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  As the younger cop exited, the detective spoke again. “Jake will be handling security for you.”

  She carefully balanced the cup on her leg. “Why? My sister’s husband got what he came after.” Bitterness etched her words.

  The men exchanged a glance, and the detective moved the other chair in the room closer to her. “You want to grab a seat? There are more chairs in the hall.” He raised an eyebrow in Jake’s direction.

  “I’ll stand.”

  Propping his shoulder against the wall, Jake folded his arms across his chest and looked down at her.

  “We’d feel more comfortable if you had security until we apprehend your sister’s husband,” the detective told her as he sat.

  Liz processed his comment. “You think he might come after me?”

  “It’s possible. You harbored his wife. He clearly has an anger problem. If he’s the perpetrator, he’s already killed once—or tried to. I doubt he’d hesitate a second time.”

  She reasoned through that, trying to nudge her numb brain into analytical mode. “If he wanted me dead too, why wouldn’t he have taken care of both of us at once?”

  The detective shrugged. “He could’ve been watching for you to return and seen your neighbor coming with you. Or he might have been spooked by something. We won’t know that until we find him.”

  Jake had remained silent during the exchange, and she tipped her head back to look up at him. He towered over her in the small space, hovering like a keen-eyed hawk waiting to swoop down on his quarry. For the first time, she noticed the shadows of fatigue beneath his lower lashes, his rumpled clothes and the stubble on his chin. The scruffy look didn’t fit. Meaning he must have had a very long day.

  But his eyes remained alert. Focused. Razor sharp. Just the way she remembered.

  “Are there any security cameras at your house?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “What about cameras at the neighbors’ houses, Cole?”

  Cole. Liz tucked the name away as she took a careful sip of the too-hot coffee.

  “We already checked. Nothing. Judge Michaels, is there anyone else you know of who might have had a reason to want your sister dead?”

  “No. Stephanie is one of the kindest, sweetest people I’ve ever known.” She blinked to clear away the sudden blur of moisture. “The only one who ever mistreated her was Alan. I tried over and over to convince her to leave him. But she always said he was a good person at heart, and that he couldn’t help these rages that came over him from time to time.”

  She rummaged in the pocket of her slacks for a tissue. “The only reason she finally left him was because she just found out she was pregnant, and she was afraid for the b-baby.” Her voice caught, and a tear slipped down her cheek. She swiped at it, balling the tissue into her fist.

  “Let’s assume for a minute your sister wasn’t the specific target.” Cole leaned closer to her, his posture intent. “Is there anything in the house important enough to kill for?”

  “You think robbery might have been the motive?” She squinted at him, taken aback by that notion.

  “We need to explore every option.”

  She chewed at her lower lip and considered the question, then shook her head. “No. I did bring home some case notes for an upcoming trial, but there was nothing sensitive or incriminating in them. And I don’t have many personal items of great value.”

  “We’d like you to look around and see if anything is missing once the evidence technicians are finished. Sometime tomorrow.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “I’m not sure I can . . .” Her voice choked, and she swallowed. “Going back there will be very difficult.”

  “I understand that. But if your sister’s husband has an alibi, we need to consider other motives.” Cole rose. “If you have any other thoughts about what happened tonight, let Jake know and he’ll pass them on.”

  “Okay.”

  Standing, he directed his parting comment to his brother. “I’ll be in touch.”

  She watched as he exited and pulled the door half closed behind him.

  Several beats of silence passed. Her husband’s best friend remained standing, eyes veiled.

  “I’m sorry about your sister.”

  “Thanks.” She felt like a bug under a microscope, and gestured to the chair Cole had vacated. “You might want to sit. It’s going to be a long night.”

  After a brief hesitation, he pushed off from the wall, eased the chair away from her, and dropped into it.

  The silence lengthened again. Liz wasn’t up to small talk, but the quiet in the room felt uncomfortable. “I thought you were based in Washington.”

  “I was. But they needed more help here, and I volunteered to transfer. Family ties and all that. I only arrived two weeks ago.”

  Just her luck.

  “Was Jennifer able to get a . . . teaching job here?” It took her a moment to summon up the profession of the woman she’d never met. She’d always regretted not being able to go with Doug to the wedding in Virginia six years ago, after new evidence in a case she was handling came to light days before the trial was scheduled to begin. That hellish week of twenty-hour days could still make her shudder.

  A muscle twitched in his cheek. “Jen died four years ago.”

  Another wave of shock rippled through her. “I didn’t . . . I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.” The words came out gravelly, and he cleared his throat.

  “Was it an illness?”

  “No. Head injuries from a skiing accident.” He shifted in his seat. “Have you had any updates on your sister?”

  She got the hint. Subject closed.

  “No. They took her to surgery hours ago. I was about to ask one of the officers if he would . . .”

  The words died in her throat when a fortyish man dressed in scrubs pushed open the door and stepped inside. Jake rose at once and moved in front of her.

  “It’s okay,” she spoke up. “This is Dr. Lawrence. The surgeon.”

  His posture relaxed a fraction.

  “I’ll wait outside.” He started to exit.

  “You don’t have to leave.” She swallowed, trying to control the tremor in her voice. Whatever the doctor had to say, she didn’t want to face it alone. Despite Jake’s reserve, his solid presence felt somehow reassuring.

  He hesitated, one hand on the door, then stepped back into the room and gestured to the empty chair. “Take my seat, Doctor. I suspect you’ve had a long night.”

  “Thanks. I have.” The man pulled the chair closer to her and sat, his eyes weary.

  At his grim expression, Liz’s heart stuttered and she tried to brace herself. Though he hadn’t uttered a word, she already knew the bottom line.

  The news was bad.

  2

  ______

  As the surgeon settled into his seat, Jake noticed two things.

  The shakes had spread from Liz’s hands to her whole body.

  And her grip on the disposable coffee cup was about to send a geyser of hot liquid spurting into the air—and onto her lap.

  Closing the distance between them, he reached for the cup. “I’ll hold this for a few minutes.”

  Instead of relinquishing her grip, she lifted her chin, giving him an up-close view of green eyes flecked with gold—and dulled by shock.

  She’d had about all she could take, he realized. And while he might not like her personally, he was responsible for her well-being. That included protecting her from self-inflicted burns.

  He peeled the fingers of one of her hands away from the cup and gave it a slight tug, gentling his voice. “Let it go, Liz. I’ll give it back after you talk to the doctor.”

  She blinked and looked down. So did he. His much-larger hand partly covered hers, and he couldn’t help noticing that beside his fingers, hers seemed slender. And fragile. And very feminine.

  A weird catch in his respiration startled him, and the instant she released her grip he retre
ated to the farthest corner of the room.

  “Your sister survived the surgery, Judge Michaels. But the prognosis isn’t good. Do you want me to give you all the medical terminology or put it in lay language?”

  “Lay language.” Her words were taut. Strained. Laced with fear.

  “Okay. The CT scan showed that the bullet entered at an angle from the back of the head, veering toward the right. It lodged behind the right eye. As we discussed earlier, it’s very possible your sister heard or sensed a presence and started to turn. Had the bullet gone straight in from the point of entry, it would most likely have damaged both hemispheres of the brain. There would have been no chance of survival.”

  “Does that mean . . . can she recover?”

  Jake evaluated Liz’s rigid posture, the pulse throbbing in the hollow of her neck, the whitening of her knuckles—and prepared to spring forward if she started to nose-dive.

  “It’s possible.”

  But not probable.

  The man’s cautious tone spoke volumes. Judging by the sudden tightening of her lips, Liz had picked up his unspoken message too.

  “However, we have a long road to travel,” the doctor continued. “Let me tell you what we’ve been doing for the past few hours. The initial CT scan indicated your sister had suffered a significant amount of bleeding in the brain. So we took off a small portion of the skull to evacuate the blood. We also removed dead tissue and inserted a tube to drain off excess fluid. At this point, our biggest concern is swelling. That’s why we left the skull open. Swelling can increase pressure inside the head, which prevents blood passage to tissue. That, in turn, leads to further brain injury. Or brain stem issues.”

  “Is the bullet . . . did you get it out?” Liz’s voice shook.

  “No. Attempting to remove it would cause more damage. It’s better to let it stay where it is.”

  “What about the baby?”

  “We’re still picking up a strong fetal heartbeat.”

  “What happens next?”

  “We wait. We watch. We monitor.” He pulled off his surgical cap, revealing a head of close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair, and pinned her with an intent look. “You need to be aware that a lot of things can go wrong, Judge Michaels, from cardiac arrest to renal failure to respiratory problems. What we need to focus on now is getting your sister through the next few days. If we succeed in that, we can consider next steps.”

  “May I see her?”

  “Not for several hours. She’s in recovery now and will stay there awhile. You can visit her briefly once she’s moved to intensive care. In the meantime, it might be a good idea to try and get some rest and come back in the morning. We can call you if anything changes.”

  She was shaking her head before he finished. “I can’t leave.” Her voice rasped on the last word.

  Watching the muscles in her throat work as she swallowed, Jake joined the conversation. “We can get a hotel room for you close by, if you’d like.”

  “No. I need to be here.”

  “She won’t know whether you’re here or not, Liz.” He strove for a gentle tone, hoping it would buffer his practical comment.

  When she looked up, he was taken aback by the determination and unyielding conviction in her eyes. “I’ll know. I can’t leave someone I love alone in their time of need.”

  Then why were you going to leave Doug?

  He scrutinized her face, searching in vain for an answer to his unspoken question.

  “Let me see if we can find you a room where you can get a little sleep, then.” The surgeon rose, interrupting the charged silence.

  Liz leaned forward and touched his arm. “Doctor . . . if things don’t go well, my sister . . .” She swallowed. “Her living will includes an instruction that any usable organs be d-donated.”

  He covered her hand with his. “I’ll pass that information on. And hope it’s irrelevant.”

  “Thank you.”

  With a nod toward the corner where Jake stood, the man exited.

  Hunched in her chair, staring at the stains on her cuffs, Liz was shaking worse than ever. Setting her coffee on a cart beside him, Jake slipped through the door and flagged a passing nurse.

  “Could you scrounge up a scrub top for the judge? She’s got a lot of blood on her blouse.”

  The woman nodded. “Let me see what I can do.”

  As Jake prepared to reenter the room, he caught sight of Tom “Spence” Spencer approaching down the hall. They’d exchanged no more than a handshake and greeting during Jake’s introductory tour of the St. Louis office before he’d been called away to Denver, but the man had struck him as solid and competent. The exact kind of backup he was glad to have tonight, when fatigue was beginning to dull the edges of his acuity.

  “The reinforcements have arrived. Wait—make that singular. I’m it.” The man flashed him a grin as he approached and stuck out his hand.

  Jake returned his firm grip. “I’ll take whatever I can get. Did Matt fill you in?”

  “Yes. As much as he knew, anyway. Sounds like the sister’s husband is in the hot seat.”

  “That’s the assumption at this point.” Jake relayed the information he’d received from Cole.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “The doctor tried to convince Judge Michaels to leave for a while and get some sleep, but she wants to stay here until her sister comes out of recovery. He’s trying to find a spot for her to rest. Once that’s nailed down . . .”

  The nurse reappeared and handed him a teal-colored shirt. “It’s probably too big, but at least there’s no blood on it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. We’ve also located a private room for the judge not far from the neuro-intensive care unit.”

  He turned to Spence. “Check it out, okay? We’ll wait here until you give us an all-clear. Do you need my cell number?”

  “Already programmed into speed dial.” He tapped the BlackBerry on his belt.

  “Efficient. I need to catch up.”

  “From what I hear, sounds more like you need to catch your breath.”

  Jake managed a weary quirk of his lips. “True. But not likely to happen anytime soon.”

  “We might be able to work something out. I’ll call you in a few minutes.”

  As Spence set off, Jake spoke to one of the two officers flanking the door. “Let your sergeant know I’d like you to accompany me and the judge when we move. After that, we can take over.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he reentered the room.

  Liz hadn’t changed position. She was still hunched in her chair. Still shaking. Still fixated on the blood on her cuffs.

  He crossed the room and held out the top. “I thought you might want to change out of that blouse. This was the best I could do.”

  Lifting her head, she met his gaze as she reached for it. “Thank you.”

  Much to his annoyance, the gratitude in her eyes warmed a tiny corner of his heart. How had she managed that, when he hadn’t planned to feel anything but professional concern for his friend’s wife? Hadn’t wanted to feel anything

  more?

  “You’re welcome.” He gestured to the door. “I’ll wait in the hall while you change.”

  Three minutes later, when she cracked the door, he eased back inside. She was holding the blouse at arm’s length, and he took it from her, passing it to one of the officers outside.

  “Find a bag for this, okay?”

  Turning back, he found Liz hugging herself and rubbing her arms. He could see the goose bumps on her skin from across the small room. The nurse had been right; the scrub top was way too big. In the voluminous—and no doubt drafty—top, Liz reminded him of a little girl playing dress up.

  Another irritating twinge of tenderness tugged at his heart.

  “They must be rationing heat.” She gave an apologetic shrug.

  He reached for her coffee. “Maybe this will help.”

  “I already tried that. It’s as cold as
I am. I should have brought my jacket with me when I left the house, but I . . . I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  Jacket.

  He had a jacket.

  Shrugging out of it, Jake draped it around her shoulders and spoke before she could voice the protest he sensed was coming. “Don’t bother objecting, Liz. I’m not cold.”

  She closed her mouth. Snuggled into the warmth. Let out a sigh. “Okay, I won’t. This feels too good.”

  Her gaze flicked to the exposed pistol in the holster on his belt. She moistened her lips and eased back into her chair. Looking desperately in need of comforting.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and balled them into fists. “Look . . . is there someone I can call who could come and stay with you?”

  “No. The police already asked. I’ve only been in town four months. Not long enough to make a lot of friends. Besides, I wouldn’t want to drag anyone else into a mess like this.”

  His BlackBerry began to vibrate, and he pulled it off his belt. “Taylor.”

  “It’s Spence. The room’s secure.”

  Jake listened as his colleague recited the directions. “Okay. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “I also gave the recovery room and neuro-intensive care unit my cell number, in case anyone needs to reach the judge.”

  “Good.”

  Slipping the phone back on his belt, he focused on Liz. “We have a room nearby where you can rest.”

  “In the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  Taking a deep breath, she stood. The effort seemed to sap her energy, and she grabbed the back of the chair to steady herself as she slung her purse over her shoulder.

  Jake opened the door, alerted the two officers that they were preparing to leave, then turned to Liz.

  “Okay. We’re set. Let’s do this quickly. You ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Exiting first, Jake scanned the corridor. Typical ER activity. Nothing to raise a red flag. He took her arm and led her down the hall at a brisk pace, one officer in front, the other in back.