside. I flinched at the noise and shushed Trey, my own breath shuddering.

  “On your knees. Hands above your head,” Noah growled. “You’ve seen it enough times, you should know the drill.”

  Steven cast me a pleading look but obeyed, motionless as Noah slapped cuffs on him and read the Miranda rights.

  “You okay, Frankie?”

  “We’re fine,” I said, though my voice was shaky. “Trey needs to get to the hospital.”

  “Done,” Noah said and bent his head to radio in our status, requesting an ambulance and a squad car meet us at the highway to spare us the long walk through the woods.

  Steven’s eyes were wet. “Please let me hold my boy. One more time.”

  I stared at him. “What was it that Kate had on you, Steven? I mean, other than the fact that you’re a power-hungry lunatic. Were you cheating on her? Throwing cases? Why didn’t she just turn you in? Why would she run?”

  “Leave it,” said Noah. I glanced at him in surprise.

  “He killed her,” I said. “He might not have been driving the car, but it was his idea.”

  “I figured,” he said. “Let’s focus on Trey for now.”

  We started toward the road, Noah marching Steven ahead of him, the flashlight illuminating a narrow path. Me clutching Trey with one hand, the lantern in the other, keeping pace as best I could.

  “Kate was going to disappear,” I insisted as we picked our way through the forest, the rain hammering down. “She didn’t need to. The press would have listened to her. Why not go public?”

  Neither man replied.

  I’d seen it before, of course: women who didn’t think they’d be believed. Women who came to the ER battered and bloody, insisting they’d walked into a wall or fallen down the basement stairs while carrying a load of laundry. We always offered to connect them to the police, to domestic violence agencies. Some of them took us up on it. Most didn’t. The ones who most vehemently denied our help, strangely enough, were the wives of cops.

  Kate wasn’t being abused. Steven wasn’t a cop. But he was a powerful man who had the ear of the police. He’d have even more ears, even more powerful friends, if he won the election.

  “She was afraid,” I said to Steven. “She was afraid you might … what? Hurt her? Make her disappear another way? But the police …”

  He smiled slyly, looked over his shoulder at Noah. “I’m not really the person you should ask about the police, am I?”

  Steven stumbled and fell, face first, cursing and spitting out leaves. I looked at Noah. “What—?”

  “Rough terrain,” he said shortly, hauling Steven up and shoving him forward. “Watch your step, Steven, instead of running your mouth.”

  Ahead of us, the ambulance was visible through the trees, lights flashing like strobes. Noah’s face was strangely miserable. “Go on ahead,” he said, nudging me. “Get that baby out of the weather.”

  I nodded and picked up the pace, calling to the paramedics, relief overtaking me. But beneath it all was a low insistent pulse of dread.

  Twenty-Nine

  I rode in the ambulance with the baby, which meant we were greeted by none other than Paul Costello.

  “I’m going to start banning you from the ER unless it’s your shift,” he grumbled as I handed over a squalling, red-faced Trey. “Every time you walk in those doors, disaster follows.”

  “Maybe I’m following the disaster,” I said, scrubbing my hands, the tepid water strangely hot on my icy skin. “Cleaning it up.”

  “Maybe you are the disaster,” I thought I heard him say, but he was already examining the baby, dictating to me as if I was on duty.

  The on-call pediatrician arrived, but Costello waved him off. “We’re nearly done. Rustle up some formula—Alejandro knows where it is.”

  I moved toward the door, assuming the order was for me. Instead, he said, “Stapleton, you brought this kid in, you can stick with him until he’s back upstairs. Play mom.”

  He finished examining Trey and turned to me, balancing him easily in one arm.

  “You look like a drowned rat,” he said, taking in my soggy and bedraggled state.

  “Thanks. I was going to find a dry pair of scrubs, but the attending wouldn’t let me leave.”

  “Bring her some towels,” he said to Esme, who had been hovering nearby.

  “You okay?” he asked when she was gone.

  “Other than looking like a drowned rat, sure. Not a scratch on me.”

  He eyed me. “Yeah. But are you okay?”

  Compartmentalization had always served me well. It allowed me to tuck away the repercussions of one tragedy so I could focus on the next. But from the minute Kate Tibbs had come into the ER, I’d been unable to look away, unable to move on. I’d been caught up in their tragedy—and had almost become another victim. But now it was behind me. Justice would be served. Steven would go to jail. Trey would grow up without parents; Jess’s brothers would grow up without their sister. And I would move on—a luxury, I realized, I nearly hadn’t been granted.

  “I will be,” I said, meeting his gaze steadily.

  He nodded once. “Sounds like things got dicey out there. Nice work protecting this little guy.”

  “Thanks,” I said, marveling at the sight of Costello holding a baby. He looked almost human.

  “That’s the thing about being a parent,” he said, pretending to examine Trey’s hands. “You never stop wanting to protect them, no matter how old they get. You think, ‘If I can keep everything under control forever, they’ll never get hurt.’”

  “I’m not sure it works that way,” I said. “You can’t control the entire world.”

  “No,” he agreed, “but you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

  It was as close to an apology for my interference with Meg as I was likely to get.

  Esme brought in a stack of towels, and Costello placed the baby in the isolette. “Change clothes, get him back up to the NICU, and get out. You’re dripping on my exam room.”

  *

  “Ms. Fisher wants to see you in her office,” said one of the NICU nurses once Trey had been safely transferred back to the ward. Still wearing the scrubs I’d changed into, with my hair towel-dried but still tangled, I made my way downstairs, knocking on the now-familiar door.

  “Come on back, Frankie,” Grace called. “Please shut the door behind you.”

  I wasn’t surprised to see her, as composed as always, behind the desk with teacup in hand.

  But Norris Mackie in one of the ivory brocade armchairs threw me.

  “Tea?” Grace asked, alr
eady pouring out a cup.

  I accepted it gratefully, warming my chilled hands on the thin china. I didn’t think I’d feel warm for a long time to come.

  The silence stretched out while we all eyed each other, judging the tension, the currents, the unstated questions. Finally, I spoke.

  “You didn’t kill Kate Tibbs.”

  “No, miss, I did not,” Mackie said sternly.

  “I apologize.” I bowed my head. “I jumped to conclusions.”

  “That you did.” He sounded a lot like my middle school principal.

  Nettled, I took a sip of tea before replying. “You did lie about leaving the fundraiser, though.”

  He sighed deeply, exchanged a look with Grace.

  “My heart …” he said slowly.

  If I’d thought this conversation couldn’t get any more awkward, I was wrong. I had no intention of sitting through these two exchanging endearments. The day had been much too long for that kind of nonsense.

  Stiffly, I said, “Your personal life is your business. Both of your personal lives, I mean. I’m not here to judge.”

  Grace burst out laughing.

  “Oh, Frankie, I appreciate your discretion, but you misunderstand. Norris’s heart … that’s why he left. We’re not …” She fell into another fit of laughter.

  I twisted to face Norris, who was chuckling under his breath.

  His labored breath.

  The chuckle turned into a cough.

  I glanced at his feet, swollen in their polished shoes. Remembered his stiff, careful steps at the office, not quite steady.

  “Congestive heart failure.” It wasn’t a question. “How far advanced?”

  “Far enough that I don’t care to waste my time,” he replied, wheezing slightly. “Fundraisers, parties, all that nonsense. They wear me out, and what good do they do?”

  “They keep you in office,” Grace chided. “But I remember enough nursing that I know when he needs to rest. Norris wasn’t feeling well, so he went up to his hotel room before anyone could ask questions.”

  “Why not just say so?” I asked.