“I’m afraid you’re right,” Gin agreed. “But going after her dealer seems reckless even for Jake.”
“What is it?” Rosa said. “I can hear it in your voice—did something happen?”
“It’s just that … I was thinking about something that happened when he identified her body. My colleague showed him a tattoo on her shoulder. The design contained his name, Jake. It … I could tell that he was shaken. I guess it tested his assumption that she’d never cared for him.”
“Oh, that’s even worse, somehow. To know that she’d had feelings, that there could have been a relationship, if things had been different…”
“Yes, that’s what I thought. But he barely said a word when he saw it. I guess I read the whole situation wrong.”
“But he didn’t offer you any clues, either,” Rosa pointed out. “From what you’ve told me, he acted like he didn’t care at all.”
“He didn’t even want to make any arrangements for her body yet.”
“Listen, do you think he could really be facing serious trouble over what he did today?”
“I’m not sure,” Gin said. “Obviously, the worst thing would be if Jonah Krischer was innocent, not only of selling the drugs that Marnie Bertram overdosed on, but of any involvement with illegal substances. If that were true, then Jake may be guilty of assaulting an innocent man.”
“But what about that packet of drugs Jake took off him?”
“I agree it looked pretty damning. But we don’t know for sure what was in that bag, or what Jonah was doing there. After all, Jake was there too. It isn’t a crime to be in the same place where drugs are sold. And until the video is reviewed, we won’t know what Jake caught on camera, either.”
“Dios mío,” Rosa said softly. “What a mess! Why couldn’t he just have called the police and let them take care of it?”
“You have to remember Jake’s past,” Gin said. “Asking him to trust the same police department that tried to implicate him twice for murders he didn’t commit—well, I’m not surprised he took matters into his own hands.”
“Then for his sake I hope that video is crystal clear. I mean, I understand that Marnie Bertram took those drugs of her own free will. But anyone who knowingly sells such an evil thing—they deserve to be locked up.”
Gin’s visceral response was to agree—not just because the world would be better off without dealers, but because Jake’s reckless act would be much more defensible if Jonah was proved to be guilty. But then she thought of the young man cowering on the floor, writhing with pain as his arms were pulled in an unnatural angle. Stumbling as he tried to stand. He’d looked so young, and he was no match for Jake, who was over six feet and two hundred and twenty pounds of work-hardened muscle.
“I think we need to let the investigation take its course before we judge,” Gin said, admonishing herself for letting her emotions cloud her thoughts.
“Of course, you’re right. But Gin, call back any time. I’ll keep my phone turned on. And Gin, if you don’t want to be alone, come on over to the house. No matter what time it is.”
“Thank you, Rosa,” Gin said. Her friend’s offer was tempting, but Rosa lived in a small house with Antonio and her elderly mother, who suffered from dementia. Gin wouldn’t feel right disrupting their little household. “But I’ll be fine. I’ll keep you posted, all right?”
After she hung up, Gin started the coffee and began cleaning up the dinner. There was no way she would be able to sleep until she knew what was happening with Jake. She took her time, scouring every surface to a shine, covering the leftovers and stowing them in the refrigerator.
She was nearly finished when Jake came through the front door, looking exhausted. Before Gin could greet him, he said, “The video gave them enough to detain that little son of a bitch, but he’s threatening to lawyer up. At least they got tired of asking me the same questions over and over and let me get out of there.”
“I made coffee, or I could pour you a glass of wine—”
“I’m fine,” Jake said, sinking into a chair at the scrubbed dining table. “Look, I’m sorry I ruined the party. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I was doing, but I knew you’d try to talk me out of it.”
“Well, you’re right about that.” Gin knew she shouldn’t push, but she couldn’t help the wave of frustration and fear that threatened to overtake her. “Now you’ve opened yourself up to accusations of attacking that man without provocation.”
“Whose side are you on?” Jake demanded. “One of the duty cops, the one who took the bag for evidence, said that it was mostly narcotic prescription medications in that bag. The bad stuff, Gin—the stuff that’s killing people.”
“He can’t know that,” Gin said in exasperation. “They have to test it. Without analysis, there’s no way to know what’s in those bottles.” In Cook County, Gin had testified at half a dozen cases involving knockoff medications imported from China and Russia; while they were manufactured to resemble the real medications, the dosages and even component contents were often wildly different. “It was irresponsible of him to venture an opinion.”
“Yeah? Well, your friend Baxter sure didn’t hold back on the opinions,” Jake said. “He let me know in no uncertain terms that he doesn’t want me near the case.”
“Jake, I can’t believe you! You’re lucky that he didn’t arrest you. He was probably doing you a favor when he let you go.”
“Goddamn it, Gin,” Jake roared, pushing back his chair and getting up. He paced the kitchen like a caged tiger, his face twisted in anger. “That’s twice. If you’re so convinced I fucked up, why don’t you just come out and say so.”
Gin knew that Jake had a temper, but he’d never before lashed out at her that way. Pushing aside her hurt, she reminded herself that Jake was dealing with the loss of his mother, which was stirring up a hornet’s nest of pain and buried emotion.
“I never said you were wrong to want to identify the person who gave your mother the drugs,” Gin said carefully. “I understand your anger, I think. I would do anything to protect you if I could. I love you, Jake, and when I see you hurting, I hurt for you. And for that reason, I don’t want you to do anything that’s going to make it worse. You should be dealing with your grief right now, not risking your own safety and freedom.”
“Grief?” Jake bellowed, clenching his fists. “Does this look like grief to you?”
For a moment neither of them said anything, as his angry words echoed around the kitchen.
“Actually…” Gin said softly, “to tell you the truth, I think it does. Let me help you find someone trained to help people who—”
“I don’t need a shrink,” Jake said. “I don’t need this bullshit at all.”
He went up the stairs, his footfalls echoing on the hardwood floors overhead. Gin stood rooted to the floor, listening to him move around their bedroom, wondering if she should try to go to him and suspecting it would only make things worse.
In moments, he was back downstairs with a duffle bag over his shoulder. “Look, I think you and I need to take a break,” he said, in a voice that was quieter but no less agitated. “I obviously have some things to work out. Things that don’t have anything to do with you. I’m sorry, Gin, but there’s no way you can understand any of this. You grew up in the lap of luxury. You had two parents who never let you want for anything. I can’t—I can’t be around you right now.”
“Don’t make this about us,” Gin said, stung by his words. “You know I’ve experienced tragedy. I lost my sister. I’ve seen hundreds of people who’ve died by every conceivable means. Maybe I don’t know what it’s like to lose an absent parent, to never have the chance to know them—but I want to. I’m asking you to let me in, to let me help.”
“You can’t.”
Jake turned away, hiding his face, and as angry and afraid as Gin was, she knew that underneath Jake’s fury was a core of pain that he was terrified for her to see. Swallowing her frustration with him, she cross
ed the room and laid a hand on his arm.
He flung it off with such force that she nearly stumbled backward. When he turned to face her, Gin was shocked to see tears in his eyes.
“Just leave me alone,” Jake said. “Give me a few days. I’ll—I’ll call you when this is done.”
“Where are you going?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll get a room.”
“Don’t do this,” Gin pleaded.
But he was already gone.
7
Gin spent a restless night, tossing and turning in the bed she’d been sharing with Jake for the last eleven months. When the first rays of dawn seeped through the windows, she gave up and got dressed.
In the bathroom, she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She’d been too tired to take off her makeup the night before, and her mascara was smudged under her eyes, her coppery shadow faded to brassy streaks. She put her hair up in a ponytail and washed her face, then went back into the bedroom.
She stood at the foot of the bed, looking around the room. How could Jake believe that it was better for him to be alone at a time like this? His coldness was so at odds with the home he had made with his own hands. Gin ran her hand along the footboard, which he’d carved from trees felled on this land. Underneath her feet were the heart pine boards he’d selected for their grain. Out the window was the view that he’d designed the house around, setting it into the slope of the land so that it opened up onto the valley below.
She couldn’t stay here without him.
A sob escaped her throat as it truly hit her: he didn’t want her with him as he faced this loss. He had reverted to the person he’d been in high school, before they met: angry, unmanageable, reckless, rebellious. By the time Jake had been fourteen, he’d been suspended from school for every infraction he could think of. He’d fought other kids with the slightest provocation, and by the time he was sixteen, he’d barely avoided going to juvenile. His father had taken to bringing him into the station, as much to keep an eye on him as it was to try to set an example.
It was only when Jake Crosby set his sights on Gin Sullivan, daughter of the most respected and wealthiest family in town, that he’d cleaned up his act. Her parents were wary at first, but he’d worked as hard at convincing them he’d changed as he ever worked at anything. As for Gin, the attraction she felt was even more powerful because Jake had reformed, for her.
Until today, she’d believed that he’d changed forever.
But the man who’d stormed out of the house last night was more like the adolescent who took his pain out in every broken window, every shoplifted bottle of liquor, every fight he provoked, than the man she’d been living with.
Jake had become a stranger again.
And suddenly Gin couldn’t stand to stay another moment in this house where she’d been so happy with him. Better to leave and go somewhere where she could replace the hurt she was feeling with action, a plan to do whatever she could to help Jake avoid more trouble.
She wasn’t even aware of the tears streaming down her face until she’d gotten her suitcase from the closet and had begun filling it. She took enough clothes for a week, and her computer and files. She hesitated before taking the framed photo of the two of them that held pride of place on the dresser, but in the end she slipped it into the suitcase along with the carved wooden bowl he’d made for her for Christmas.
In the kitchen she took a moment to look around. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been arranging flowers and setting the table, looking forward to Jake returning home, to sharing a meal with their friends.
It had been a dream. A dream that was now shattered.
* * *
On the short drive downtown, Gin barely registered the balmy breeze coming through the windows of her old Range Rover or the sun dappling the trees lining Hornbake Avenue, which had burst into bloom seemingly overnight. She found a parking space in front of the municipal building and hurried to her mother’s office, hoping not to run into anyone she knew.
Madeleine’s door was open, and she was just finishing a call.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said, hanging up.
“Listen, Mom, I was wondering … I was hoping I could come home for a bit.”
“Home?” Madeleine repeated. “You mean, with me and your father?”
“Well, since you’ve lived in the same house my entire life, I guess that’s the one,” Gin said, making a weak attempt at a smile. “It’s just temporary. I hope.”
“Oh, honey, did you and Jake have a fight?” Madeleine asked, scooting her chair around the desk so that her knees touched Gin’s, and reaching for her hands. “I know he’s distressed about his mother, but—”
“Jake did something he shouldn’t have,” Gin said. She gave her mother a summary of what had happened yesterday, leaving out the worst of the scuffle and making it sound like Jake had offered to go to the station to give his version of events, rather than being compelled to.
“What was he thinking!” Madeleine exclaimed nevertheless. “That part of town is dangerous. He’s lucky he escaped without being mugged, or worse.”
“He’s just … I think his mother’s death is affecting him more than he realizes.”
“I’ve got some excellent resources,” Madeleine said briskly. “There’s a therapist in town who specializes in trauma. It would probably be wise for Jake to take some time to examine his past, before he even attempts to make sense of what has happened in the last few days. Let me give you some numbers.”
“Mom, believe me, I’d like nothing more,” Gin sighed. “But unfortunately, Jake’s not willing to entertain the idea of counseling right now.”
“Did he ask you to move out?” Madeleine asked. “Or was it your idea?”
“Actually, he left. I don’t know where he went last night. I figured … given everything he’s dealing with, he should be at home, where at least he’s in a familiar setting.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” Madeleine mused. “Though I must say, that’s very generous of you, given everything he’s done in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Mom—I love him,” Gin said simply.
Madeleine nodded. “Well, I guess that’s all I need to know. Of course you can come home, honey. Dad will be thrilled. Maybe in a day or two, Jake will have come to his senses.”
“Maybe,” Gin said.
But somehow she suspected that it would take longer than a couple of days to heal the hurt inside him.
* * *
Gin was unpacking her clothes and putting them into the painted dresser that had been hers as a child when her phone rang. She grabbed for it, her heart pounding, but it wasn’t Jake.
It was Tuck Baxter.
Gin stared at the screen, torn between conflicting emotions. Tuck had the power to make life easier for Jake—or more difficult. So far, he’d apparently chosen the former. But why would he be calling Gin now? Was he bending the rules—and his own personal code—to give her information about Marnie Bertram’s death? Or had Jake done something else in his mistaken quest to avenge his mother’s overdose, and ended up on the wrong side of the law again?
“Hello,” she answered briskly.
“Gin. Hey. It’s Tuck.”
“Yes, I do have caller ID. How are you?” Gin heard the note of formality in her voice and felt ridiculous. After all, she and Tuck were professional colleagues. Yes, there’d been an attraction back in the summer when they first met, but they’d confronted and discussed it, and put it behind them.
“Been better. I have to tell you, Gin, I stuck my neck out for Jake last night. Not that he cares, or hell, maybe he doesn’t even realize how much trouble he could have been in, especially when Krischer’s father showed up and started threatening lawsuits.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yeah. He’s a real piece of work. Turns out Jonah only turned eighteen two months ago. He’s still in high school, getting ready to graduate. The dad actually tried to tell us Jonah was still a minor.”<
br />
“I thought he looked young, but—”
“Yeah, well, fooled me too. I didn’t pick him for a local, honestly. Most of these guys, they’re coming in from the city, expanding their existing territory. But a kid? Anyway, to tell you the truth, I was on the fence about what to do about Jake until Dr. Krischer showed up. But that pretty much tipped the scale—I’m not about to do one damn thing for that S.O.B. if I can help it.”
“We’re talking about the suspected dealer’s father, right? He’s a physician?”
“Yes. That’s one of the reasons I’m calling, actually. Apparently Krischer sees patients a couple days a month over at the surgery center. He’s some sort of specialist. Anyway, I thought your dad might know him. I think he’s mostly blowing hot air, but if he’s really going to bring a suit against the department, I’d like to get in front of it. I just thought—obviously I can’t give you any more information about the case than you already know, but if you could get a sense of this guy from your dad—well, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll be happy to see what I can do,” Gin said. She wondered what Tuck would have to say about the way Jake had reacted when he’d returned home—and that she’d moved out as a result. “I’ll be seeing him later today.”
“Okay. Thanks, Gin. Look, I know Crosby thinks I’ve got him in the crosshairs, but the truth is that I’m not entirely unsympathetic to him. Not that I’m endorsing what he did, obviously, and I’m not putting up with any vigilante justice on my watch. But this overdose epidemic … well, I don’t mind telling you that it scares the shit out of me every time it gets closer to Trumbull.”
“I’ve seen what it does to a city firsthand,” Gin said. “When I left Cook County, we were literally dealing with hundreds of heroin overdose deaths a year.”
“So that brings me to the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. Two things, actually. One is—and this is a professional courtesy, meaning keep to yourself—the initial screen came back and Marnie Bertram had cocaine, alcohol, traces of MDMA, and oxycodone in her system.”
“I see.” Gin felt her shoulders sag. It wasn’t surprising, of course, but it eliminated any doubt as to whether his mother had been using.
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