Fatal Judgment

by Irene Hannon

  The elevator door opened and he stepped inside, pressing the button for the fifth floor. That first detour had cost him an hour. Then, just as he was dropping Alison off, he’d gotten a call from Cole—requiring a second detour to his brother’s office, where Mark had joined them. The county crime lab had processed some strands of gold-colored hair the technicians had found in the carpet of Liz’s condo, a few feet behind where Stephanie had been shot. And had turned up an interesting piece of information.

  The hair was feline.

  What made that fact significant was that Liz didn’t have a cat. Neither did Alan. Mark had placed a call to him from Cole’s office, and Alan had told him that Stephanie had avoided cats like the plague because she was allergic to their dander. A second call, to the owner of Liz’s house, confirmed that pets weren’t part of the lease agreement. Meaning it was unlikely the prior tenants had been the source of the cat hair, either—unless they’d violated their lease. Mark was tracking them down now to verify they hadn’t.

  The elevator door slid open, and after a quick stop at the CP and a brief conversation with Spence, Jake continued toward Liz’s door and pressed his finger to the button.

  It was possible that Liz or Stephanie could have picked up cat hair on their shoes. But as he’d talked it over with Cole and Mark this morning in his brother’s office, the three of them had agreed there was a good probability the killer had a cat. Hair could be insidious, clinging easily to clothes and shoes.

  It wasn’t much of a lead, but so far it was all they had. Unless—or until—Liz spotted a red flag in one of her prior cases.

  He pressed her doorbell again.

  The FBI was already digging up information on the parties involved in some of Liz’s higher-profile cases. Those were older—ancient history, she’d called them—and he was inclined to agree with her skepticism about their relevance. But the FBI wouldn’t leave any stone unturned in this investigation. Not with a federal judge involved.

  Leaning on the bell again, he frowned. Maybe Liz was sleeping, like the last time she’d been tardy answering. He hated to wake her, but an unanswered door—even in a condo he felt confident was secure—didn’t leave him with a good feeling. A small surge of adrenaline kicked his alert status up a notch, but he tried to keep it in check. No sense overreacting.

  As he raised his hand to knock, the door was suddenly pulled open—and he froze.

  Only one word came to his mind when he saw Liz.

  Wow.

  Even in the days when his feeling toward her had been chillier than a frigid February night in St. Louis, he’d had to admit she was a beautiful woman. He’d noticed it the first time they’d met, at her wedding.

  But today she was drop-dead gorgeous.

  Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, though a few loose tendrils were clinging to her glistening forehead. Her hot pink tank top dipped low enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage, and her spandex shorts left a long length of shapely leg exposed.

  This was not the body of the typical thirty-eight-year-old women in his acquaintance. She looked more like a Hollywood celebrity in an ad for a fitness center than a federal judge.

  “Jake?”

  At her uncertain tone, he checked to make sure his mouth was shut and he wasn’t drooling. Okay. He was safe there. But he’d missed whatever she’d said first.

  “Sorry. I was worried when you didn’t answer.” He stepped past her, buying himself a few seconds to regain some semblance of control.

  “I’m the one who should apologize.” She shut the door and flipped the dead bolt. “When I got up this morning I discovered the treadmill you had delivered while we were in Kansas City yesterday, and that’s where I’ve been since my law clerk left. I had the music cranked up on my headphones and didn’t hear the bell until I stopped to get a drink of water. Were you standing there long?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  She smiled at him, and he focused on her face. That was better. And telling. Despite her trim figure and the youthful curves of her body, the lines of strain at the corners of her eyes and the dark circles underneath hinted she was older than she looked. And suggested she still wasn’t sleeping.

  “I want to thank you for your thoughtfulness. Being cooped up is hard enough, but I hated missing my walks. They keep me in shape.”

  He gave her another quick scan.

  Big mistake.

  His pulse leapt again, and he jerked his gaze back up.

  Say something innocuous.

  “You’ve got a great body.”

  A flush tinted her cheeks, and he tried not to groan as heat crept up his own neck.

  Brilliant, Taylor. That was real innocuous.

  “What I meant was, I can tell you’re fitness conscious.” It was a lame attempt to remove his foot from his mouth, and he knew it.

  “Thanks.” She tugged at the hem of her shorts, telling him she knew it too. “Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll be right with you. Help yourself to some juice or coffee if you like.” She gestured toward the kitchen and fled.

  He waited until he heard the door of her room click closed, then wandered into the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck. What was wrong with him? Never—not one single time—in all his years with the Marshals Service had he let personal feelings intrude on the job. It was dumb. And it was dangerous.

  Opening the fridge, he pulled out a carton of orange juice and poured a glass, mulling over his weird dilemma. He needed some logic here. Needed to put his emotions aside for a moment. Needed to look at the facts with a dispassionate eye.

  Okay. He could do that. He did it every day on the job. No reason he couldn’t do it with more personal matters.

  Fact one. Liz Michaels was an appealing, attractive woman.

  Fact two. He’d met her years ago, so that history would naturally engender more closeness than he felt with most of his charges.

  Fact three. He’d been thrown off balance by evidence suggesting his entrenched opinion of her was inaccurate.

  Fact four. His hormones were going haywire.

  Fact five. It was way too hot in this condo.

  Running a finger around the collar of his dress shirt, Jake drained the glass of cold orange juice in a few long gulps.

  He was still too hot.

  Though he usually kept his suit jacket on during duty hours, he dispensed with that rule and slid it off his shoulders.

  Better.

  Draping it on a chair, he surveyed the pile of boxes in the dining room and the sea of papers spread over the table, the neat stacks covering every square inch except for the small spot occupied by the flowers Alison had sent. Case files, he noted, giving the documents a quick survey. Meaning Liz had already started reviewing them.

  “It’s intimidating, isn’t it?”

  At her question, he turned toward the hall. She’d changed into jeans, and her baggy sweatshirt barely hinted at the curves beneath. It was attire designed to hide her assets. Suggesting his appreciative perusal hadn’t been appreciated.

  Next time she appeared in eye-popping attire—if there was a next time—he’d be sure to keep his eyeballs in their sockets.

  “Yeah. You don’t have to review it all in one day, though.”

  “I couldn’t if I wanted to.” She moved beside the table and fingered a folder. “But I’d like to get through it as quickly as possible. I’m going stir-crazy here. I stayed up late last night to organize everything so I could get a jump on it.”

  That explained the shadows beneath her lower lashes.

  “Maybe you could take a nap today.”

  She looked up at him. “I’d rather get through some of the files from the last four months that my clerk brought over this morning. Jake . . . I’d like to go back to work next week. Full-time, if I get through the recent stuff over the weekend. Part-time if not.”

  “Aren’t you rushing things?” He shoved his hands in his pockets, furrowing his brow. “You’ve been
through a lot in the past week, Liz. No one would complain if you took some time off.”

  “I have a full docket, Jake. And I’m already behind, after only four months.”

  He studied her. “Is that the real reason?”

  Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she folded her arms across her chest. “It’s one of the reasons.”

  “Want to share the others?”

  A few seconds ticked by as she considered his question. Finally, taking a deep breath, she motioned toward the living room. “Have a seat. You want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. I had a glass of juice while you changed.”

  “Give me a sec.”

  She headed back toward the kitchen, and he heard her fiddling with the coffeepot while he took a seat on the chair beside the couch.

  As he settled in, he tried to prepare himself, sensing that whatever she was about to share was going to upend any lingering misconceptions he might still harbor about the woman his best friend had married.

  And once that happened, it was going to be harder than ever to maintain his professional distance. Because given the way he was already beginning to feel about her, he suspected he would soon have an even more compelling personal reason to keep her safe.

  11

  ______

  “You look a little frazzled.”

  Frazzled?

  Jake blinked at Liz, trying to regroup as she sat on the couch and cradled her coffee mug in both hands. That wasn’t a term anyone had ever applied to him.

  But it did fit today. Thanks to the appealing woman across from him. A fact he did not intend to share with her.

  “I had a busy morning. Starting with my pigheaded sister.”

  Her lips twitched as she took a sip of coffee. “What happened? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  He propped his ankle on his knee and shook his head. “She’s too stubborn for her own good.”

  The twitch gave way to the hint of a smile. “Do you care to expand on that?”

  He blew out an exasperated breath. “I found out last night she had to drop her car off at the shop yesterday. She was planning on taking the bus to work today instead of asking Cole or me for a ride.”

  “And that’s a problem because . . . ?”

  “She was in a very bad accident a few months ago. Broke her left leg in two places and had serious internal injuries. She still goes to physical therapy twice a week. According to her, the limp will go away in time. But she doesn’t need to be traipsing to a bus right now. So I strong-armed her into letting me drive her to work this morning. Cole is going to pick her up this afternoon.”

  “Sounds like she’s very independent.”

  He gave her a disgruntled look. “There’s a fine line between independent and foolishly stubborn. And she crossed it.”

  “Did you share that opinion with her?”

  At her amused look, he flicked an imaginary speck of lint off his slacks. “More or less.”

  “I bet that went over real well.”

  Narrowing his eyes, he peered at her. “I should have figured you women would stick together.”

  She lifted one shoulder. “I happen to admire independence. And strength. My guess is your sister has both.”

  “She does. And for the record, I admire those qualities too.” He held her gaze until the surge of color in her cheeks told him his message had been received. “She needs them too. On top of everything else, her serious boyfriend dumped her not long after the accident.”

  Liz’s eyes softened in sympathy. “That stinks.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Couldn’t he handle all the medical stuff?”

  “That was part of the problem.” He let it go at that. Alison’s love life wasn’t anyone else’s business. Except his and Cole’s.

  “Did you two make up before you dropped her off?”

  “Yeah. Pretty much. She was a little more amenable this morning. Probably because she knows I’m still aggravated that she wouldn’t let my brother or my mom tell me about her accident until I got back from Iraq.”

  “You were in Iraq?” Liz’s eyes widened and she froze, her mug halfway to her mouth.

  He hadn’t intended to let that slip. But it was too late to backpedal now. “Yeah. For most of the past six months. The Marshals Service has been sending its Special Operations Group over there for a while.”

  She gave him a blank look. “What’s the Special Operations Group?”

  “A tactical unit deployed for high-risk law enforcement operations and national emergencies. In between, we function as regular marshals in offices around the country.”

  She took a few seconds to absorb this news. “How does Iraq fit in?”

  “SOG teams have been going there for almost ten years to try to improve judicial and witness security. All in the interest of helping stabilize the government and provide a more democratic judicial system.”

  “Wow. I’m impressed.”

  He lifted one shoulder. “Don’t be. Our troops are doing the real work. Anyway, Alison claims she didn’t want me told about the full extent of her injuries until I came home because she was afraid the distraction would put me in danger.”

  “I see her point.” Liz took another sip of coffee, her expression thoughtful.

  “I see it too. But I don’t have to like it.”

  Liz stared into the black depths of her mug. “It’s odd how doing things you think will protect someone you love can backfire.”

  He waited, sensing the conversation was shifting toward the subject he was keen to hear about: her relationship with his college buddy.

  Lifting her head, she searched his eyes. He tried his best to project empathy and support.

  “That’s why I threatened to leave Doug, you know. It was a desperate measure, one I hoped would be a wake-up call. I thought if he believed I’d really leave, he might take steps to get his life back on track. Instead, he . . . drove into a tree.” She choked and dipped her head.

  He was tempted to lean over and give her hand an encouraging squeeze. But he held back. Despite his growing feelings for her, he needed to maintain a professional detachment. Just as Alison had worried about distractions in Iraq making him vulnerable, if he was distracted here Liz could be vulnerable. That wasn’t acceptable.

  When the silence lengthened, Jake picked up the slack, treading carefully. “I didn’t think there was any official ruling about what happened that night.”

  “There wasn’t. But to me, the facts are clear. For once, his blood alcohol level wasn’t over the limit. Meaning his reflexes should have been decent. The road was dry. There were no skid marks to suggest he’d applied the brakes or tried to avoid the tree. And I knew his mental state.” She swallowed. “It wasn’t an accident, Jake.”

  He knew all the facts from that fatal night too. He’d made it a point to get a copy of the police report. And the evidence suggested her conclusion had some merit. But the absolute conviction in her voice threw him.

  “Why would he do that, Liz?”

  At his quiet question, she leaned forward to set her mug on the coffee table. The liquid sloshed, and she wrapped both hands around it, easing it onto the glass top.

  She was shaking. Badly.

  Once again he had to fight off the temptation to enfold her fingers in his.

  “Because his life was a mess for the three and half years before he died.” She brushed back some loose tendrils that had escaped from her ponytail. “Did Doug drink in college, Jake?”

  The question took him off guard. It had been years since he’d thought about their campus career, which had included plenty of wild frat parties. He and Doug had made the rounds every Saturday night, drinking the free booze and flirting with the coeds.

  “We both did.”

  “To excess?”

  Oh yeah. On more occasions than he cared to remember, they’d staggered home in the wee hours, holding each other up, then passed out in their respective bunks.

&nb
sp; “Sometimes. All the frat guys were into partying in a big way. I’m not condoning it, but it was part of the campus scene.”

  Liz leaned forward, her posture earnest. “What about after college?”

  “I didn’t see much of Doug once we graduated.”

  “But you kept in touch. Did he ever mention drinking to you?”

  “No. It was a college thing. I won’t deny I’ve had a few too many beers on occasion in the intervening years, but my job doesn’t allow me to make a habit of that kind of behavior. Nor do I want to. I get plenty of adrenaline rushes from my work. I don’t need booze to liven up my life. I assumed Doug didn’t, either.”

  As she sank back on the couch, Liz’s expression grew pensive. “Unfortunately, he did. Although I didn’t know that until we’d been married for more than a year.”

  Now it was his turn to lean forward, hands clasped between his knees. “Are you saying he had a serious drinking problem, Liz?”

  “Yes. And it was compounded by depression. Which got worse after he found out our attempts to start a family were failing because of a medical problem of his, not mine.”

  Shock rippled through Jake. Doug had always implied the absence of children in their marriage was Liz’s choice. That she’d been more interested in her career than in a family.

  “You wanted children?”

  She gripped her hands in her lap, her knuckles whitening. “He told you I didn’t?”

  Torn between honesty and loyalty, he skirted the question. “Not in those exact words.”

  Sadness darkened her eyes, and she took a long, slow sip of her cooling coffee. “I always suspected he might be misrepresenting our situation. And it used to bother me. But I can’t dredge up any anger at this point. He had a lot of issues he just couldn’t deal with.” She wrapped her fingers around the mug, as if warming them. “Did you ever see any indication of depression in him during your college days, Jake?”

  He thought back again, digging deep into his memory. Doug had fallen into a funk once after breaking up with his sophomore girlfriend. He’d almost had to drag him out of bed for weeks after that. And there had been other times when his friend had been despondent for a few days. But nothing he’d classify as abnormal. Or clinical depression.