“Glad you’re still up.”
Dressed in a tuxedo, his tie hung loose, and his steps were weary. She couldn’t imagine where he’d been or why he was here. She opened the door to him and sat back down. “I like to sit out here at night.”
Eric lowered himself into a chair next to her. “I can see why.”
Lisa’s skin tingled at his nearness while she chastised herself for interpreting his arrival so late at night as something romantic. “Would you like something to drink?”
He leaned back in the chair with his legs stretched out in front of him, his dark eyes and hair ebony in the moonlight. “No, I’ve had enough to drink. I was at a banquet put on by the hospital where I used to work. They offered me my old job back. I turned them down and it felt great.”
“Did you know before tonight you wouldn’t accept if they offered?”
“Actually, I didn’t. I thought it was what I wanted until it happened. It hit me that I’m satisfied with what I’m doing now. Along with my employees, I’ve turned a dying business around and made it profitable. I think your suggestion was a good one. I’ll do some teaching instead of going back into practice.”
Stunned by his decision, Lisa didn’t know what to say. “Let me get you a cup of tea—I just had some heating up.”
When she handed him the tea, he asked, “What’s new with the case? I haven’t heard anything about it for some time.”
“Then you don’t know about Jamie Denison?” When he raised his brows she said, “Jamie’s body wasn’t one of the women they found at Wilson’s place.”
“I didn’t see that one coming. How did TJ take the news?”
Lisa sighed. “Not well, I’m afraid. She’s been trying to convince the Brookfield Police to change Jeff’s cause of death to foul play. Now with this unexpected twist, the Brookfield police will never believe he didn’t kill his wife—and commit suicide
“I’ll have to call her. See if there’s anything I can do for her.”
“She’s at Janeen’s.”
Eric put his coffee cup down and reached for Lisa’s hand. The touch of his hand sparked her desire for him. She felt like a teenager—but he could be preparing to tell her he was dating Dawn.
“I want you to come back.”
Sure he’d felt the bolt of electricity that surged through her body at his words, Lisa asked, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? It was starting to feel rather awkward for me to stay with you.” There, she’d let it out.
“Because of Dawn?”
He apparently took her silence as an affirmation. “I did spend some time with her. I think I was trying to convince myself that her family really hadn’t thought I’d murdered Kayla, until It finally occurred to me that what they thought didn’t matter anymore. There was nothing between Dawn and me. Not on my part, anyway. When you moved out I thought you needed to have some time to yourself.”
He’d twined his fingers with hers, his thumb caressing the palm of her hand. She was speechless with wanting him, but unsure if packing up and moving back at his whim was the right thing for her. And she still hadn’t decided if getting involved with him made any sense without telling him the truth about James—that she’d been the one who’d shot him. The subject had been hashed over at length with Bernstein and TJ without resolution. Lisa was torn; she wanted Eric to accept her as she was, but didn’t want to burden him with the truth.
“I’m sorry, Lisa. I can’t expect you to drop everything for me. Think it over. But no matter what you decide about the living arrangements, I want you in my life.”
Filled with hope for a future with him, Lisa knew what she had to do. “Eric, there’s something I have to tell you.”
Eric placed his other hand on top of hers and turned to her. “Lisa, I know who you are. Nothing from the past matters; I want you to know that.”
Lisa felt the first pangs of regret for her act. “It’s something big, Eric. I’ve been struggling with telling you for months.” She felt a lump forming in her throat.
“I know, Lisa. I figured it out a longtime ago.” He reached for her and held her as she sobbed.
Epilogue
“It’s too late to say you’re sorry . . .”
Dubai, July 4
An attractive blonde dealer slid the cards out of the shoe with rapid precision; the young woman had performed the task more times than could be counted. Her brown eyes flashed across the room. She saw him standing at the craps table—her husband—but it couldn’t be. He was dead. Driven with guilt, she saw him everywhere.
Gathering up the cards, she paid the winners and swept out the next hands of blackjack by rote, her thoughts elsewhere. Not on Dubai, the most exciting place she’d ever lived, or the casino life that satisfied her constant craving for excitement, but on what she’d left behind.
When her shift ended, she stepped outside into the white brilliance of the early morning sunshine refracting off the endless, cerulean-blue horizon. Its beauty failed to calm her. She needed a diversion—maybe a visit to the racetrack or a scuba dive could clear her head.
Then she saw him again. Or was it merely a phantom, an apport, a stalking specter of the man she’d been married to? She’d followed the story online: the police’s suspicion that her husband had killed her, the group he’d become a part of that searched for a killer of abused women and had themselves been threatened. Then Jeff’s suicide. He’d killed himself and it was her fault.
It was time to put it right—admit what she’d done.
Oconomowoc Lake, July 4
Lisa sat on the deck watching Eric’s speedboat fly across the water followed by a skier ensconced amid a frothy wake. Eric and TJ sat in the front while Shannon rode in the back watching as they towed Paige, who was showing off with a fancy one-ski slalom. TJ, who’d refused to be left out, had climbed into the boat with the others, ignoring Lisa’s cautions about her advanced pregnancy. There wasn’t much she didn’t do these days; being with child hadn’t changed her lifestyle. Lisa envied her; the woman didn’t seem to be cursed with swollen ankles, a blotchy complexion, or any of the other physical tortures that came with carrying a child. Lisa had had them all.
At about the same time TJ had discovered she was carrying Jeff Denison’s child, she’d been told that Jamie Denison’s body hadn’t been one of the women buried in Mellen. She’d accepted the baby into her life, but refused to believe Jeff had harmed his wife—or himself. She protested that Jamie must have run away, either with a lover or to escape what she felt to be a humdrum life. If anyone disagreed with TJ’s speculations, no one spoke it aloud.
Richard Conlin was back in TJ’s life, and surprisingly, more excited than TJ herself about the baby. The couple seemed to have moved past the fact that Jeff Denison was the father.
Lisa and Eric split their days between both of their residences. They’d been spending a lot of time at Lisa’s lake house, weekends mostly, returning to Eric’s during the week to give Paige, who was back for an undetermined amount of time, an opportunity for some privacy.
After they’d eaten grilled steaks and salmon, and played charades until they couldn’t laugh anymore, the party prepared to take the pontoon out on the lake to watch the fireworks. They’d stocked it with a pitcher of margaritas, sodas, and assorted snacks, and been ready to leave the dock when Lisa remembered she’d forgotten to bring her CDs of patriotic music, a ritual every year during the show.
Lisa ran back into the house and was rifling through a corner cabinet when a phone rang, startling her. She realized it was her work number and couldn’t imagine who’d be calling her at that number on a holiday—her clients called on her cell phone when they had emergencies.
She picked it up. “Lisa Rayburn, can I help you?”
There was no response on the other end. “Hello? Is someone there?”
Maybe it was only a wrong number.
“Lisa?”
The voice sounded choked with emotion. It must be a patient. There go the fireworks for
me. But someone needed her.
“Yes, this is Lisa Rayburn.”
“Lisa . . . it’s me, Jamie. Jamie Denison.”
Lisa gasped, unable to muffle her shock.
“Lisa, I know it’s too late, but I’m sorry. I am so, so, sorry.
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