Fatal Judgment (3 page)

“Yeah.” Pulling the door closed, he indicated the two cops lingering a few yards away. “Why are they still here?”

“I cleared it for them to hang around if you want to catch some shut-eye. There’s an empty waiting room two doors down, on the right. You can probably have it to yourself for four or five hours.”

Not a bad idea. He was already digging deep into reserve energy, and he suspected things would only heat up in the light of day. He couldn’t afford to be off his game, not with a federal judge in his charge. Liz would be well protected for the next few hours with a deputy U.S. marshal and two cops hovering close.

“Okay. Call me if anything comes up.”

“Will do. We’ll keep an eye on the door to the waiting room too.”

“Thanks.”

Two minutes later, Jake dropped onto the couch in the deserted room. After rolling his jacket into a pillow, he tucked it under his head and stretched out. Sixty seconds later, sleep was already claiming him.

But as he drifted off, a faint, pleasing, floral scent invaded his consciousness.

Liz’s scent.

It clung to his jacket.

And while he didn’t like the woman, he had to admit her scent was very, very appealing.

Lying flat on her back, Liz stared at the dark ceiling. She was exhausted. But, as she’d feared, sleep wouldn’t come.

Every time she started to drift off, an image of Stephanie slumped on the white couch, her head centered over a growing crimson stain, pulsed across her mind. And in the silence of the night, she kept hearing the echo of her own screams. They went on and on and . . .

Stop!

Sitting up abruptly, she shoved her hair away from her face, pressed her fingers to her temples, and tried to get her ragged breathing under control. She should have known the firm stand she’d encouraged her sister to take with her husband might backfire. That issuing an ultimatum wouldn’t work. That it could lead to violence.

She’d tried the same approach with Doug. And it had failed just as badly.

The pressure of tears tightened her throat. For someone lauded as one of the finest young legal minds in the judiciary, she was a big fat zero when it came to dealing with the people she loved. The insights and good judgment she brought to the bench seemed to desert her in her personal life.

Doug and Stephanie proved that.

The tears she’d held at bay all day spilled out of the corners of her eyes, coursing down her cheeks in silent anguish while her chest heaved and her shoulders shuddered.

Why, Lord? Why are you letting this happen?

No answer came in the silent darkness.

Bowing her head, Liz continued to weep.

In his sleep-drugged state, it took Jake a few moments to identify the source of the vibration against his hip.

His phone was ringing.

Swinging his legs to the waiting room floor, he shoved his fingers through his hair and yanked the BlackBerry off his belt. “Taylor.”

“It’s Cole. Everything okay there?”

“Yeah.” He stifled a yawn and checked his watch: 6:00 in the morning. Four hours of sleep wasn’t enough, but he’d take it.

“Was that a yawn? You sleeping on the job?”

“Two of your officers hung around to back up Spence so I could grab a couple hours of shut-eye. What’s up?”

“The crime scene technicians will be finished inside the house by 9:00. We’d like the judge to check the place out as soon as possible after that so she can let us know if anything is missing. There’s some disturbance around her jewelry box.”

“Okay. Any sign of her sister’s husband?”

“No. Springfield is watching the house, but he hasn’t shown yet. Also, the Feds are nosing around.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” When a federal judge was involved in a crime, Jake knew the FBI would keep its finger on the pulse of the investigation—and take over if it was determined the judge was the target. For now, that didn’t seem to be the case.

“The agent’s a good guy, though. Mark Sanders. Heads up the SWAT team. Used to be on the HRT.”

Jake arched an eyebrow. Impressive. The FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team was the nation’s most elite civilian tactical force. If things got dicey, Sanders would be a good guy to have around.

The door to the waiting room opened, and Spence stuck his head in. The grim set of his jaw kicked Jake’s pulse up a notch, and he stood. “Gotta go, Cole. Maybe I’ll see you at the house.”

He strode toward the door as he slid the phone back onto his belt. “What’s up?”

“The ICU called. They’re taking the judge’s sister back to surgery. She’s hemorrhaging.”

Muttering a word he rarely used, Jake joined Spence in the hall. The man fell into step beside him as they headed toward Liz’s room.

“Did you hear anything from her all night—or what was left of the night?”

“No.”

When he reached her door, he gave a soft knock.

No response.

He knocked more firmly.

Still no response.

Furrowing his brow, he twisted the handle and pushed the door partway open.

The room was dark, the faint light of dawn nothing more than a pale outline around the blinds on the far window. But the light spilling in from the hallway illuminated Liz as she lay curled into a protective ball facing the door, her hair falling across her cheek.

“Let’s try to round up some coffee.” Jake spoke softly, keeping his gaze fixed on her. “And see if you can find someone who can give us an update.”

As Spence motioned to one of the officers a few feet away, Jake entered the room and eased the door shut behind him. He continued to the bathroom, where he flipped on the light above the sink. That provided some illumination in the room without the need to turn on the harsh bar fixture over the bed.

Moving close to Liz, he was struck by her pallor. And her puffy eyes suggested she’d cried herself into an exhausted sleep.

He wished he had better news to give her. But delaying it wasn’t going to change the inevitable.

“Liz.”

She didn’t stir.

“Liz.” He touched her shoulder.

Emitting a troubled sigh, she tried to shift away.

Lightly grasping her shoulder, Jake gave a gentle shake and increased his volume. “Liz.”

Her eyelids flickered open. For a brief moment she stared straight ahead. Then, with a sharp gasp, she bolted upright, her disoriented eyes wide with fear, her chest heaving, her posture rigid.

“Liz, it’s okay.” Jake grasped both her shoulders and put his face close to hers, his fingers absorbing the tremors coursing through her body. “It’s Jake. You’ve been resting in the hospital near your sister.” He spoke slowly, giving her a chance to shake off the mind-muddling effects of her exhausted slumber. “Take a few deep breaths.”

As she followed his instructions, the haziness in her green irises cleared. Only then did he pass on the news.

“I’m sorry to wake you. But your sister’s been taken back to surgery.”

Her breath hitched, and she shrugged free of him to swing her legs to the floor. One side of the scrub top slipped off her shoulder as she stood, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“What happened?”

“We’re trying to get you some details now. All we know is there was some additional bleeding in the brain.”

Her response was a small, deep-throated moan that seemed sourced in her soul—and tugged at his gut.

Holding onto the mattress with one hand, she righted her discarded brown pumps with a toe and slid her feet inside. “How long ago . . .”

The knob on the door twisted, and a second later Spence pushed it open to admit a woman in scrubs with a stethoscope around her neck. She headed toward Liz and held out her hand.

“Judge Michaels, I’m Susan Grady from neuro-intensive care. I’ve been asked to give you an update. Would you like to sit?”

“No.” Liz folded her arms across her chest.

The woman gave a quick dip of her head. “Okay. I don’t have much yet, anyway. Your sister was being settled into intensive care when she suffered a seizure. Shortly after that, her condition began to deteriorate. We did another CT scan and discovered she’d had a hemorrhagic stroke—in other words, a blood vessel inside the brain ruptured. She was rushed back into surgery about twenty minutes ago, and the doctors are working to get the situation under control. I’ll pass on updates as I get them from the operating room.”

Shell-shocked
was the word that came to Jake’s mind as he assessed Liz. She groped for the bed behind her, as if seeking some tangible support, and he edged closer.

“Thank you.” Her voice sounded steadier than she looked.

With another nod that encompassed both of them, the nurse exited.

For a few beats of silence after the door closed behind her, Liz stood unmoving. A spasm rippled across her face, and her lower lip began to tremble. She caught it between her teeth, blinked several times, and gestured toward the bathroom as she snagged her purse off the nightstand. “I think I’ll freshen up a little.”

Jake got the message. She needed a few minutes to pull herself together.

“Okay. I’ll be in the hall.”

He waited until she pulled the bathroom door shut behind her with a quiet click, then exited.

Spence pushed off from the wall with his shoulder. “I asked one of the aides to round up a toiletries kit, if you want to shave and brush your teeth. Can’t help you out on clothes, but at least the rumpled look is in.” The other marshal shot him a quick grin as he handed over the small bag. “I also asked her to see what she could find in the way of food.”

On cue, Jake’s stomach rumbled. Reminding him that his last meal had been a fast-food burger he’d grabbed en route to the airport in Denver more than fifteen hours ago.

“Thanks.”

“All in a day’s work. There’s a men’s room down the hall, on the left. Those guys will stay until you get back.” He inclined his head toward the two officers who’d remained through the night.

“Give me ten minutes.”

“Don’t hurry on my account. I’m not going anywhere.”

With a wry quirk of his lips, Jake headed down the hall. He’d prefer a long, hot shower, a decent meal, and a soft bed, but he’d make do. If nothing else, freshening up would help him feel more human.

He hoped the same would be true for Liz. Doing routine things often comforted people in stressful situations. A few normal minutes could shore up their stamina, leaving them better equipped to cope with the next trauma.

And Jake had a feeling Liz was going to need all the shoring up she could get in the hours and days to come.

______

Liz gripped the edges of the sink, faced the mirror, and cringed.

It was hard to believe the haggard woman with weary, shadowed eyes and tangled hair staring back was her.

But the stark, shocking reflection—exacerbated by the harsh, merciless overhead light—was all too real.

As real as the nightmare that had become her life.

Lifting an unsteady hand, she brushed her fingers over her cheek. There had been a time in the not-too-distant past when she’d worried that her youthful appearance might be a detriment to her career.

She could now put that concern to rest.

Today, she looked every one of her thirty-eight years.

As for her career . . . she’d trade all her achievements, all her accolades, all her awards for the chance to make things right with Doug and Stephanie. For the chance to have a normal, trauma-free life.

But it was too late.

For all of them.

Fighting back a wave of despair, she turned on the faucet and picked up the bar of soap. As she tore off the paper wrapper, the maroon stains under her polished fingernails caught her eye. Lifting one hand, she examined them . . . and discovered more of the same in her cuticles.

The breath whooshed out of her as if someone had delivered a sharp jab to her stomach.

Stephanie’s blood.

Bile rose in her throat, and she gripped the edge of the sink again, willing the nausea to subside. She wouldn’t fall apart. Couldn’t fall apart. Her sister needed her. Had always needed her. That was what happened when a mother died young and there was a six-year age gap between siblings. And Liz had taken the responsibility seriously, doing her best to be more surrogate mom than big sister.

Yet when it came to the most important decision of her sister’s life, her best hadn’t been good enough. Ignoring her advice, Stephanie had married Alan—and become his battered wife. It had taken the impending arrival of a baby to give her the courage, with Liz’s support, to issue an ultimatum and walk away.

Liz had applauded her decision. Had believed that now, her sister would be safe.

Instead, she was fighting for her life.

And her blood is on your hands.

As Liz stared at her fingers, that harsh indictment echoed in her mind.

Once again, her stomach twisted into a knot.

Adjusting the water as hot as she could stand it, Liz stuck her hands under the stream and scrubbed at her fingers. Determined to scour every trace of blood from her skin.

If only she could do the same with the self-reproach that stained her soul.

How could she not have seen Alan’s real character? How could she not have suspected he would resort to lethal violence if crossed? She dealt with criminals every day. Shouldn’t that experience have given her more insight?

But her judgment had been lacking with Doug too. After living with him for five years, she should have realized the step she’d taken could send him over the edge.

Liz tried to swallow past the bitter taste on her tongue. But it was no use. For five long years, her guilt over Doug’s death had weighed down her soul. A private burden, known only to her and God. Friends and colleagues hadn’t a clue about her culpability.

Except, perhaps, for one man.

Jake Taylor.

Her hands stilled under the running water as she thought about the marshal who’d been assigned to protect her. She didn’t know much about him, other than a few stories of their college days relayed to her by Doug. When Jake had flown in for the wedding, she’d been too caught up in the last-minute details and excitement to do more than exchange a few words with her husband’s best man. But he’d seemed pleasant enough. His toast at the reception had been witty and warm, and there had been nothing in his demeanor to suggest he harbored any enmity toward her.

In the intervening years, however, his attitude had undergone a dramatic shift. At the funeral, he’d been cool. Distant. Aloof. His stiff posture and stilted language during their brief exchange had spelled disapproval in capital letters.

Since then, she’d often wondered what Doug had shared with Jake during their periodic phone visits to turn his buddy against her.

But now wasn’t the time to dwell on that question.

She turned off the water, dried her hands, and reached for her purse. Once this drama was over, she doubted she and Jake would have much contact. In the interim, she trusted him to do his job. As Doug had once commented, Jake seemed like the type who would wear a white hat and ride into Dodge. He might not like her, but he struck her as a suck-it-up kind of guy who took his professional responsibilities seriously. His opinion of her shouldn’t matter.

Yet for some disturbing reason, it did.

Forcing herself to refocus, Liz withdrew her comb and lipstick and made a halfhearted attempt to repair her appearance. But it was a losing battle. To restore any semblance of normalcy, she needed a hot shower, clean clothes, and a sound sleep.

The first two she assumed she’d get in the next few hours.

As for the latter . . . she suspected it would remain elusive for the foreseeable future.

As Jake set the tray of scrounged-up food on the adjustable table beside the bed, he heard the bathroom door open behind him.

“Is there any news?”

At the apprehensive question, he glanced toward Liz. She’d combed her hair and applied lipstick. But the color she’d added to her lips only served to emphasize the pallor of her skin.

“No. I brought some food. And drink.”

She eyed the eclectic assortment. Small plastic containers of vanilla pudding and lime Jell-O, plus a turkey sandwich. The beverages included a small carton of low-fat milk, a container of orange juice, and two different kinds of soda.

Liz shook her head. “I’m not hungry. But thank you.”

“I admit the selection isn’t great. But you might want to eat a little until we can round up more substantive fare.”

She skirted the bed and took a seat on the far side. Away from the food. “I don’t think I can manage anything right now.”

“Coffee’s on the way, if you’d rather have that.”

“No. I had too much caffeine last night.” She surveyed the drinks. “Maybe I’ll try the milk.”

When she started to rise, he waved her back. “Let me see if there are any cups in the bathroom.”

He found one, ripped off the covering, and carried it and the milk container around the bed to where she sat. Setting the plastic cup on the windowsill, he opened the carton and poured the milk for her.

As she murmured a thank-you and reached for the cup, he frowned. Her fingers were red. Almost as red as her crimson nail polish. As if they’d been burnt. Or rubbed raw.

After a quick shift into analytical mode, it took him all of two seconds to evaluate the evidence and arrive at a conclusion.

She’d spent the past few minutes scrubbing off her sister’s blood.

No wonder the sight of food—and the thought of eating—turned her stomach.

He retraced his route back to the other side of the bed, picked up the tray, and headed for the door. “I’ll get this out of the way.”

“Aren’t you hungry?”

At her question, he angled toward her. “Yes. But I can eat in the hall.”

“You don’t have to leave on my account. I can tolerate watching someone else eat, even if my stomach won’t let me do the same.” Her gaze locked with his. “However, if you’d rather not spend any more time than necessary in my presence, don’t feel compelled to stay.”

Taken aback by her blunt remark, he froze. A flush seeped onto her cheeks as he stared at her—suggesting the comment had surprised her as much as it had him.

Before he could think of a response, she spoke again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be snippy. Just . . . forget I said that. Chalk it up to stress. Go ahead and eat out there with your colleague. I’m sure he’s far better company.”

She took a sip of her milk. Lowered the cup.

Jake suddenly found himself fighting an impulse to wipe away the white mustache that clung to her upper lip.

Which was nuts.

He should be hightailing it out of the room instead of thinking about getting up close and personal. She’d given him an out. He ought to take it. Because her assessment was correct. He didn’t want to spend any more time in her company than necessary.

Or he hadn’t, anyway, when he’d first been handed this assignment.

Yet somehow, in the past few hours, his attitude had undergone a subtle shift. The Liz sitting across the room from him, facing a crisis alone, digging deep for strength as she kept vigil over her sister, didn’t jibe with the mental image he’d created of a selfish woman who ranked matters of the heart low on her priority list.

Then again, for all he knew, she might have called her office while he was away. Taken the opportunity to catch up with voice mail or email. He was certain a BlackBerry lurked somewhere in the recesses of her purse.

But somehow he didn’t think she’d done that.

And for whatever reason, the thought of leaving her alone in this sterile room didn’t sit well.

Besieged by conflicting impulses, Jake went with his gut. “I’ll eat in here.”

Did the tense line of her shoulders ease a hair? Or was it his imagination? Jake wasn’t certain as he set the food back on the adjustable bedside table, propped a hip on the mattress, and opened the plastic container that held the sandwich.

She continued to sip her milk in silence, focusing on the closed blinds as he devoured the sandwich and the pudding. Still hungry, he considered the Jell-O. Passed.

He chose a soda instead, the fizz echoing in the quiet room as he pulled back the tab. After taking a long swallow, he regarded Liz.

As if sensing his perusal, she looked toward him. “How was it?”

“Hospital food.” He shrugged. “But when you’re hungry, you can’t be too picky.”

“Not hungry enough for the Jell-O, I see.”

He grimaced at the clear green substance in the plastic dish. “I’ve never been able to stomach food that jiggles.”

The ghost of a smile whispered at her lips. “I’m with you. My mom always forced me to eat Jell-O when I was sick, which did nothing to endear it to me. I wouldn’t even eat the cherry Jell-O salad with whipped cream and blueberries she always made on Fourth of July, despite the rave reviews it got.”

He found himself smiling in response. “My mom’s cure-all for any kind of sickness was much more palatable. Homemade chicken soup. Sometimes my brother and sister and I would fake being sick just so she’d make it.”

“Pretty devious.”

“Hey, it worked. For a while. Now she makes it whenever we come to visit.”

“Where’s home, Jake?” She took another sip of milk, never breaking eye contact.

“Here. But Mom moved to Chicago a few years ago to live with her sister. They were raised there, and they decided to combine households after they both became widows. Now that I’m based in St. Louis, I should be able to see her more often.”

“That will be nice . . . for both of you.”

“How about you? Does your mom still make that Jell-O salad?”

As she ran a finger around the rim of her cup, every vestige of her fleeting smile vanished. “She died when I was twelve.”

He should have remembered that. At Doug’s wedding ten years ago, he’d noted the absence of the mother of the bride and asked his friend about it.

“I knew that. Doug mentioned it once. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. She’s been gone a long time. But you know what? I still miss her. Especially on days like this.” Her words came out scratchy, and she took another sip of milk. “Dad did his best to fill in the gap for Stephanie and me, though. Hard as he worked in his law practice, he was always there for us.” She fingered a loose thread on the oversized scrub top. “He died of a heart attack four years ago. Way too young. He was only fifty-nine.”

Meaning she had no one except Stephanie.

Jake couldn’t imagine being that alone. He might not have seen his family as much as he’d have liked in the past few years, but he knew they were there if he needed them. Except Dad.