Steadfast (True North #2)

by Sarina Bowen

  That sounded expensive. “How can I help?”

  “I want to ask you to recount the night’s events to the best of your memory.”

  “My memory is the main problem.”

  “I understand that. You probably had a concussion that nobody diagnosed. Luckily, your girlfriend did an excellent job finding some holes in the official story, and we’re going to do our best to exploit them. So start at the beginning.”

  I did.

  An hour and a half later I’d drunk two bottles of water and recounted every last thing I could remember about the night of the crash. My lawyer burned through half a legal pad taking notes, and he recorded our conversation.

  “I’m going to get started right away on your petition,” he said. “I want to manage your expectations…”

  “I know,” I said quickly. “We might get turned down.”

  He grinned. “We might. But usually I’m starting from scratch. This time I have Internal Affairs and a prosecutor already looking into the matter. I’ve never had a case start off like this before. It makes me feel optimistic.”

  Optimistic. Now there was a word I never used. “How am I going to pay for this?”

  “You’re not. I’ll handle the appeal for nothing. If we’re successful, you’ll sue the state for wrongful imprisonment, and they’ll settle. My office will earn a cut of the settlement, and that money will go back into our pro bono pool.”

  “That sounds like a better deal than I’d get anywhere else. So I guess we’re done here for now?”

  He looked amused. “You didn’t ask me what a guy gets paid for wrongful imprisonment.”

  I shrugged. “If it comes to that, I figure you’ll let me know. I’m not in this for the money.”

  “That’s a good attitude.” The lawyer stood up. “But if we’re successful, it could change your life. You could go back to school or buy a house.”

  A house. I liked the sound of that. “Thank you for helping me.” I bussed my empty water bottles into his recycling bin.

  “Are you kidding? This is going to be fun.” He rubbed his hands together. “When you see May Shipley, tell her she owes me a coffee date.”

  “I will.”

  After I left the lawyer’s office I called Sophie immediately. “How’s my girl today?”

  “I’m good. Mom is on the plane to Virginia.” She’d gone to stay with her sister. “So if any hot guys wanted to come over for dinner, I’d be available.”

  To her house? Now there was a first. “I just happen to know a guy who’s free for dinner.”

  “Tell him to get over here, then.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Sophie

  Internal DJ playing: Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky”

  Waking up in my bed with Jude the next morning made me as happy as I’d ever been. We’d waited a long time for this moment of true peace, with the sunrise turning my curtains from pink to orange and then yellow. We lay curled together, his chest against my back, his arm around my waist.

  It was perfect. In fact it was so perfect that he decided to shift me onto my back and drop kisses on my bare breasts.

  “Good morning,” I whispered as he began to suck sweetly on my right nipple.

  “Mmm,” he agreed.

  I moved my hand to his tousled hair and sighed. “We’re living out my high school fantasies right now. I always wanted to have you in my bed.”

  He released me with a wet pop. “It’s the best thing ever,” he mumbled, turning his attention to my other boob.

  “It could only be better if my father knew,” I pointed out. “He’d die to know you were naked in my bed.”

  “Gonna be naked in some other places in a minute,” he said as his fingers coasted down my body.

  “You’re insatiable,” I said, though it was a false complaint. I’d never felt so desirable.

  “I could blame three years of incarceration,” he said, licking my hipbone. “But it’s really just you.”

  Swoon! “Get over here, then.”

  “When I’m ready,” he said in a bossy tone.

  But when he glanced up at me, I got a smile—a hundred watts and then some.

  After that first-rate beginning to my morning, it was time to prepare for my big meeting at the hospital. Mr. Norse had been kind enough to push the meeting back three days due to my father’s arrest. He pushed back Denny’s meeting, too.

  Now I’d have to face the music, which intimidated me. So I put on a real suit, a silk blouse and heels.

  “Dayum,” Jude teased me from the kitchen table. “I’d hire you.”

  “You’re biased. And I’ve dressed this way only because I want to be fired in style.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  I flipped him off, but then smiled, ruining the effect. The sight of him shirtless at my kitchen table was pretty uplifting. I hoped my mother stayed in Virginia for a little while so I could see it again. “Let’s make coffee.”

  Jude pointed at the machine. “I started it already.”

  “I could get used to this.”

  He grinned.

  At nine sharp I walked into Norse’s office and took a seat across from him.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked. “I would have given you more time, but…”

  “It’s fine,” I said quickly. “The department can’t wait for my family soap opera to play out.”

  He gave me a sympathetic look. “Then I’ll cut right to the chase. You’ve impressed us, Sophie.”

  A but was coming. I could hear it.

  He cleared his throat. “Sophie, there’s something I need to ask you, and it’s not an easy topic of conversation.” He pushed a folder toward me. “I need you to tell me your involvement with a request for a bed in an inpatient drug treatment program our office received in May. Please take a look at this file.”

  “Okay?” I had no idea what case he might be talking about. So I took the folder and flipped open its cover. On top was a letter—one page—on the letterhead from the state prison.

  To the parole board,

  I am up for review in ten days. If I’m released, I would like to request a transfer to a drug treatment program. I have been told that requests like mine are rarely granted due to funding and space constraints. In fact, I was discouraged by other prisoners from talking about the fact that heroin is available in prison. But I never tried it before stepping into your prison. It’s not a habit I’d like to take with me when I leave. Bottom line—if you release me without drug treatment, I fear I will quickly be back here.

  Sincerely,

  Jude Nickel

  Holy crap. I raised my eyes to Mr. Norse’s, trying not to cry. “I’ve never seen this before.”

  “Turn the page,” he said.

  The other sheet of paper in the file was a request form—the kind that was frequently routed through our office. The parole board requested an inpatient drug treatment bed for one Jude Nickel. The request was granted on the same day it arrived at the hospital, with a bed at the Green Hills Center for the following week.

  Again I met my boss’s gaze. “It was approved awfully quickly. There’s usually a long wait.”

  He nodded slowly.

  “The requester got lucky?”

  He shook his head slowly.

  I studied the paperwork again, this time reading the codes at the bottom. Whoever had approved this request had tagged the patient as a VIP. My whole time at the hospital I’d only seen one patient request tagged VIP, and that was the son of a big donor to the hospital foundation. “Who tagged this?” I asked stupidly.

  “That’s what I wanted to ask you.”

  My jaw dropped. “I certainly didn’t do it. I never saw this request.”

  “You know that patient, though?”

  “Of course I do. He’s my boyfriend. But when this request came through…” I squinted at the date on the page. “I hadn’t seen him or spoken to him in almost three years. And I would never redirect public resources as a
personal favor. I wouldn’t even touch this request, honestly. If this came into my hands I’d pass it on immediately. In fact, that’s exactly what I did just before Christmas when this same person became a hospital patient.”

  He tapped his fingers on the desktop absently. “I know you did. But then who gave this file the VIP treatment?”

  “I have no idea?” My voice sounded high and panicked. “Which computer login was used?” I asked. “That seems like something you could check.”

  “That’s true,” he said carefully. He must have thought of it already. Obviously he wasn’t about to reveal to me what he’d learned.

  “Mr. Norse, I walked in here today knowing that I might be passed over for the full-time position if you awarded it to someone with more experience. I could live with losing the job that way. But I can’t live with the idea that you think I used the hospital to grant favors to someone I love.”

  My boss closed his eyes as if in pain, and then opened them again. “Thank you for making that clear, Sophie. But the matter is obviously not settled yet. I won’t be making any decisions about the full-time position today. As soon as I know more, I will contact you.”

  That was it. He’d just dismissed me from the conversation. He didn’t believe me.

  And holy crap, my eyes got hot and my throat got tight and I was in danger of crying in my boss’s office. “Thank you,” I stammered. Then I got up and got the hell out of there.

  In the outer office I passed Denny, who was waiting for his own meeting. The moment he got a look at me, his face softened. “Hey, are you…”

  I didn’t even let him finish the question. I just grabbed my coat off the hook and ran.

  A cold January breeze hit me as soon as I stepped out of the hospital doors. I stomped over to my car and got inside, slamming the door. But I didn’t drive off, because I was too stunned to decide where to go. A held-back sob wrenched from my chest, and tears of frustration began tracking down my cheeks.

  I’d spent a year courting this job. And now they thought I’d broken the rules.

  It took a few minutes to calm down. A nagging feeling set in, because I realized how odd the situation really was. Someone had given Jude’s request the VIP seal of approval. But who?

  Politically, drug treatment was a big topic in Vermont right now. The governor had made it a priority. But if Jude was some kind of test case, my boss would know about it. He would have approved it himself.

  Jude had no allies in the world except for me. And the Shipleys, of course. But at the time of his appeal, he hadn’t even met them yet.

  Then who?

  I was still sitting there behind the wheel, fuming and confused, when Denny emerged from the building. But there was no happy bounce in his step. I saw him pace slowly toward his car, his gaze cast down, his mouth tight.

  Before I could think better of it, I opened my door and got out.

  The movement caught Denny’s attention. He stopped on the asphalt beside his car, looking torn.

  “What?” I barked into the wind, running toward him. “What happened?”

  He cast his gaze toward his shoes. “I’m out,” he said, his voice rough. “He didn’t say it, but I think the job is yours.”

  “What?” That made no sense.

  His brown eyes flipped up to meet mine. “It was me. I moved Jude to the top of the waiting list this past spring. Norse asked, and I confessed.” He swallowed hard. “Because I knew he’d think you did it.”

  “You…” All the air squeezed out of my lungs. “Why?” I gasped. That made no sense at all.

  Big brown eyes blinked at me, and there was hurt in them. “He was hooked on heroin and headed back to town. I didn’t want you to have to deal with that. The waiting lists at those places are as long as a year.”

  A different version of this year flashed before me—Jude back in Colebury, his body demanding heroin. A Jude who was still thin and unhealthy, hoping to get off a waiting list somewhere before it killed him.

  I shivered in the wind. “But Denny, you risked…” Everything. “Why?”

  He closed his eyes. “If you don’t get it by now then I really can’t explain it to you.” He turned away from me and yanked on the car’s door handle. When the door opened, he got inside. A half second later the motor was running. He backed away while I was still standing there trying to make sense of it.

  Mind. Blown.

  I walked back to my car, freezing now. I started the engine and let it warm up for sixty seconds, just as Jude had always advised me. My phone rang while I waited, and the display showed Norse’s office number.

  “Hello?”

  “Sophie, I’m terribly sorry to doubt you. It was…”

  “Denny,” I warbled. “I wish he hadn’t done that.” Tears threatened again.

  “I wish he hadn’t either. If he’d met with me about it instead, we might have been able to find the patient a treatment program without breaking all the rules.”

  “Is there anything you can do for him?” I begged. “He’ll need a recommendation.”

  There was a beat of silence on the line. “I’m not sure what I’ll be comfortable writing,” he said. “I’ll speak to Denny again later this week after I’ve had time to think.”

  “All right,” I said softly.

  “The job is yours, Sophie. Come to work for me full time. You’ll be terrific at it.”

  I knew I would, but my eyes leaked nonetheless. “It should be Denny.”

  “Not necessarily,” he said. “You were always in the running. I won’t press you on it today, but call me later in the week so we can go over the job and the benefits, and you can tell me your decision.”

  “Okay,” I said dutifully.

  “Talk soon,” he said. “And chin up.”

  Right.

  I dialed Jude, who would be waiting for me to tell him what happened. I thought there were two possible outcomes today: success and joy, or rejection and despair. I hadn’t seen the third choice coming.

  “Hey, babe,” he said when he answered. “Tell me everything.”

  So I did.

  Jude exhaled on a sigh. “Shit. I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.”

  “I know but…shit! He saved my life, and he gets fired for it.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “He did it for you.”

  “I got that,” I snapped. “Sorry. It’s just…really stressful. I’m getting his job.”

  “No,” he said softly. “You’re getting a job. He’s going to have to find another one. He can use his college professors as references, Soph. It’s not like he worked for your hospital for ten years, and they’re the only people he knows.”

  I hadn’t thought of that.

  “We didn’t make him do that,” Jude pointed out. “But I can’t say I don’t appreciate it. Never thought I’d bumped somebody off the list.”

  “There are ten people waiting for every drug treatment bed in Vermont. Everyone who gets treatment is bumping someone else off the list.”

  “How fucking sad.”

  We were both quiet for a moment.

  “Sophie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Does this mean we’re staying in the Montpelier area?”

  “I guess it does. Who knew?”

  “Are you busy right now?”

  “Nope.”

  “Can you meet me somewhere? I’m in Montpelier—on Bailey Avenue.”

  “Where?”

  “Type it into your phone. I’m just north of Terrace. You can’t miss my junker.”

  “This is very mysterious,” I said.

  “Not really. I’ll explain in a few minutes when you get here.”

  He wasn’t kidding—the street was an eight-minute drive from the hospital even though I hit every red light. Jude’s Avenger was parked on a side street in front of a white clapboard house with black shutters and a peaked roof.

  Jude jumped out of the car when I dro
ve up. When I got out, he hugged me. “Sorry your day is a stress fest,” he said.

  “So am I.”

  “He might land right on his feet, Soph.”

  “I know. Now show me your thing.”

  “Really baby? Right here?” He made a show of reaching for his zipper.

  “Jude!”

  He laughed. “Follow me.”

  I trailed him up a walkway to the generous front porch of the white house. “Who lives here?”

  “Well…” He chuckled. “That’s the question.” He turned the knob and opened the front door.

  “What do you mean?”

  “On a lark I was browsing the rental listings.”

  “This is for rent? A whole house?” I stepped inside. The place was completely empty.

  “Yeah. But the owner would prefer to sell. He’s an eighty-year-old man, and he’s moved into an assisted-living facility. This has been on the market for several months. He lived here for forty years without renovating, so it needs work.”

  I looked around. The house had to be a hundred years old, but in a good way. It had gorgeous old wooden floors and a shiny banister over the stairs to the second floor. The plaster ornaments on the ceiling looked original, and there were pretty leaded glass windows everywhere. “It’s gorgeous. Can we afford this house?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “We could rent with an option to own. At the moment we don’t have a down payment. But…”

  “We both have jobs, and if the State of Vermont pays you for wrongful imprisonment…”

  “…we’ll have a down payment.”

  “Exactly.”

  I turned around slowly. “God, I love it.”

  “The bathrooms and kitchen are old,” Jude warned. “But if we do get to buy something, I want a fixer-upper. I’m not afraid of doing the work myself. You could pick all the colors. I’d do all the plumbing and tile work myself. I’d be slow, but there’s two bathrooms, so only one would be out of service at a time.”

  Joy bubbled up inside my chest. “You’d do that for me? Renovate our house?”

  He stood behind me and put his chin on my shoulder. “Nothing would make me happier than to make a home for you.”