by Irene Hannon
Spence was waiting outside the designated room, and he opened the door as they drew close. Jake ushered her inside.
One quick, sweeping glance told him it was a standard hospital room. Bare bones and impersonal, imbued with a faint antiseptic smell. But it had a bed and a bathroom, and they could keep it secure. It would do.
“If you need anything, we’ll be outside the door. Leave the blinds closed. The ICU and recovery room have my colleague’s cell number, and they know where we are.”
“Okay.” She regarded the bed and gripped her arms across her chest. “I hate hospitals.”
Join the club.
He tried to blank out the image of Jen’s still form lying on a gurney, the eyes of the woman he loved shuttered forever. All because he . . .
“I doubt I’ll be able to sleep.”
Liz’s comment gave him a welcome excuse to switch gears. “You can rest, if nothing else.”
“Easier said than done.”
He didn’t respond to her soft comment.
She didn’t seem to expect him to as she dropped her purse onto the nightstand, slipped off his jacket, then handed it back. “I won’t need this now. There are blankets on the bed. Thank you for the loan.”
He watched as she pulled back the covers, sat, and scooted back onto the raised mattress until her legs were dangling. Looking once again like a vulnerable, lost, innocent little girl.
Jake quashed that thought at once.
Liz Michaels wasn’t a little girl. She was a federal judge. A brilliant attorney. A strong woman who went after what she wanted with singular determination. She was not vulnerable. She was not lost. And she most certainly was not innocent.
With an abrupt move, he hooked the collar of his jacket on one finger and slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll let you know if we hear anything. Good night.”
He didn’t wait for her to reply.
“Everything okay in there?” Spence stepped aside as he exited.
“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.
&nbs
p; 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.
3
______
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.
