Fatal Judgment (11 page)

She stared at him, and Jake could see the pulse hammering in the hollow of her throat, above the neck of her jade-green silk blouse. “You beat her, Alan.”

A spasm of pain twisted his features at her contemptuous denunciation. “I’m sorry for that. More sorry than I can say.” His lashes were spiky with moisture, and he brushed the back of his hand across them.

Beside him, Jake felt Liz stiffen. “Tell that to God.” She turned away from Alan and looked up at him. She was trembling, and there was desperation in her eyes. “I need to get out of here.”

Signaling to Dan and Larry in the back, he took her arm and lifted his wrist. “We’re on our way out. Is the Suburban in place?”

“Right outside the front door. The lead and follow vehicles are also in position.”

With the threat to Liz heightened now that Alan was no longer as likely a suspect, they’d beefed up the travel plans from St. Louis to include a small motorcade.

“Everything set at the next stop?” He checked on Alan over his shoulder. The man hadn’t tried to follow. Good.

“Two of our guys are in place. We’ll move to the site too as soon as you’re in your vehicles.”

Jake wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Liz wandering around the open expanse of the cemetery, but she’d asked to visit Doug’s grave, then swing by her family plot after her sister’s interment, which the funeral director had arranged to take place immediately following the service. Jake understood her need for closure and was as comfortable as he could be with the security plan they’d put in place.

“Good. Thanks.”

As they approached the exit, Dan and Larry disappeared outside. Jake paused on the threshold until one of the KC marshals waved him forward. The subsequent transfer to the vehicle was swift, and within thirty seconds Liz was inside, Spence had taken the wheel, and Jake was sitting in the front passenger seat. Dan and Larry were already in their cars.

Once they were under way, he angled toward Liz. “Sorry about the encounter with Alan.”

She gazed at him, her eyes too big, her face too pale. “You couldn’t stop him from speaking. But I shouldn’t have looked at him. That was a mistake.”

Meaning she’d gotten the same impression he, Mark, and Cole had during their visit to Springfield two days ago: the man’s remorse was real.

“How can a man grieve over a woman he abused?”

At her bewildered question, he shook his head. “It makes no sense to me either, Liz. I don’t get guys like that.”

She didn’t respond as the Suburban accelerated. Instead, she turned her head toward the blacked-out window. But just as he was about to face front again, she spoke. Her voice was so soft it was almost as if she was talking to herself, and he had to strain to catch the words she aimed at the passing grave markers.

“I’m glad you don’t.”

Settling back in his seat, Jake mulled over her comment. It was probably nothing more than an expression of relief that others found Alan’s behavior as incomprehensible as she did. That the concept of doing physical harm to someone you profess to love was outside the realm of understanding for normal people, who associate love with tenderness and protection rather than brutality and assault.

Yet as they traversed the narrow roads of the cemetery, headed for the grave of the man she’d married, he found himself wishing her comment was more personal. That she was glad he, in particular, couldn’t fathom the actions of a man like Alan Long.

Because that would suggest she wanted to think well of him.

That she liked him.

Flummoxed, he stared straight ahead, oblivious for a brief moment to his surroundings—something that never happened when he was on duty. But the 180-degree turn in his attitude toward the woman in the backseat blew him away.

Five days ago, when he’d walked through the doors of the ER at St. John’s, he couldn’t have cared less what Liz Michaels thought about him.

Now he cared.

A lot.

Because during the past few days, he’d begun to realize that his friend had painted a distorted picture of his wife. He didn’t know why Doug had done that, and Liz had offered no clue. But Jake suspected there was a whole lot more to the story of his college buddy’s demise than he’d thought.

And he intended to get to the bottom of it—sooner or later.

As the small motorcade pulled to a stop near Doug’s grave, Liz gripped the purse in her lap. She hadn’t been back here since the day they’d laid her husband of five years to rest. Visiting graves had never offered her much comfort. The people she loved weren’t here. Their physical remains might be buried in this parched ground, but their souls were with God.

Still, as long as she was here, it seemed fitting to stop by Doug’s final resting place.

“Sit tight for a minute until we get the all clear,” Jake told her over his shoulder.

He began talking into the mike at his cuff, scanning the flat terrain through the blacked-out windows as he spoke. Half a minute later, with a nod to Spence, he pushed open his door and stepped out. Dan and Larry joined him. They conversed for a moment, then Jake opened her door and reached behind her seat to withdraw an umbrella. He opened it and extended his hand to help her out.

His fingers held hers in a firm grip as she slid from the car. Clouds had moved in while they were in the chapel, and a light rain had begun to fall.

“It’s over there.” She gestured toward a gray granite headstone to the right.

“I know.”

Of course he would. He’d stood in this same spot five years ago as they’d laid Doug to rest. Just as she had.

Taking her arm, he held the umbrella above her as Dan took the lead and Larry fell in behind. She spotted some of the other agents positioned farther away.

As they approached the grave marker, Dan and Larry dropped back a discreet distance. Jake started to hand her the umbrella. “We’ll give you a few private minutes.”

Instead of disengaging her arm and taking the umbrella, however, she looked up at him. Hesitated. Took the leap. “You can stay if you’d like.”

He arched an eyebrow, as if surprised by the invitation. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Unless duty requires you to be elsewhere.”

He shook his head. “We have plenty of coverage.”

The soft rain intensified, and he shifted closer, positioning the umbrella to give her the most protection.

They stood in silence for a minute, her gaze fixed on the grass at her feet, brittle and dry from the long, hot summer. She tried to recall the early days of her marriage, when her love for her husband had been young and fresh and filled with promise. But the bad memories had eclipsed them, leaving the happy times in shadows, their outlines dim and fuzzy, like barely recalled dreams.

Lifting her chin, she read Doug’s name carved onto the granite base of the headstone that marked the graves of several members of the Stafford family. “I suppose I should have bought a separate plot for Doug.”

A couple of seconds of silence ticked by before Jake responded. “I wondered at the time about that.”

She shrugged. “There was an empty spot in the family plot and his mother offered it to me for him. It was the simplest solution in the midst of all the chaos. One less decision to make. One less detail to deal with. Only later did I realize that meant there was no room for me. That Doug and I would be apart in death . . . just as we’d been in life.”

Liz didn’t need to look up to know Jake was frowning at her, wondering about the whispered comment she’d tacked onto the end. “Our marriage was falling apart, Jake.”

Once again, several beats of silence passed, as if he was deciding how to respond. Or if he should respond. “I suspected that.”

She tipped her head back and searched his face as they huddled beneath the umbrella. There were questions in the depths of his deep brown irises, and a kindness that hadn’t been there on their last encounter in this spot. She saw an openness, as well, suggesting he’d already acknowledged the information he’d gotten from his friend might have been flawed.

“He said you’d threatened to leave him.”

So he knew about that. “Did he tell you why?”

He shifted, as if uncomfortable with the topic. Or perhaps the setting. And they were on tricky ground. Literally, considering the close proximity of Doug’s mortal remains. How could they communicate about such a sensitive subject without betraying the confidences and loyalties of a friendship and a marriage?

“I had the feeling your decision was related to your career.” Jake’s words were cautious. Chosen with the same care exercised by soldiers stepping onto a minefield.

A pang echoed in her heart, and she sighed. “I suppose he’d convinced himself it was. But he was wrong. About that—and a lot of things. When did you last talk to him?”

“A few days before he died. That’s when he told me you might leave him. He was . . . very upset.” He transferred his weight from one foot to the other and shoved his free hand into his pocket. “It’s crossed my mind in the past few days that I probably should have . . .” He stopped abruptly, and his expression grew distant as he lifted his hand to touch his earpiece. Furrows appeared on his brow.

“We need to move. I’m sorry to rush you, Liz.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, he gestured to Dan and Larry, took her arm, and set a fast pace back to the car. The three-inch heels of her black pumps weren’t designed for rapid travel over a sloping lawn, and without his arm supporting her she had a feeling she’d have taken a nosedive.

They were back in the car and under way before she caught her breath.

“Sorry about that.” Jake angled toward her from the front seat. “Several cars were headed our direction. No doubt other people visiting graves, but I didn’t want to take a chance.”

“It’s okay. I was finished there.”

His gaze locked on hers. “I thought we were just getting started.”

At Jake’s enigmatic remark, Spence shot him a quick glance. Then he sent a look her direction in the rearview mirror. She felt warmth seep onto her cheeks and braced, expecting him to make a comment. But to her relief, he remained silent.

“We’ll swing by your sister’s grave now.” Jake picked up the conversation again, his tone once more all business. “They’re still working there, but the rain is slowing them down a little. With the activity in the cemetery, we’d prefer you remain in the car.”

“Okay. The grave is curbside. I don’t need to get out.”

Two minutes later, as the small motorcade pulled to a stop, Liz scooted toward the driver-side window of the backseat and leaned close to the glass. Someone must have alerted the workers to expect her, because they took a few steps back and rested on their shovels.

The grave was already half filled. The flowers that had covered the casket during the service, a brilliant display of the sweet-smelling Stargazer lilies Steph had loved, were off to the side, waiting to be draped over the mound of fresh earth that would mark her final resting place.

For several minutes, forehead pressed against the cool glass, Liz regarded the spot that held the physical remains of her family.

Now she had no one left to bury.

No one left to love.

She felt the pressure of tears in her throat, behind her eyes, and prayed for the strength to hold on. To shore up her disintegrating composure. To find a way to live with the loneliness . . . and the grief . . . and the guilt.

Lifting her fingers to her lips, she kissed the tips. Pressed them to the window. And whispered a final farewell.

“Good-bye, Steph. I love you.”

It was another two minutes before she trusted her voice enough to speak. Scooting back into her place, she kept her head bowed as she tugged her seat belt across her chest and buckled it. “I’m ready to leave.”

She heard Jake issue instructions into his mike, but as the Suburban began to move and the men went back to work, she twisted her head for a last look at the plot, once more fighting back tears.

And then she felt a strong, reassuring hand cover her cold fingers as they rested on her knee.

Startled, she turned forward.

Jake didn’t speak. With words. But his eloquent, unguarded eyes communicated much—sympathy, caring, and enough warmth to chase away the chill that had settled over her heart as she said good-bye to Stephanie.