Fatal Judgment (13 page)

But the FBI agent, as well as Jake, seemed to think it was a worthwhile exercise. And she supposed that was true. If she had any enemies, it was logical to assume they were buried somewhere in her thirteen-year law career. And the probability was high that she’d find them in a more recent case rather than older ones.

Neil came and went several times, with one of the marshals on duty in the command post acting as doorman to her unit. The young clerk was huffing as he lugged the last box through the condo and set it down with a thud. She noticed he’d ditched his suit jacket in the car during his last trip.

“That’s my exercise for the day.” He took his handkerchief out of the pocket of his slacks and wiped his forehead.

“I appreciate you delivering these.”

“No problem. Got me out of the office for an hour.” He flashed her a grin as he tucked the handkerchief away, then grew serious. “I’ve been wanting to tell you how sorry I am about your sister, Judge Michaels. I can’t begin to imagine what you’ve been through. I hope they find the perpetrator quickly.”

“So do I.” She closed the lid of the box she’d been riffling through. Since arriving home from the funeral early yesterday evening, she’d tried to focus on doing her part to make that happen. She’d stayed up late into the night, sorting through the case files the marshals had delivered from her home office on Tuesday afternoon. But she’d start her detailed review with the most recent ones, as Mark had asked. The ones that had defined her first few months as a U.S. District Court judge in St. Louis.

Then she’d delve into the cases she’d tried during her three years as a circuit court judge in Jefferson City. Only if those yielded no leads would she go farther back, to her years as a trial attorney.

She hoped it didn’t come to that. Jake had hinted she might need to remain sequestered until she finished the task they’d given her, and she didn’t relish the confinement. Her preference was to go back to court next week. Lose herself in her work, as she’d always done when life got tough. It was easier to focus on other people’s problems than her own.

“Any idea when you’ll be coming back, Judge?”

She gave Neil an amused look. “You must be reading my mind.”

“Not quite. I haven’t been in your office long enough for that yet. But I’m working on it.” He grinned. “It would be a good skill to have as a law clerk, don’t you think?”

She returned his smile. “I don’t expect miracles. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing. I’m happy with your work.”

“Thanks.” A flush stained his cheeks.

“Good work should be recognized.” To save him further embarrassment, she moved on. “To answer your question, I talked to Judge Shapiro Tuesday. I know my absence has been hard on everyone.” She combed her fingers through her hair and expelled a frustrated breath as she thought back to the conversation she’d had with the chief judge.

“These are extraordinary circumstances.”

While she appreciated Neil’s loyalty, she deflected the slight edge of indignation in his voice with a smile. “He couldn’t have been kinder. But facts are facts. The calendar is backlogged and I have a full docket.”

She regarded the boxes of material Neil had delivered, plus the ones the marshals had retrieved from her house. Then there was all the case data stored on her computer . . . it was overwhelming. But she intended to hunker down and plow through it as fast as she could.

“I’m hoping for Monday. At least part-time. I’m going to talk to the marshals and the FBI about it today. In the meantime, hold down the fort, okay?”

“We’ll do our best. Is there anything else you need?”

“A normal day would be nice.”

“Yeah.” He gave a sympathetic nod. “Normal is nice.”

As she walked him to the door, Liz pondered his comment. She could recall a time when she’d thought normal, predictable days were boring.

Not anymore. Boring would never again seem banal. She would welcome boring.

Unfortunately, she had a feeling that wasn’t a word she was going to be able to apply to her life anytime soon.

Pressing the elevator button in the lobby of Liz’s condo, Jake tapped his foot impatiently. He’d meant to get here sooner, but his morning hadn’t gone as planned. Thanks to his siblings.

He was still annoyed with Alison. And she was none too happy with him after he’d insisted on driving her to work and arranged for Cole to pick her up. If he hadn’t swung by her house last night on his way home after the trip to Kansas City, he’d never have discovered her car was out of commission and that she was planning to take the bus to work. An exercise that would require blocks of walking. Correction. Limping.

Expelling an exasperated breath, he jabbed the elevator button again. She didn’t have to do that, not with two brothers willing and able to help. Except that’s not the way little Miss Independent saw it. If he hadn’t shown up at the crack of dawn, he had no doubt she’d have carried out her threat to take an earlier bus.

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.”