A Judge's Secrets

by Danica Winters

  There was something wrong with him; he was aware. Until meeting Natalie, he thought he wasn’t like most people in the sense that he didn’t want to talk about what he was feeling. He’d never wanted to delve into the deep emotions that came with the relationship or even a real friendship. It was hard enough working with his family. The only thing that kept them strong was the fact that they all had a similar mentality of live and let live.

  “So...” she started. “Do you want to treat it like it was a lapse in judgment? Or should we be completely honest with one another? Truth be told, I think you are as lonely as I am.”

  He was shocked by her candor. He wanted to have some romantic, sweet comeback, but he didn’t know what to say. Yes, he was lonely, but that wasn’t his driving force for falling for her. But more than anything, he wasn’t used to a woman being so open about this kind of thing. It was shockingly refreshing.

  He opened his mouth and closed it a few times, hoping that the right words would just come to him. They didn’t.

  “I’m going to take that as a no.” She rounded a corner with the truck. “I know a woman doesn’t normally admit that, but I’m not going to play games. And I’m not looking for a one-and-done kind of thing. If I only wanted sex, I would go get sex. It’s not hard for a woman to find a lover. That’s not what I want. And I know that with everything happening, and with my life hanging in the balance, it isn’t the right time for you and me. I do. We need to be focused. But I can’t help the way I feel about you. I want more.”

  To say he was overwhelmed by her openness was an understatement. In many ways, in fact, in all the ways, she was exactly the woman he wanted in his life. But—there was always a but—it was the wrong time.

  “Do you believe in destiny?” As he asked, he felt ridiculous. “I don’t mean like stars in the astrology woo-woo way. I just mean do you think that we are put in place where we are meant to be at certain times?”

  As she drove, she nibbled the side of her cheek. “The girl in me says yes, but the judge in me... Well, I just can’t say I agree. So many things happen to good people, just because they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. And then they find themselves in front of me. Half the people don’t deserve it, or at least they don’t seem like they deserve to have been beaten down by life in the ways that they are. If there’s something pulling the strings, or call it destiny, or whatever, it’s a fickle beast. It’s easier to just believe that the world is a random conglomeration of chaos. Sometimes things work out, and sometimes they don’t.”

  “Nihilism from a judge. I should’ve expected.” He sent her his best half grin. “Regardless, I agree with you. It’s hard to know exactly what life is really about. However, when it comes to relationships and love, I think that if they’re meant to be, they should come to you easily.” He shrugged, knowing that what he said was not quite exactly what he meant, but he just couldn’t find the right words. Eloquence and discussing emotional matters, well, they weren’t his strong suit.

  “You think love is easy? That relationships are?” She scoffed. “I thought you said you had been divorced. Regardless, I’d venture to guess that you haven’t had many serious relationships. For me, relationships and love are the hardest things not only to find, but also to keep.”

  Though her words could have been embittered, they weren’t. Rather, they sat flat in the air, a simple statement of how he and Natalie differed.

  “I suppose you’re not wrong. And yeah, I’m not much of a relationship guy. In my line of work, one thing does not lead to the other.”

  “What do you mean by that?” she asked.

  “I just mean that relationships don’t lead to happy endings. And working in military contracting doesn’t often lead to love—”

  “It only leads to death,” she interrupted.

  At first, her response made him indignant, but then he realized he couldn’t really argue. She was right. More, his work led to resentment and hate. And once a person hated something with every fiber of their being, it was hard to even believe that love existed.

  Yet, as he looked at her, he couldn’t deny love’s existence. He would give up his life for her. He would give up everything for her. But he would never ask the same of her; she was far too good for him. If she gave him her heart, it would only break her.

  He would be left to live with the weight of the ghost of her love for the rest of his life. Each day he would have to look himself in the mirror and know that he had done a major disservice to a wonderful woman. It was better to call it off now. To stop her from getting any more feelings. If anything, it was the merciful thing to do. It was wrong to make her suffer because of his failings.

  “Turn left up here,” he said, leading them toward Ms. Sanders’s house, according to his records. If she really lived there or didn’t, well, they would find out. More than likely, even if she did reside there, she wasn’t going to be home in the middle of the day. He should have asked Ms. Rencher more questions.

  Though Ms. Rencher had been forthcoming with information, he had learned long ago that the right answers weren’t always the most truthful ones.

  Natalie followed his directions and the midday sun was high overhead when they finally arrived at a large colonial-style house. Although the paint on its black shutters and white siding had started to crack and peel, it was still beautiful.

  After pulling into the driveway, she stopped the truck and they got out. “What if we are too late?” Natalie asked.

  “I don’t think you can ever be on time when it comes to this type of thing. Chaos, remember?” He sent her a rakish smile.

  She laughed, the bright sound breaking through the odd silence that seemed to surround the house and ooze into the neighborhood. She clamped her hands over her mouth, as if she knew how out of place her mirth was.

  “Let’s just see what we can make of this. What shall be, shall be,” he continued.

  She reached toward him like she wanted to take his hand, as if they were ascending the walk that led to a weekend dinner party instead of an interrogation. He chuckled as he realized that the difference between the two events was minimal; both were terribly uncomfortable and filled with awkward, deafening silences.

  Come to think of it, he preferred interrogation.

  Yep, he was definitely some kind of broken.

  He knocked on the door, looking around for cameras and surveillance equipment, but finding none. If this was their lead suspect, he had a sinking feeling that they were chasing a dead lead.

  He could hear a series of footsteps approaching the door and the slide and click as someone opened a peephole and must have looked out at them. Instead of the door swinging open as he would have expected, the person on the other side stood still as if they were all playing some kind of game of chicken—who would be the first to admit that they all knew what was truly happening?

  He was more than happy to take the loss. “Will you please open the door?” He used his deepest baritone, the one he reserved only for moments when he meant business—he called it his “cop voice.”

  A woman cleared her throat. If he had to guess, she was smoothing herself and trying to shake off any anxiety she was feeling. She’d probably answer the door with a plastic smile.

  The door cracked open and a raven-haired woman with deep-set eyes looked out at them. She smiled, but the action was limited to her lips alone. “I’m sorry, I’m not interested.” She moved to close the door again, but he pushed his foot into the jamb, blocking her.

  “Ma’am, we are here looking for Ms. Sanders. Is she home?” Natalie asked, sounding abnormally breezy and alight with joy.

  What were they doing here, playing good cop-bad cop?

  He checked himself before he smirked. At least this was better than chicken.

  The woman frowned. “She doesn’t live here. Actually, she rented this place to me for the next year. Sh
e’s me and my boyfriend’s landlord.”

  He felt himself relax. “Do you know where we could find her?”

  She let the door swing farther open and she turned around like she was going to get something. “Hold on. Let me just see what I have as far as her address. I just send her a check once a month. In fact, we’ve only lived here about two months.” The woman waved behind her like what she was saying was of no consequence.

  And maybe to her it wasn’t, but to them it could mean a great deal.

  “Where you from?” Evan asked.

  “Small town on the east side of the state. I just moved over here to be closer to my boyfriend. He needed my help with a few things. Plus, my sister is here in town. Family, ya know?”

  Evan nodded. That was nice, but it was a big step for a woman to move for a man. She must have really loved the guy.

  “To be honest, I’m not even sure that she’s getting these checks,” the woman continued. “She hasn’t cashed last month’s and I sent it two weeks ago.” The woman walked back, carrying her cell phone. “I called her to make sure she had received it. I’m a huge fan of direct deposit, but she didn’t want to set things up that way. When I called her about the check, she didn’t answer. She hasn’t gotten back to me.”

  “Is that normal for her, to be unresponsive?” Natalie asked.

  The door opened fully as the woman leaned against the doorjamb and skimmed through her phone. “Like I said, we haven’t known each other that long, so I don’t really know if that’s normal for her. But when I called about renting the place, I got a return call within twenty-four hours. And I was in by the end of the week. She is going through a divorce and it’s not going particularly well. I don’t know all the details, and I don’t press.”

  He wouldn’t press anyone for divorce details, either; to do so was to open a whole floodgate of things he didn’t want to talk about. That was one part of life he never wanted to revisit, and if he could have bottled it up and thrown it all away, he would’ve.

  “Here it is,” the woman said, lifting her phone so she could show them the contact card for Sophia Sanders. He took a quick photo of it and stuffed his phone back into his pocket.

  “Thank you. That will be very helpful. He reached in his chest pocket and pulled out a business card and handed it to the woman. If you hear from Ms. Sanders or you manage to make contact with her in any way, would you please give me a call?” His business card had nothing but his name and phone number, no identifying details. It was so much easier that way.

  The lady looked him up and down, staring at the cut on his head for a long moment before letting her gaze move lower and rest on his official-looking suit. “You mind me asking what this is all about?”

  Once again, he almost found himself laughing. The regular public could give up so much information about their life without even realizing it. It struck him right now how easy it would be to be a criminal. All a person had to do was appear normal and they could get all the information they needed from a trusting person. He wished he could be as obliviously happy and like the general public instead of always looking around the corner for the next possible threat.

  “We’re just here with her book group.” Natalie smiled, and he was impressed with how quickly she had come up with a lie. “We’ve just been worried about her. She hasn’t been attending any of our meetings lately.”

  “Oh, okay.” The woman nodded, seeming to buy in to the explanation. “I’m a little surprised, though. She didn’t seem like the bookworm type of person.”

  Natalie’s smile widened. “Our doors are open to anyone who is seeking guidance through great literature.”

  Evan took hold of Natalie’s hand. “If you’re ever interested,” he said, tipping his head in the direction of the business card in the woman’s grip, “you know where to find us. Have a good day now.”

  “You, as well,” the woman said. “I’ll give you a call, if need requires.”

  With a backward wave, they retreated. As soon as they reached the car and got inside, he sighed. “You know, Natalie, you wouldn’t make a bad spy.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Natalie was starving. After grabbing a cup of coffee and a muffin to go, they found themselves back on the road. Moving as much as they did, and concentrating on the investigation, she found that she wasn’t looking over her shoulder quite as much as she had been when they had been sitting still. People may have been following them, but at least they weren’t going to give them enough time to plant another bomb. If they wanted her dead, they would have to physically pull the trigger.

  The thought reminded her that maybe she wasn’t the most normal person after all. Few people had a preferred method to go in case they were murdered. Given the circumstances, this was the best way she could think of to deal with the pressures around her. She could bury her head in the sand and pretend like her life was filled with roses, but that was so far from the truth. It was better to face things head-on, face the reality presented to her, and deal with it. She’d never be passive.

  Perhaps her strength lay in that inability to address life in a laissez-faire fashion. It was remarkably hard to swallow the bitter morsels life shoved down a person’s throat; many would’ve closed their mouths and clenched their jaws tight, then hid away from reality. But not her.

  “You feeling better?” She looked at Evan and the puckered, glued gash over his eye. The edges had taken on a dark red color, and a bruise had settled in.

  “Huh?” he asked, clearly not following her train of thought. “I’m fine, why?”

  “I’m talking about your head. How are you feeling?”

  He ran his fingers over the lump on his forehead, stopping at a point that must have been sensitive. “Oh, yeah. I forgot about it. I guess that’s a good sign.”

  “I don’t know,” she teased. “I think if you start forgetting things, that’s actually a bad sign.” She smiled.

  “I don’t know about that. Always found when I start forgetting things, I start feeling better. Maybe it’s a bad sign, but it makes for an easier life.”

  She mulled over his statement. It sat in the air between them for a long moment. She couldn’t argue with him. He did have a point. If only she could forget more of the things that happened to her. And once they were through this, she looked forward to being somewhere in the future where she would be able to put this behind her, as well. She’d be fine if it was left to the recesses of her mind, only popping up on occasion, and just as quickly shoved back.

  Except that would also mean she would forget about him. That, she didn’t want. He had made it clear he wasn’t interested in a relationship with her, but he cited time, not the absence of feelings.

  If anything, she should’ve probably been thanking him.

  One of them needed to be the reasonable one. They really hadn’t known each other that long. And for all she knew he was terribly broken. Men in his line of work typically were. They’d been through so much and seen so much that either they valued love in such an incredible way that they were the greatest of spouses or lovers, or they were the kind that only truly lived for themselves.

  From what she could make of it, she assumed it was because they had learned to trust only themselves. And she could understand that. In life and death, people always promised to protect the people they loved and cared about: their spouse, their lovers, their teammates, their children. But when faced with such realities, those people normally ended up standing alone and completely vulnerable. It was better not to have a connection—he would never let anyone down.

  “Do I dare ask what that look on your face is about?” he asked.

  Of course, he would be reading her right now, when she had thought she had a good poker face, but he had her rethinking that assessment.

  For a moment she considered what she should say in response. To tell him the truth would open up a whol
e line of conversation that she wasn’t certain she wanted to have. Especially given how poorly she assumed it would go—if she brought up the fact that she cared for him, and that she had feelings toward him, no doubt he would once again try to push her away.

  But clearly, he could read her face. She was at an impasse. And she sat in silence for a moment too long.

  “I retract my question,” he said.

  She laughed. “Thank you, Counselor.”

  He shook his head in acknowledgment and gave her a big, toothy grin. In the center of his front teeth was a poppy seed from his muffin. It was exactly what she needed to see in him, some kind of flaw and silly thing to remind her how human and beautifully imperfect he was.

  “You have something, right here,” she said, pointing to the gap in her front teeth.

  “Oh, son of a... And there I was, trying to be cool and stuff,” he said, pulling down the visor and opening the mirror behind it. He sucked his teeth before flipping out the debris.

  And stuff? Did that mean he was trying to be cute? Did he want her to keep being attracted to him? That he was just as much at odds with his feelings as she was?

  Ugh. She couldn’t go there. Not now.

  “Well, why don’t you be cool and tell me how to get to Ms. Sanders’s place?”

  He quirked an eyebrow, as if he was a bit surprised that she wouldn’t fall for his boyish charms. Closing the visor, he opened his phone and rattled off the directions. It wasn’t too far from where they found themselves, yet, nothing in the city was more than thirty minutes away on good traffic days.

  Today wasn’t one of those days. She tried not to lose her patience as she stared out at the jammed mess of cars that sat virtually parked on the road in front of them. For a moderately small city, she would never understand why they had the traffic issues they did. Far larger cities, with less available public transit systems, had them by leaps and bounds when it came to safety and transit times.