Tear Me Apart

by J. T. Ellison

  Juliet is so intent on Jasper she doesn’t notice the cameraman who’s snuck up and is filming the entire incident. Jasper moves slightly, and that’s when she hears the whirring of the camera. “Oh, shit,” she says.

  But Jasper only smiles coldly and walks back into the hospital, waving off the rest of the reporters who are starting to gather.

  She hears someone say, “Did you get that? We better go check it out.” And realizes Jasper has planned the whole thing. He’s made sure he was seen approaching her car so the media would follow to see what he was up to. The bastard. She would never, ever have thought him capable of such cruelty toward another person.

  She watches the reporters scramble and spin, talking into their microphones. Jasper wasn’t kidding when he said he was mounting a defense. But it is more than that. He wants to discredit Zack entirely.

  She puts the truck in gear with a deep sigh and dials Zack’s phone with her free hand.

  He doesn’t answer, so she leaves a voice mail. “We have a problem. Call me back when you get this.”

  * * *

  Back in the hospital, Jasper takes his seat next to Lauren and grasps her hand.

  “It’s taken care of. There’s no way any court in the land will give him custody now.”

  She gives him a beatific smile.

  “Thank you, my love.”

  69

  There is nothing more for Zack to do at the hospital, and he is feeling oppressed by the fluorescent lights and beeping machines and the nasty looks Jasper keeps shooting at him. What a difference a day makes. The tenor of all their conversations has changed; the Wrights have turned on him, closing ranks around Mindy. Juliet seems to have been left out in the cold, too.

  Since Mindy will be parked inside the clean room for hours as her body accepts or rejects his blood, and he is feeling decidedly uncomfortable in the Wrights’ presence, he decides to take a stroll. During a press conference, he manages to duck the knot of media out front by following a doctor out the secured back door to the bottom parking lot and walks down the hill into the resort.

  Zack wanders around Vail Village, Kat by his side, looking in stores, enjoying being alone for the first time in days. So much to process, so much to decide on. So much to be suspicious of.

  Now that he is away from the hospital, and his head is clearing, he can acknowledge what has been bothering him since he arrived in Vail. Something isn’t right with Lauren. She is under duress, certainly—the situation with Mindy is trying and would stress out the Dalai Lama—but there is something more. The way she looks at Zack makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

  Why? Why does a loving suburban mom set his radar on fire?

  Because she is too perfect? Outside of a few lies, told mostly to protect her loved ones, Lauren is absolutely, utterly perfect. Jasper, too, is perfect. They have a perfect home, a perfect life, a perfect daughter.

  And Zack knows that no one, no one in the world, is perfect like this. It is almost as if Lauren is directing a play, moving the pieces around. I am a good mother: stage right, my accomplished daughter. I am a devoted wife: stage left, my handsome lawyer husband. Backdrop: our glitteringly perfect home, not a speck of dust in sight. I am creative, concerned, loving, and disciplined. I have money, I have purpose. Nothing fazes me, except the thought of losing my daughter. Spotlight off, and...curtain.

  It is practically written to script—the idyllic American family, world-class athlete daughter, parents willing to do anything to help their child excel. A river of normalcy, flowing through the lives around them.

  And just below the surface, the current eddies, and is growing in strength.

  Zack finds a restaurant that looks good, The Red Lion, and takes a table on the deck. He gets a bowl of water for Kat from the curly-haired ski-bum server, a Guinness for himself, and sits, arms on the metal table, face turned up to the late winter sun for a few moments, before settling in to people watch. He is only thirty yards from the gondola, facing a steep set of moguls. Skiers coming down the hills are black specks in controlled turns, swooping back and forth until they slam to a stop with a rooster-tail splash of white.

  It is unseasonably warm, and the skiers who’ve taken a break around him are dressed in light layers, jackets off, boots unsnapped. Others clump through the narrow streets heel-to-toe in their bulky boots, skis over shoulders, some intent on the parking garage, some looking for a place to relax for a while, happy to sit and have a drink, unwind, reward themselves for their heroics on the mountain. They shoulder their own loads, which surprises him. For such an expensive sport, he’d expect more Sherpas to run the heavy gear from the cars to the slopes and back.

  Moving among the rust-colored awnings are women who aren’t skiing but are here to shop, hair perfectly done and wide sunglasses on. Trophies. Children in designer clothes trail in their wake, looking longingly at the mountain.

  The constant flow soothes him, makes him feel normal for the first time in days. All these people without a care in the world outside of where and when the next adrenaline high comes from. He is jealous of their carefree lives. And on this bright, warm day, the general atmosphere is jovial.

  “Did you see that last run? My hair was on fire.”

  “I almost slammed into that pole.”

  “Gosh, it is such a gorgeous day.”

  It is. The sun gleams off last night’s fresh white snow; the evergreens are tipped in blue. Christmas decorations are still up, though he wonders, since this is an alpine town, if it’s like this all the time. The winter wonderland motif works. He imagines it’s quite beautiful at night, the fairy lights tucked into the green swags, highlighting the red ribbons and bows.

  The sky is sapphire blue, broken only by a few puffy white clouds and several hawks riding the thermals. He wonders what the birds think of the people swooping down the slopes—do they see them as prey?

  Cream-colored buildings with dark timbers, brick-cobbled walkways, dogs—tons of dogs, Kat is quivering by his feet watching them stroll by.

  The women next to him are on their second margaritas, the men sitting with them in their ski boots and sunglasses are cool and funny.

  In his observations, he sees himself, sitting at the table, a beer in his hand, a dog at his feet. His clothes are Nashville North Face, but for the rest... He has one of those strange moments of dislocation—Could I live here? Could I fit in? Would the people next to me be my friends, or would I find them, and they me, tedious and boring?

  With Mindy here, this is more than a rhetorical question. He will be near her no matter what, and that means moving to Colorado. This will be his new life.

  Will he and Jasper find a way to be friends, or will they dance around one another, pretending to be civil for Mindy’s sake? He thinks they could be friends; quiet and smart, Jasper seems like a good man. At least he did until he started protecting Lauren. And protecting he is, desperately.

  As for that, would Lauren welcome him?

  A small shudder goes through him, and he pushes it away. And finally, his mind lands on the one thing he’s been desperately trying to avoid.

  Vivian.

  70

  Vivian appears to him as if conjured from smoke. The curl of her dark hair. The violet of her eyes in the darkness of their bedroom. The curve of her stomach. Her assurances she will be fine if he goes to visit his mother, the last words he ever hears from her. I’ll be fine. I promise. The baby won’t be here for two more weeks.

  Though he is no longer hungry, out of habit, he eats a plate of brisket and French fries, washes it down with beer, hands tidbits to Kat. The sun is warm, and he puts his head back to catch a few rays, trying to turn off his mind. Remembering Viv is like poking a sore tooth, something to be avoided, yet somehow, feeling for the pain is grounding.

  There you are. You are not forgotten.

 
Her ghost has sidled through life with him, always there, always present. The scent of her hitting him unawares when he takes a walk with Kat; in his monkish bedroom, waking him from his dreams of her warm, soft body yielding beneath him. Her laugh, almost forgotten now, a whisper on the breeze.

  Why wouldn’t she tell him of her past? Was it simply because they didn’t have enough time? When he met her, she was working at his favorite restaurant. She was a terrible waitress. Even now, remembering how flustered she got the first time he saw her, a smile cracks his face. She dropped his coffee cup practically in his lap. If he hadn’t moved quickly, he’d have been scalded. Her apologies, her mortification, so sure he wouldn’t leave a tip—when instead he left her twenty bucks and his phone number. He fell for her hard and fast, and let himself. A pretty girl, a kind woman, someone to try to keep himself alive for. Did they rush into living together, and marriage? Sure. But he adored her. All of her. He’d been over the moon when she got pregnant.

  He never saw her depressed, though maybe he, the great intelligencer, simply didn’t know the signs to look for. Yes, she got quiet every once in a while, but he was also gone so much that it was entirely possible she simply didn’t tell him. She wouldn’t have wanted to add to his burden.

  They’d chosen to live in Nashville because she didn’t like the scrutiny of being on base. He was deployed often enough the hour-long drive to Ft. Campbell was no big deal. Now he wonders if perhaps there was more to this than he originally thought. That she wanted to be in Nashville so she could get treatment outside of the prying eyes of his superiors, who didn’t look kindly on such things.

  “Oh, Viv. You could have told me. I could have helped.”

  His minds drifts to Lauren again. Being suspicious of her isn’t helping matters. He’s spent all his time with her dissecting her words and actions, looking, picking, trying to find the thing that makes him say, Oh, that’s why you give me the willies. And now Jasper is acting weird, too.

  He hasn’t discovered why so far, but he knows the answer is there, lurking under the surface. All the people around Lauren can’t be expected to see the strain in her; they are with her every day, this is their normal. But Zack, new on the scene, can feel it. The tension comes off her like sweat, and he can sense she’s ready to spring.

  What is up with that?

  He finishes his lunch, tips his waiter well, and is just stepping off the restaurant’s deck when his cell rings. Juliet’s number shows on the screen.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  He can hear tears in her voice.

  “We have a problem.”

  His heart begins to race immediately, his muscles tense. “Is it Mindy? What’s wrong? Is she rejecting the transplant?”

  “No. It’s...oh God, Zack, I don’t know what to do. I’ve been trying to track you down. I didn’t realize you left the hospital.”

  “I needed some air. Take a breath. What’s wrong?”

  “Jasper let slip to the media you used to be a government assassin.”

  Zack feels a calm steal over him. So this is the play. “He let that slip, did he?”

  “Were you?”

  “Would it matter if I was?”

  “I’d say so, especially considering Jasper is planning to use it to mount a court battle against you. At the very least, he’s trying to turn the tide against you as far as the media is concerned. Public opinion can be very influential in these high-profile cases, you know that.”

  He blows out a breath. “Well, he can try to ruin me all he wants. I was not an assassin. Did I kill people? Yes. I was a soldier in an active war zone. But I never killed someone who wasn’t trying to kill me or my troops. And the Army will confirm that.”

  “He claims...”

  “Juliet, he’s desperate. He’s going to say anything right now.”

  “You’re being too nice about this, Zack. He’s trying to ruin your reputation.”

  “I think it’s something else. I think he’s trying to draw attention away from him and Lauren.”

  “What do you mean?” He hears the wariness in her voice. Wariness, but not surprise.

  “I just mean... I don’t know what I mean. I’m getting a weird vibe off your sister, that’s all.”

  She floors him by saying, “You too, huh?”

  “It’s not just me? I was worried...”

  Juliet coughs a laugh. “No. I’ve never seen her like this. Half the time she is so distracted she doesn’t seem to be in the room, the rest of the time she’s hovering over Mindy and Jasper like they’re gold nuggets.”

  “I see that as well.”

  “And I’m a traitor for even thinking something negative about her. She’s a damn saint. She always has been. And with Mindy... Zack, you don’t understand. Mindy is her world, her life. Of course she’s stressed and things are weird. She’s half expecting her daughter to die. I think she’s trying to distance herself a bit, thinking that might somehow lessen the blow if it does happen.”

  “Mindy’s noticed it, too. We talked about how uncomfortable everyone is about her cancer. It’s bothering her, not being treated normally.”

  “Mindy told you that?”

  “Yes. She hates that everyone’s being so optimistic and upbeat. She’d like, for once, and I quote—‘someone to get pissed off and rail against God or something.’”

  Juliet laughs for real this time. “She trusts you. That’s good. She’s complained to me as well over the past few weeks, especially about how her parents are pretending everything is going to be peaches and roses when there’s a good chance she won’t make it.”

  “Totally understandable. Are you sure Lauren isn’t holding something else back? Maybe something she admitted to Jasper, and now he’s trying to pull up the drawbridge and save her?”

  “I don’t know, Zack. I really don’t. I told you before, we aren’t close. I’m the last person she confides in, and then it’s only out of sheer need, not a desire for comfort or even advice.” The bitterness and hurt come through loud and clear.

  “I’m sorry this has been so difficult on you, Juliet. Is there any news on the investigation?”

  “No. I should probably reach out.”

  “I’ll do it. I’m not recused.”

  “Yeah, that was a stupid thing for me to do. I should have fought to stay involved, at least with the DNA.”

  “You can’t, and you know it. But I’m sure if you wanted to call, they’d talk to you.”

  “Thanks, Zack. You’re a good guy. You’re handling this better than the rest of us.”

  He sighs loudly. “It’s not that I’m handling it better, Juliet. I’ve just had longer to come to terms with it.”

  71

  THE WRIGHTS’ HOUSE

  Juliet hangs up with Zack feeling marginally better, but still edgy. Her next call is to Woody, whose voice mail comes on almost immediately. Ducking her calls? Maybe.

  She speed dials Bai next. He answers, breathless.

  “Shit is hitting the fan, chica. Where are you right now?”

  “In my car, heading to my sister’s house to grab my bags. I’m being evicted. Why?”

  “I need you on a computer. On secure connection. As quickly as you can. And I’m serious when I say secure.”

  “Okay. I’m pulling in the driveway now. I’ll use Lauren’s computer. Why, what did you find?”

  “You don’t have your laptop?”

  “It’s back at the hospital. I sort of stormed out. What the heck, man?”

  “I need your eyes on something. I know you’re recused, but...”

  “Give me five and I’ll call you back.”

  “Juliet...”

  “What?”

  “Just...make sure the line is secure, okay? Really secure. I have to send you a case file.”

  “Jesus, Bai. What’s
going on?”

  “Juliet, please.”

  “Give me five. I’ll call you right back.”

  She lets herself in the front door and goes straight to the office. Lauren’s pass code is Mindy’s birthday—of course it is. Lauren isn’t worried about people stealing things off her computer.

  Juliet logs in and downloads a private VPN service. It won’t make things completely secure, but it will help. Then she downloads a secure email server called Virtru, which will encrypt any messages sent between her and Bai, and creates a throwaway email that she can self-destruct when they are finished. It isn’t perfect, but it’s the best she can do on a moment’s notice, and she will be able to erase all traces of herself on the computer after she is through.

  She dials Bai, puts him on the speaker.

  “Okay, I’m in and secure. Here’s the email address.” She listens while he types it in, then hears the whoosh of the mail server sending the message.

  It pops up on her screen moments later.

  She opens it to see a DNA profile.

  “What’s this?”

  He is whispering, like someone is nearby, possibly listening. “This is a DNA profile from Vivian Armstrong’s crime scene. According to the evidence, it’s always been attributed to the midwife. Thing is, that’s not at all whose it is. But I did find a match in the system.”

  “That’s great news. Whoever it is might be the killer, and who took Mindy. Tell me.”

  She hears another whoosh. “Check the email I just sent.”

  This one contains two DNA profiles, side by side. It takes her all of ten seconds to see they are a perfect match. Just to be sure, she scans the ID—the bottom right corner of each profile holds the identification data, coded by number to maintain the privacy of the samples for the lab, and avoid any intrusion or personal bias by Juliet or her staff when they run the DNA. It’s fail-safe. These numbers also match.