Fatal Judgment (5 page)

“Better. Thank you for asking. But it’s been a tough pregnancy, and that book of crossword puzzles you sent home with me couldn’t have been better timed. It helped get her through one of her roughest weeks.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

His curiosity piqued, Jake glanced at Liz. But the Suburban was already pulling to a stop in the ER parking lot, giving him no chance to dwell on her exchange with Larry.

“Spence and I are going to get our cars, Liz. He’ll be in front of the Suburban. I’ll be behind.” He angled toward the door, stopping when she touched his arm.

“Do you want your jacket back now?”

“Later is fine.”

After a quick sweep of the parking lot, Jake opened his door and slid out of the vehicle. Spence did the same on his side. Jake waited until he heard the automatic locks click behind him before he headed for his Trailblazer. Spence was already climbing into his Grand Cherokee a few spots down.

As their little motorcade pulled out of the hospital and headed for I-64, Jake checked the clock on the dash: 7:55.

Ten hours ago, he’d been boarding his delayed flight in Denver after nine intense days tracking and arresting a fugitive on the most-wanted list. Ten weeks ago he’d been dodging bullets in Iraq after a mob tried to storm a courtroom during an incendiary trial. Ten months ago, he’d been executing a court order to seize assets belonging to a domestic terrorist group and working a special security detail for a Supreme Court justice in Washington DC.

One thing for sure. This job was never boring.

That was what he liked about it.

But much as he thrived on challenge, much as he relished being pushed to his limits, he wished this assignment had passed him by.

And his reasons today had nothing to do with his negative feelings toward Liz Michaels. Much to his surprise, those had softened during the traumatic hours they’d spent together. In fact, she’d managed to awaken in him a protective instinct that went far beyond what his job dictated.

Jake didn’t understand that. Wasn’t sure he
wanted
to understand it.

But he did understand risk. Plus, he had a nose for danger. That’s why he was good at what he did.

And he was smelling danger now.

For both Liz—and himself.

The first rays of morning sun filtered through the dense woods, reflecting off the small, shiny gold cross in his hand. Looping the delicate chain around his fingers, he lifted it toward the heavens.

How odd that this had been among the handful of jewelry he’d snatched before leaving the house.

But it was fitting.

Because this symbol of pure, perfect, unselfish love—the kind that showed mercy and kindness, that honored vows and commitment—was a stark reminder of her failures.

Worst of all, she’d betrayed the solemn promise she’d made before God.

And wronged him in the process.

Now she’d paid the ultimate price.

As the cross dangled from his fingers, glinting in the clear morning light, he took its presence in his cache as a sign that God approved of his action.

Slowly he inhaled, filling his lungs with the fresh country air.

It was done.

Lowering the cross, he let it drop into the Ziploc bag with the other jewelry and picked up the camp shovel. Brittle, frost-nipped oak leaves had formed a thick carpet on the forest floor, and he brushed them aside with the blade, then began digging. The ground was soft from recent rains, and it took him less than half a minute to create a deep cavity in the fertile earth.

He weighed the bag in his hand for a few seconds, then wedged it into the bottom of the hole and replaced the earth. Once more using the tip of the shovel, he spread leaves over the disturbed ground.

Stepping back, he surveyed the spot. It looked exactly like the ground around it. There was no indication that anything was buried beneath the surface.

Good.

For all intents and purposes, the jewelry had ceased to exist.

Just as she had.

And as he turned away, two words echoed in his mind.

Good riddance.

“My pearls are missing. So are a couple of costume-jewelry rings, a silver bracelet, and the gold cross necklace I always wear under my robe when I’m presiding.”

Finishing her inventory, Liz stepped back from the jewelry box, which was covered with liberal amounts of fingerprint powder, and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.

“You need anything else?” Jake directed the question to Cole, who continued to write in his notebook. They’d been through the rest of the house—except for the family room—and nothing else appeared to be missing.

“No. That should do it. When you have a minute . . .” He tipped his head toward the hall. “Thank you, Judge.”

As Cole exited the bedroom, Liz slipped Jake’s jacket off her shoulder and handed it back to him.

“Borrowed for the last time, I hope. Thank you.”

He took it, resisting the temptation to lift it and inhale her scent. Instead, he handed her the plastic bag containing her blouse. “We can have this cleaned for you.”

She peeked inside. Rolled the bag into a ball. Set it on the dresser. “Thanks. But I can’t imagine ever wearing it again. What’s next?”

“Pack as much as you think you’ll need for a week.” He picked up the suitcases they’d retrieved from the guest-room closet during her inventory tour and set them on the bed.

“Would it be okay if I took a shower and changed clothes while I’m here?”

Jake hesitated. He’d prefer to leave ASAP, but there were six deputy marshals, a police detective, and several patrol officers on the premises. It didn’t get much safer than that.

“Sure. Keep the shades drawn. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready to leave.”

After closing the door behind him, Jake headed down the hall of the modest bungalow, night-and-day different from the upscale Jefferson City home Doug had shown him through on his one, impromptu visit, when Liz had been out of town. Cole waylaid him en route to the kitchen and directed him toward the dining room, where stacks of boxes were waiting to be unpacked.

The place reminded him of his condo.

“Where’s the judge?”

“Packing. Taking a shower. Changing clothes.”

Cole surveyed him. Leaned close. Sniffed.

“When’s the last time
you
changed clothes? Or showered? It’s a little rank in here.”

Jake narrowed his eyes and propped his fists on his hips, not in the mood for humor. “Unlike you, I never made it home last night. Back off a few feet if my aroma offends your delicate sensibilities.”

Cole arched an eyebrow. “Touchy, aren’t we?”

“It’s been a very long, unpleasant night.”

“Yeah.” Cole’s levity faded as the muffled sound of a shower joined the muted voices of the marshals conversing in the kitchen. “The judge looks like she’s operating on fumes.”

“I’d say that’s an accurate assessment. So where are you with the investigation, and what do you need to talk to me about?”

“Assuming the husband has an alibi, the robbery motive isn’t working for me, even though some jewelry is missing.”

“Why not?”

“There were six fifty-dollar bills on the hall table. In plain sight. The assailant had to go past that table on his way into the family room. If he was going to take time to riffle through the judge’s jewelry box, why wouldn’t he pocket some easy cash?”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “He could have taken some jewelry to make it appear robbery was the motive. If the cash wasn’t part of his plan, it might not have registered.”

“That’s my take.”

“Did the Crime Scene Unit find anything interesting?”

“Not much. Our assailant got in through a basement window in the back that’s concealed by bushes. Taped it so it wouldn’t shatter, broke the glass, flipped the lock. The ground back there is hard as a rock, so he didn’t leave any footprints.”

“What about fingerprints?”

“A few on the window. And some on the jewelry box. The latter are probably the judge’s.” Cole leaned a shoulder against the wall and stuck his hands in his pockets. “We’re running them all through the FBI database.”

“Have you talked to the neighbors?”

“Yeah. No one saw or heard anything out of the ordinary. It’s like the guy materialized in the room, then vanished.”

Jake expelled a frustrated breath. “We know that didn’t happen. What kind of security does the house have?”

“A standard home-grade system. But it wasn’t activated at the time of the murder. According to the judge, she didn’t plan to be here more than six or eight months, and she didn’t see the need to enhance the existing system for such a short-term stay.”

Silence fell between them as two words echoed in Jake’s mind.

Big mistake
.

He’d been in the business long enough to know that even if this case was an extension of domestic violence unrelated to Liz, as it seemed to be, there were wackos out there who targeted high-profile judges. The security here should have been beefed up when she moved in—whether she thought it was necessary or not.

But with everything else on her plate, the last thing she needed to do was start beating herself up about that.

“Any word from Springfield?” Jake dug in his pocket, hoping to find a breath mint.

“Nothing. Mr. Long was last seen by a neighbor around noon on Friday as he pulled out of his driveway. The local PD is watching the house, and they’ve put surveillance on his office. So far he hasn’t shown.”

“Okay.” No luck on the breath mint. He withdrew his hand. “We’ll get Liz settled. Keep me in the loop.”

“You got it.” Cole pushed off from the wall. “By the way, Alison said to tell you she forgives you for standing her up for your welcome-home dinner last week and the lasagna will keep, but did you ever hear of a telephone?”

A grin tugged at Jake’s lips. He could picture his little sister uttering those very words, chin jutting out, pert nose stuck in the air. “That sounds like her.”

“Yeah. Finally. She’s had a tough few months.” Cole narrowed his eyes. “How much did she tell you about the accident when she called you in Washington?”

“The basics.” Jake mentally replayed the brief conversation he’d had with his sister a couple of days after he’d returned from Iraq, when he’d still been jet-lagged and trying to decompress. “I heard about the broken leg, and she mentioned some internal injuries. I chewed her out for not telling me sooner, but she claimed I was overreacting and said she was doing fine. When I pressed for more information, the best I could get was a promise of more details when I got back to St. Louis. She was much more interested in talking about her new puppy.”

“That’s what I figured.” Cole raked his fingers through his hair. “Look, I agreed—under duress—not to say much until she has a chance to see you. But the truth is, she’s not doing fine. She was hurt a lot worse than she implied.”

A knot formed in Jake’s stomach. “How much worse?”

Several beats of silence ticked by as Cole regarded his brother. “We weren’t sure she was going to make it.”