Lady Justice

by Vicki Hinze

  “So Gabby was infected.” Conlee seemed menacing, holding onto his temper by one frayed thread. “And you didn’t inform Home Base?”

  Now Max was totally screwed. Not that he had any more to lose, but it bugged him to have his reputation tarnished. For a lot of years, he had been a respected, highly decorated, and trusted operative. “Under the circumstances, I couldn’t report it until now, sir.”

  “Grayson, I should bust you to hell and back.”

  “Yes, sir,” Max agreed, and lifted the tube of toothpaste from the countertop and dropped it into the drawer near his comb. Gabby’s hairbrush lay beside it. He hated how good seeing their things together made him feel. “But first could you get Dr. Richardson to consult with Burke and Erickson? They’ve got to figure out what they did that worked and generate more vaccine, or our death toll is going to climb by forty-two people—maybe a lot more—just in Carnel Cove. Add south Florida, New York, and Texas to that, and—”

  “I’ve got it, Grayson.” Conlee was obviously talking around his stump of a cigar. In six years, Max had never seen him without one, or seen one lighted. “When this is over and it’s convenient, I’m going to knock both of you on your cocky asses.”

  When it was over. Convenient. “Yes, sir.” Max hung up the phone. A devastated Gabby stared at him from the door. “What’s wrong?” She looked as if she’d lost her best friend.

  “I remember Commander Conlee.” Gabby’s throat filled with tears she swallowed back.

  Max smiled. “That’s fantastic!” He started toward her.

  “But I still don’t remember the evidence,” Gabby said, frustrated. “I don’t remember the judicial challenges with the Global Warriors’ cases and investigating Judge Abernathy for corruption. I don’t recall anything on the Global Warriors you haven’t expressly told me, though I have a flash of killing a man in the garage you say was one of them. I don’t remember anything on the Consortium Dr. Erickson talked about, though it does ring true to me and the name—the Consortium—feels oddly familiar. Maybe. I need to know all of that and I can’t remember any of it. The one thing I don’t want to remember is not being married to you. So naturally, that’s the one thing I do remember.” She shrugged and lifted a hand. “I know your ass is on the line with mine now, and if we don’t find out who is behind the dead Warrior—” She stopped mid-sentence and frowned at him. “Where is that dead Warrior now?”

  “I buried him at the park.”

  At least that mystery had been resolved. She went on. “Well, if we don’t find out why he was here and get all this Z-4027 business under control, we’re going to be buried next to him, so I hope you picked a pretty spot.”

  “Lovely.” Max smiled at her.

  She bristled. “What are you smiling at?” The man had lost his mind. They were in so much trouble it was outrageous and he was grinning at her like an idiot. Maybe she had lost her mind. She’d fallen in love with an idiot. “You know, insanity is looking pretty good right now.”

  He laughed in her face. “You can’t choose to be insane, Gabby.”

  “Yes, I think I can. I can’t imagine anyone doubting me on it. Not right now.”

  Laughing, he stepped up to the counter and swept his arms around her, then nuzzled her neck. “You’re just bitchy because you love me.”

  “Most definitely.” She smacked his shoulder—and then wrapped her legs around him to keep him close. “You’re going to hold it over my head, too. I can see that you’re going to use it to make me miserable. I wish I hadn’t told you.”

  “But you did.” He planted a row of kisses along the arch of her neck, then drew in a deep breath as if he were taking her scent down into his soul. “It’s okay to love me, Gabby.”

  Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who had lost his memory and had wished for insanity as a respite. “Okay or not, it’s there, Max. So let’s just accept it and drop the subject before I get nauseous.”

  “You really do need to ease up. My ego can take the strain of your not totally knowing yourself and swearing you love me, but your obvious joy about it just knocks me to my knees.”

  “Oh, shut up and kiss me, then take me to bed.” She lifted her face and closed her eyes.

  Still smiling, he kissed her hard and deep. She pressed into him, and he seriously considered taking her up on her offer. “No bed,” he said. “Another time. Right now, we have a country in crisis to consider.”

  It had been a bitch of a day, and the night wasn’t looking much more promising.

  The director sat in his favorite wingback chair in his robe and slippers. His perfect wife was still upstairs locked in their perfect bedroom and not speaking a word to him—perfect or imperfect. A wise man was grateful for the silence. And today, he needed it.

  “To you, Andrew.” He lifted his glass of Jim Beam in a salute, and then took down a healthy draw that burned his throat and warmed his chest. “Ah.”

  Killing a man you’d known more than half your life was a bitch, all right. But some things couldn’t be avoided. Andrew had known the rules, and he’d played the game and made his choices. Still, he’d be missed.

  Half an hour later, the director checked the time: It was a reasonable hour now in Eastern Europe. He phoned the chairman and informed him about Andrew and about Grayson interfering and stopping the spraying.

  “We got enough hard data to prove our point,” the chairman said.

  “I wanted more. I wanted to wow the buyers.”

  The chairman let out a low laugh. “Ah, you’ll never learn. You’re a greedy man. That can be good, I agree, but only if you learn to be philosophical about these projects. We made fortunes with the cotton and wines. Time to cut our losses on marketing the vaccine and pesticide—at least for a few months.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Carnel Cove was too hot to do anything else, thanks to that hurricane and all the feds it brought in with it.

  “Have a pleasant evening.”

  Visions of his redhead floated through his mind. She gave the best massages. Maybe he’d pay the island a visit next week.

  Something made of glass crashed upstairs. Again. His wife was systematically destroying every object in the house.

  Maybe he’d leave tomorrow.…

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The doorbell rang.

  Max looked at the clock—three A.M.—grumbled, crawled out of bed, threw on some jeans, and answered the door.

  Sheriff Coulter stood in the mellow porch light, grim-faced. “Max, sorry to wake you.”

  “No problem.” He stepped back so Jackson could come inside.

  He stepped through and shut the door, his shoulder swiping a ficus Gabby had just inside the entryway. “Carl Blake has committed suicide.”

  “Blake?” Bank president. Model citizen. Owner of the fleet of trucks used to spray the chemicals—including the ones outfitted with tanks inside their tanks. Local real estate mogul. One of two men who’d had red clay on his shoes at Cove Park. Close associate of the deceased Judge Andrew Abernathy. And now apparent Consortium member. “What happened?”

  “A couple hours ago, I finally caught up to Carl and Sissy. I saw the red clay on their shoes—just like Gabby said. I pointed it out and asked if they’d been up to Abernathy’s cabin. They denied it, though Sissy looked disturbed about my asking.” Jackson shrugged. “Next thing I know, I’m at the Silver Spoon grabbing a cup of coffee and Bobby—my deputy—comes running in hell-for-leather, telling me Blake’s dead and he left a suicide note.”

  Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “What does it say?”

  “That’s why I’m here,” Jackson said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  Max waited. Gabby came out of the bedroom fully dressed in jeans and a green top and nodded at Jackson.

  He nodded back. “Sorry about the intrusion, Gabby. It couldn’t be helped.”

  “No problem, Jackson.” She offered him a smile.

  Jackson then went on, talking to Max. “The no
te said, ‘I didn’t know.’ ”

  Max looked at Gabby, who hiked her shoulders signaling she didn’t grasp his meaning either, and then they both looked back at Jackson.

  “I asked Sissy—you have to figure if anyone knows a man’s mind, it’s his wife—but she didn’t have any idea what Carl was talking about.”

  Max was totally lost. “So why are you here?”

  Jackson’s cheeks reddened. “As you might imagine, Sissy is pretty upset. She’s asking for Gabby and Candace to come to her house right away.”

  “Did she say why?” Gabby asked.

  “No, she didn’t. I assumed it was just one of those times when a woman needed to be surrounded by her friends.”

  Odd, Gabby thought. Sissy Blake was not her friend, nor was she Candace’s. “Tell her we’ll be right over.”

  “Sure will.” He turned back to Max. “I ran into Stan Mullin as I was leaving the Silver Spoon to come over here. He says he needs to talk with you as soon as you have a second. The guy in the FEMA jacket who told the truck driver to spray the low-income housing community wasn’t one of his. Darlene’s at the station running a search on the description of the man, but so far we haven’t matched him up.”

  Max nodded. “Thanks, Jackson.”

  He turned to walk out and paused, his hand on the doorknob. “I still don’t know what is going on here, Max, but I think you have a good idea. I’m trusting you not to put the screws to my town.” Jackson gave him a long, intense look. “I’ll have your word on that.”

  “You’ve got it, Jackson.”

  Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Jackson nodded and left.

  Two minutes later, Gabby and Max were walking out the door. “Drop me off at Candace’s,” she said. “You can take the Jeep to go see Stan.”

  “Okay.”

  Max drove them over, and when Gabby was ready to get out of the Jeep, she leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. “Love you.”

  Before Max could respond—if he could have responded—she was climbing into Candace’s car. His heart knocking hard against his ribs, Max just sat there and watched them drive away. For a lot of men, he supposed, the little gesture wouldn’t mean a thing. But it was a major event to Max. A first. Significant because it was Gabby making that gesture toward him. Toward him. Definitely significant.

  You’re making a sucker bet, Max. She didn’t love you before, and she won’t love you when she gets back to normal.

  You want a broken heart, fine, go ahead and let yourself love her. But when she walks, don’t come bitching to me. She will walk, Max. You know she will. The women in your life have always walked.

  They had. Always. Why would Gabby be any different? When she was in her right mind, she didn’t respect his skills, much less have any trust or faith in him—not even enough to be a professional partner, much less a personal one. She’d walk, too. Eventually. It was inevitable. And knowing it hurt. Deep.

  Max put the Jeep into first gear, and headed to the Silver Spoon to meet Stan.

  “Did I just hear you tell Max you loved him?”

  Gabby looked over at Candace. She was beautiful, blond and lanky, and while she could have stepped right off the pages of Vogue for her looks and fashion sense, she had stepped off the pages of Fortune for her astute business acumen. Gabby saw no physical signs that Candace had been ill, much less at death’s door, but that didn’t surprise her. Candace was Candace, and perfection was as natural to her as sunshine and humidity were to Florida.

  Of course, Gabby looked like something the cat wouldn’t even drag in. T-shirt, jeans, and running shoes. Hair bed-wrecked. But she had slowed down long enough to wash her face and brush her teeth while Max had called Candace and given her a heads-up to get ready. Still, Gabby was half surprised Candace allowed her to get into the car. Usually she sent her back to “freshen up,” which was her polite way of asking if Gabby had bothered to look into a mirror in the last twenty-four hours. “Yeah, that’s what you heard.” Why bother denying it? She did love Max. Whether or not he believed it didn’t have a thing to do with whether or not it was real.

  “Mmm.” Candace kept her gaze on the road and stopped for the red light on South Main.

  “Mmm, what?” Gabby snitched Candace’s brush and tugged her hair into a ponytail.

  “Oh, nothing.” Candace adjusted the temperature control and then clicked on her blinker to turn right.

  “Don’t say that,” Gabby told her, pulling her hair back and up and capturing loose strands. “I hate it when you say that because it’s always something.”

  “I’m surprised, that’s all.” Candace didn’t take offense at Gabby’s shouting. It was just Gabby. “That you love him, I mean.”

  “It’s not a novel concept, Candace.” Gabby twisted the band into her hair. “I am married to the man.”

  Candace held her gaze firmly through the windshield on the road. “Right.”

  Sarcasm wasn’t Candace’s style, but her voice was riddled with it. Had Gabby taken her into her confidence and told Candace the truth? That would have carried serious consequences for both of them. Surely she wouldn’t have jeopardized Candace that way. “Right, what?”

  “It’s just that you guys don’t act married. More telling, you look at him hungry-eyed. If you were married to him, that gleam would be satisfied, not starved.”

  Gabby grunted, turned the tables on her. “So Keith and you were married, and you look at him the same way.”

  “Yes.”

  No denial. Interesting. “But you divorced him.”

  “Actually, he divorced me.” She looped an arm over the steering wheel.

  “You’re kidding.” Gabby had seen the way the man had looked at Candace. She couldn’t believe it.

  “Not kidding.” Candace pulled up to the curb outside Sissy’s two-story brick home. “Keith loves me, Gabby. He always will. I still love him, too. But we just can’t love each other and live together.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, if I had that figured out, then I could fix it, now couldn’t I?” She cut the engine and snagged her purse. “This bit of business reeks to high heaven. There’s no way Carl Blake would just kill himself. He had everything to live for and no reason to want to die.” She frowned. “None that we know of, anyway.”

  “Maybe. But outsiders seldom know everything about anyone.” Gabby got out and shut the car door. Falling into step beside Candace, they walked by the mailbox—which sported stickers for both the Gators and the Seminoles, which signaled life must be hell in this house during football season since the two were major rivals—and up to the front door. There were four cars in the drive.

  “Any idea why she wanted to talk with us?” Gabby rang the doorbell.

  “Not really,” Candace said, then lowered her voice. “She’s always wanted to be one of the ladies in our little group, but she’s so hung up on being perfect. It wouldn’t have worked.”

  The front door swung open. Mayor Faulkner nodded and invited them inside, clearly relieved to see them. “She’s in the library. Nothing I said made any difference to her. She’s asked fifty times if you two were here yet.”

  Two other men stood in the living room. One turned away, to look out the window into the night. There was something oddly familiar about him, though Gabby instinctively knew they hadn’t met. The second man, dressed in a charcoal gray suit and tie, was one of the men from the bank. Gabby had seen him there several times, though she didn’t know his name.

  “Where are the children?” Candace asked Faulkner.

  “It’ll take a while for them to get home from college. Their daughter is down in Gainesville. Her boyfriend is driving her home. Their son is in Tallahassee at FSU. He’ll be here in another hour or so.”

  “What happened?” Gabby asked.

  “I wish I knew,” Faulkner said, keeping his voice low so Sissy wouldn’t overhear him. “Carl put a thirty-eight in his mouth and pulled the trigger. That’s all we know right now.”

>   Gabby flinched because Faulkner expected it.

  Candace didn’t, and Gabby wondered why not.

  “Go on in,” Faulkner said. “Gloria just brought in a fresh pot of coffee.”

  “Gloria?” Gabby asked.

  “Their housekeeper,” Candace said, walking into the library.

  Sissy sat on a burgundy leather wingback chair that seemed far too large for her to be comfortable. It looked like a throne. “Oh, girls. I’m so glad you’ve come.”

  “Of course, Sissy.” Candace hugged her. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  Sissy let go, wept a little, and then hugged Gabby.

  “I’m sorry, Sissy.” Because there wasn’t any more that could be said that wasn’t redundant, Gabby fell silent, though she thought losing a spouse had to be one of the hardest things a human being could ever experience.

  Sissy sniffed and swiped at her face with a soggy tissue. “Have some coffee.”

  Candace poured, and Gabby sat down on a matching chair across a lamp table from Sissy. “Is there anything you need?”

  “I just don’t know what could have gotten into him. How could he do this?” Horror spread through her eyes. “What am I supposed to tell the children?” She sniffled and got a fresh tissue, crimping the old one in her palm. “There’s just no way to explain something like this. They’ll be crushed.”

  “They’ll survive it,” Candace assured her.

  “Kids are resilient.” Gabby had heard that a thousand times—usually in connection with those serving time in Juvenile Hall. How did she know that? Was that a memory?

  “But suicide!” Sissy’s pale face turned pink and she dropped her red-rimmed gaze to her lap. “How can I ever again face anyone in Carnel Cove? How can I, knowing I’ve spent thirty years of my life married to a man who’d rather be dead than married to me?”