by Liliana Hart
“Sure,” Vaughn said, shrugging. “Anytime I guess. Some people bring an extra change of clothes and some use the bathroom. Their son is usually asleep by then, so everyone just uses the upstairs bathroom and office to change clothes. Sometimes we’ll stand in the driveway just talking for twenty minutes. I don’t think anyone ever really pays attention what anyone else is doing.”
“I guess someone was counting on that,” Jack said. “Let’s see if we can smoke them out. Have room for an extra rider in the morning?”
9
“We need to set up a board,” Jack said after we’d left Vaughn. “We’ve got enough players to start digging deeper, and it’ll help to see it all mapped out with timelines. We can set up the board at the office if you’re more comfortable there.” He paused for a moment and the tension between us had my pulse racing. “Or we can go home.”
My stomach flipped and I searched for the anger that had been prevalent most of the day. But as much as I tried to rekindle it, I’d found that most of my anger had faded after we’d talked to Marla Jorgenson. The hurt was still inside me, and there was a chasm where there once hadn’t been, but when it came down to it, I believed in Jack. And I believed we were stronger together than we were apart. And I hoped that in the future, if I screwed up as badly as he did, that he’d love me anyway and be able to forgive me.
“Home is fine,” I said, still unsure what that meant or what “home” was going to look like for the foreseeable future. But we had to start somewhere.
Jack was silent, and I watched out of my periphery as his knuckles tightened on the wheel.
“It’s too late to do much more tonight,” Jack said.
“I need to analyze those water bottles and make sure that’s how the amphetamines were ingested. And we might be able to pull some prints from the outside of the bottle.”
“Maybe,” he said. “All the evidence is in lockup at the station. Tomorrow morning will be soon enough. Joining the ride will be a good way to observe how the team interacts. Maybe not everyone thought Brett Jorgenson was such a great guy. There’s always a support van. You can catch a ride and follow us. Or you can join the ride.”
“I think I’ll pass,” I said dryly. “I’m not sure my cycling skills can truly be appreciated by amateurs.”
Jack choked on a laugh and ran a hand over the top of his head. He did that whenever his mind was elsewhere, even if it seemed like he was present in the conversation.
“You want to drive through and grab some dinner?” he asked.
I wasn’t really hungry, but I nodded and Jack swung through and got a bucket of chicken and sides to go with it. It was a very un-Jack-like choice. His body was generally a temple. I frowned and looked at his profile.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, why?” he asked distractedly.
“’Cause this is about ten thousand calories,” I said. “Not that I’m complaining, but you normally don’t like your arteries filled with peanut oil and secret herbs and spices.”
“I haven’t eaten all day, and I figure I’ve already worked off that many calories running all over town today. I don’t think a piece of chicken is going to set me on the path to dad-bod status.”
“That’s what everyone with a dad bod says,” I told him. “And then before you know it you’re only wearing sweatpants for all four seasons.”
“I’m glad you found your sense of humor,” he said sardonically. “Really, it’s like a breath of fresh air.”
I felt the grin split my face before I could help it and a laugh bubbled out. And then I started to cry and couldn’t seem to stop—great, gulping sobs that had me hunched over and wrapping my arms around my middle.
Jack pulled the car to the side of the road. I don’t know how he did it, but he had my seat belt unbuckled and he maneuvered himself across the console, lifting me and sliding into the seat, cradling me in his arms. He let me cry, but I was very aware that his body trembled as well and that his tears dampened the side of my neck.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
All I could do was nod against his chest and squeeze his hand. A few minutes later I said, “I was so angry with you.”
“I know, I know,” he whispered, rocking me back and forth. “You have every right to be.”
“It’s pointless,” I said, sitting up straight and wiping the tears from my cheeks. I saw the stricken look on Jack’s face, and I realized he thought I meant we were pointless.
“Jaye,” he said, shaking his head.
“No, no,” I corrected. “I mean it’s pointless to be angry. We’re not doing each other any good right now with this between us. Vaughn was right. Floyd got what he wanted when he separated us. I forgive you. But don’t you ever do that to me again. You can’t doubt me. You’re the only constant I’ve ever had in my life. No one has ever believed in me but you. Don’t take that away from me. We’re it. We’re all we’ve got. That’s what family is. If you can’t trust anyone else, you have to trust me. And I have to be able to trust you.”
I stared into the dark fathoms of his eyes and saw the pain there, and I would’ve given anything to be able to take it from him.
“My life,” Jack said, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. “The things I’ve done in this life. The people I’ve hurt. The things I’ve seen. It plants seeds of doubt—in others and in myself. It’s the nature of the job. There’s always a part of me that holds something back. Just in case. Even with you. I’m just…afraid.”
That was the last thing I expected for him to say, and all I could do was stare at him for a few seconds. “Afraid of what?” I finally asked.
“We’ve been given a gift,” he said. “I should be dead. Hell, maybe we should both be dead after everything we’ve gone through. But we’re here. I’ve lived a blessed life. I’ve had a career I love, and I have you, who for some reason loves me back.
“And sometimes I wonder if God will one day realize that He’s given me too many chances. Sometimes I wonder if everything we have now will just all go away. And the thought of losing you scares the living daylights out of me. Because the man I am now is because of you. It’s you who makes the nightmares go away. It’s you who makes me think of a future. It’s you who makes me want to be and do better.”
I thought I might be out of tears, but I felt more sliding down my cheeks.
“I know that I grew up entitled and fast and easy,” he said. “I never gave much thought to personal relationships. I always had you guys. We ran in a tight circle. But women never meant much to me. They came and went, and it didn’t really matter who filled the spot in my bed. I figured I’d eventually meet someone who was worth settling down for and I’d have a marriage like my parents do. And then I met Lydia. She was older and sophisticated and she was on the prowl for anyone who could give her that forbidden excitement. I thought I was an adult, but I was in no way mature enough to handle someone like her.
“When she told me she was pregnant, that was the first time I saw…” He paused to think. “I don’t know if remorse is the right word. But she was definitely aware that there were consequences to actions. I have no idea what her marriage was like. We never talked about anything personal. But her husband was someone important. And there was a thread of fear in her—of panic—at the idea of leaving him or telling him the truth.
“I thought I was doing the right thing—the noble thing—by telling her I’d take her away and we could raise the baby together. She was almost as horrified by that as she was by her husband. I didn’t love her, but I’d talked myself into believing I could love her. So when I realized she had no feelings for me whatsoever, so much that she’d never even consider letting me be a father or trying to be a man or a husband, it shifted something in me.”
He stroked my hair as he spoke, but I could tell he was a million miles away. “It was like being punched in the face and then being held under water until I almost drowned. I won’t lie and say that didn�
�t do some damage, because it did.
“It changed something in me—in the way I saw myself and my future. I never believed I was entitled to a happily-ever-after. I stopped thinking about wanting the kind of marriage my parents had, and I went on with my life. I joined the military. I embraced bachelorhood. But you were always there, doing your own thing, having your own life. You moved away, and still I thought about you. I thought at first because we had the kind of friendship that had bonded us for a couple of decades. But then I realized it was something much more—much deeper than that.
“I knew the moment you moved back home that I’d only put myself on the bench. I hadn’t taken myself completely out of the game. And it helped that I knew you so well, because I was able to bide my time and slip under your guard little by little. I knew you were grieving and hurting over your parents. And I knew that day in my office when you came to confront me, that something had switched in that brain of yours and you realized I could be more than just a friend.”
He smiled then, and it was easy to recall the memory of that day, of questioning feelings I never thought possible for Jack.
“I’d never wanted to kiss someone and strangle them at the same time before,” he said. “But I knew that was it for me. I knew that you were it, and I’d do whatever it took to plant you by my side for eternity.”
I searched for something to dry my face and finally gave up and used my scarf.
“But it still doesn’t erase the fact that I made a child and he’s out there somewhere, and I’m a complete stranger to him. I could’ve fought Lydia and made things difficult, but the only person who would’ve really suffered is a child. But it’s come back to bite me anyway. Now everyone around me is suffering. You, my parents, my friends. All for what? A secret I was too ashamed to share.”
“That’s where shame thrives,” I told him. “When you keep those secrets in the dark. Can you imagine the rally of support you’d have had if everyone hadn’t been blindsided by that news? Floyd would’ve had no power over you. But Floyd prospers in those hidden places. But the dark doesn’t stand a chance against the light.”
I touched the side of his face, and then I leaned my forehead against his. I’d missed the comfort of his touch. “You’re a good man, Jack. And whatever you’ve done in your past, you don’t deserve to suffer. This is not punishment. We all make mistakes. We’re human. And that’s what humans do. Even you. But the more you live in the past—regret the past—and hold on to that shame from the past, the harder it’s going to be to move into the future you were called to have.”
“Wow,” he said, kissing me softly. “Wise words.”
“I know,” I said. “Let’s go home. I’m starving.”
10
I’d lived on Heresy Road my entire life.
It backed up to the Potomac and was about as far away as you could get from civilization in the county. The house I’d lived in with my parents had been at one end of the two-mile stretch of road, and my time there hadn’t been filled with happy memories. I’d been all for demolishing it to the ground, but Jack had a more practical nature and had renovated and sold it to another couple.
The house Jack had built several years ago was at the other end of the two-mile stretch. It had seemed odd for a single man to live so far out in the country, but Jack had always valued his privacy. His parents had always been very involved in the community—his father holding various political offices and his mother chairing social committees—so he’d always felt like he lived in somewhat of a fishbowl.
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting after being away the last couple of days. I didn’t know if it would still feel like home. Jack obviously still had insecurities about the life he deserved, but he wasn’t the only one. Sometimes my marriage to Jack felt surreal, as if I didn’t quite deserve the husband and home I’d always longed for.
But it was relief I felt when the house came into view. The lights were on, and it was like a beacon amidst the trees as we turned into the drive. I’d always loved this house, even before it was mine, and I’d always envied Jack that he’d had the vision to see what it could be, even before a single board was nailed into place.
It was three stories of logs and glass—a modern-day log cabin—that looked like it had been carved from the trees that surrounded it and the cliff it perched on. From our third-floor bedroom windows we could see the tops of the towering pines—as if we were sleeping in a tree house—and we could hear the rushing water of the Potomac at the base of the cliff.
I’d left my Suburban at the funeral home, which meant if I was going to get those bottles tested in the lab tomorrow then I’d have to get up early and go with Jack to talk with the cyclists. I’d had dreams of sleeping in my own bed and getting a solid twelve hours of sleep, and I was excited for the dreams to become reality.
I was mentally and physically exhausted after my tears had run their course and the weight of our conversation, and I stood in our foyer and breathed in my surroundings. It felt good to be home.
“We should get a dog,” I said out of the blue. I was thinking it would be nice to have someone to greet us when we came home.
Jack looked at me strangely for a second and then said, “I was just thinking the exact same thing. Harley Gross’s bitch just had a litter of puppies. They’re farm dogs, but we probably could use a dog with some size way out here.”
I took off my coat and hung it in the closet and tossed my scarf on the entry table so I could put it in the wash later. And then I headed straight to Jack’s office. I wasn’t interested in sitting down at the table. Despite my exhaustion, I had a strange energy about me that wanted to get things done. I wanted to find who killed Brett Jorgenson. And then I wanted to hunt down and destroy Floyd Parker however we could.
It was time Floyd stopped coming after me and those I loved. He was an enemy. And I was done letting him dictate the terms of our future.
“Eat first,” Jack said. “Destroy later.” I gave him a confused look. “You have a look on your face that makes me a little worried for Floyd and very worried as a police officer.”
I smiled, showing a lot of teeth, and Jack raised his brows. “There have to be some perks to being married to the sheriff.”
Most of the bottom floor of the house was brand new thanks to my parents. A few months back they’d decided to turn our living room into the O.K. Corral. Clearly marriage counseling hadn’t worked for them.
As aggravating as it was to have people in the house wielding hammers and other things that made loud noises, I’d enjoyed the process of rebuilding more than I thought I would. It had given me the opportunity to make the home ours instead of just Jack’s. And it was nice to see my touches and ideas scattered here and there.
But Jack’s office was all his, and the renovation there had taken the longest because of the upgraded technology that had been incorporated into the room. Which ironically, would mostly go unused if Jack lost the election, but it had been an interesting experiment to see the kinds of things that were available if you had the money to pay for it. It also helped to have friends in high places who knew exactly how far was too far before federal law kicked in.
The thought of having all that advanced technology really put the upcoming election into perspective. I’d run through the scenarios in my mind of what it might be like if I resigned my position, but I hadn’t really thought about what it might be like if Jack lost. It was best not to let my mind even go there. I couldn’t imagine the damage and corruption that would become King George if Floyd won.
We probably spent more time in Jack’s office than we did the rest of the house. It was comfortable. Even in our downtime we often watched movies snuggled on the deep leather sofa with a fire crackling beside us.
The whole office was decorated in shades of blue and green, from the art on the walls to the plush throws over the furniture to the rugs on the floor. Jack’s desk was big and L-shaped and had been handmade by a local woodworker, and there was a con
ference table to the side of the room made of an old barn door. The whole west side wall was windows, but the blackout shades had lowered when the sun set. The fireplace was made of stone, and the ceiling was pine planks.
But my favorite addition to the room was the whiteboard wall that covered the area behind and adjacent to Jack’s desk. It was completely electronic and could be used as a giant touchscreen computer. It was fast and efficient when it came to setting up murder boards.
I saw Jack put the chicken on the conference table out of my periphery, and then he went to the fireplace to start a fire. I took a seat behind his desk and logged into the desktop under my account.
Thanks to Jack, everything at the sheriff’s office was now digital, so I was able to pull up the autopsy and crime scene photos. I also pulled up Brett’s DMV photo and placed it in the center of the board.
Sometimes the cases we worked could become methodical, so it helped to keep the faces of those affected front and center, and then from there we built a spiderweb of a network that would link anyone who interacted with the victim, could benefit from his death, or who might have a grudge or bad business dealing with the victim. It could get very entangled and messy before things started to sort themselves out.
“Want me to make you a plate?” Jack asked.
“Sure,” I said. “Dark meat. Extra coleslaw.”
“I guess that counts as a vegetable,” Jack said.
I grunted and brought Marla Jorgenson’s picture on-screen, placing it next to her husband’s on the board.
“She’d have access anytime she wanted to those water bottles, and she knew his schedule better than anyone,” I said. “It still could have been her. Maybe she did it last night for the specific reason that so many people were at the house and suspicion could be thrown on anyone.”
“But why?” Jack said, making his own plate and sitting on the edge of the desk. “They’ve lived in King George for three years. Why would she pick this moment in time to kill him after all the years they’ve been together? What’s significant about the timing?”
