“Congratulations. Why don’t I pick something up for dinner tonight?”
“I have the lasagna.”
“Even better.”
She put the plates down when the toast popped, then sat with a jerk of temper. “I didn’t invite you.”
“We’re past that.”
“I don’t know how to be past that.”
He brought the toast over, set a slice on her plate as he took his seat. “This looks great.”
“You change the subject, or you agree rather than debate. Because you’re so certain you’ll get your way in the end.”
“You’re good at reading people, too.” He took a bite of omelet. “Tastes great. You could make a living.”
“You’re frustrating.”
“I know it, but I make up for it by being so good-looking.”
She didn’t want to smile but couldn’t help it. “You’re not that good-looking.”
He laughed and ate his breakfast.
When he’d gone, she considered her options.
She couldn’t tell him, of course, but hypothetically, what were the probable results if she did?
She was wanted for questioning in the murders of two U.S. Marshals. As a law enforcement official, he’d be obligated to turn her in. It was highly doubtful she’d live to give testimony. The Volkovs would find a way to get to her and eliminate her, most likely through one of their law enforcement plants.
But, hypothetically again, if Brooks believed her, and believed her life would be forfeit should he do his duty, he would be less inclined to fulfill that duty.
She tried to imagine being able to talk to him about John and Terry, about Julie, and everything that had happened since those horrible nights. She simply couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t theorize on how it might feel to be able to talk to him, to anyone, to share the burden.
He was kind, she thought, and dedicated to justice, to doing the right thing for the right reasons. In many ways, in basic, vital ways, he reminded her of John.
If she told him, if he believed her, he might be, like John, driven to protect her, to help her. And wouldn’t that put his life at risk?
Yet another reason to keep her own counsel, to go on as she’d gone on for a dozen years.
But everything had already changed, she reminded herself. Everything wasn’t as it had been. He’d done that; she’d allowed it.
So if she told him, because the balance had already shifted, she would have to be prepared to go, to run again, change her name again—whether he believed her or not.
Therefore, logically, rationally, she couldn’t tell him. Their relationship would gradually lessen in intensity until the balance shifted back again. Until her life was back to what it had been.
Her conclusions should have made her feel more confident, more calm and certain. Instead, they left her unhappy and unsettled.
18
The morning business went pretty much the way Brooks had figured, with a few extra points for the good guys.
He’d expected Justin and his idiot pals to make bail, and had calculated the judge would set it high enough to sting a little. He set it high enough to sting a lot.
Harry objected, of course—he had to do his job—but the judge held firm. The Conroys might not have been as deep in the pockets as the Blakes, but they were as well respected, and a hell of a lot more well liked.
Justin had kicked the wrong cat this time, in Brooks’s opinion.
From his position in the courtroom, he watched Blake seethe, Justin sneer, and the two others being arraigned keep their heads and eyes down while their parents sat stone-faced.
He had to fight back a mile-wide grin when the judge agreed to the prosecutor’s demand that all three under charges turn in their passports.
“This is insulting!” Blake surged to his feet at the judge’s ruling, and this time Brooks did a happy dance in his head. “I won’t tolerate the insinuation my son would run away from these absurd charges. We want our day in court!”
“You’re going to get that.” Judge Reingold, who played golf with Blake every Sunday, slapped his gavel down. “And you’re going to show respect in this courtroom, Lincoln. You sit down and keep your peace in here or I’ll have you removed.”
“Don’t think you can sit up there and threaten me. I helped put you in those robes.”
Behind his wire-framed glasses, Reingold’s eyes glittered. “And as long as I’m wearing them, you’ll show them respect. Sit down, be quiet, or sure as God made little green apples, I’ll hold you in contempt of court.”
Blake shoved Harry aside when the lawyer tried to intervene. “I’ll show you contempt.”
“You just did.” Reingold banged his gavel again. “That’s five hundred dollars. Bailiff, remove Mr. Blake from the courtroom before he makes it a thousand.”
Red-faced, teeth set, Blake turned on his heel and stalked out under his own power. He took a moment to pause, scald Brooks with a blistering stare.
Brooks sat through the rest of the legal wrangling, the instructions, the warnings, the scheduling. He waited until Justin and his friends were led back to their holding cells until their bail could be posted.
More than satisfied, Brooks had to control a little bounce in his step when he walked over to speak with Russ and his family. There was no doubt in his mind that having the entire Conroy family present—Russ’s split lip, Mrs. Conroy fighting tears—had influenced Reingold’s ruling.
“That pompous bully Blake made it worse for himself and those vicious boys.” Seline, dark eyes sparking in contrast to her usual easy-as-Sunday-morning temperament, kept her arm protectively around her mother-in-law’s shoulders. “I
“I wasn’t sure Stan would stand up against Lincoln.” Mick Conroy nodded toward the bench. “I feel some better about it. I’m going to take your mom home,” he said to Russ.
“You want me to come?”
Hilly, her eyes still shadowed, the bright hair she’d passed to her son pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, shook her head. She kissed Russ’s cheek. “We’ll be all right. Brooks.” She kissed Brooks’s cheek in turn. “We’re grateful.”
“There’s no need for that.”
“She’s still sad,” Seline murmured, when her in-laws walked out. “She can’t find her mad through it. I want her to find that mad. She’ll feel better when she does.”
“You’re mad enough for all of us.”
Seline smiled a little. “God knows. I’ve got to get to school. The kids’ve probably traumatized the morning substitute by now.”
She gave Brooks a hard hug, turned to Russ, held on to him for a long minute. “Don’t fret too much, cutie,” she told him.
“Let me buy you a cup of coffee,” Brooks said to Russ when they were alone.
“I should get to the hotel.”
“Take a few minutes, decompress.”
“I could use it. Okay. I’ll meet you there.”
The minute Brooks walked into the diner, Kim grabbed a coffeepot and beelined toward him. She pointed at a booth, turned the mug on the tabletop over, poured.
“Well,” she said.
“Just coffee, thanks.”
She poked him on the shoulder. “How’m I supposed to maintain my status as News Queen if you don’t give
