see the sun shining. He hoped that the new day would bring some clarity. He had a decision to make: whether to go forward trying to help Lena or to take his wife and go home.
Sara had told him the details of Lena 's call as they'd driven to the hotel last night. She had tried to downplay it, but the fact that Lena had cut her close to the bone was obvious. Jeffrey hadn't known about Lena 's abortion. That Lena would rub it in Sara's face was enough for him to turn his back on her forever. Oddly, it was Sara who told him to see past the other woman's words. She was used to dealing with children, and she thought that
Lena 's hurtful words were an obvious ploy to get them to leave town. One of the last things she'd said on the subject was that maybe it would be wise to listen to Lena for a change.
Neither one of them could get over the possibility that Hank Norton might be Lena 's real father. Growing up in central Alabama, Jeffrey knew several jokes that called for the phrase, 'uncle-daddy,' but there was nothing to laugh about now. What would Lena do if she found out? Or, did she already know? Is that why she had been mute when Valentine found her on the football field? Did the death of Charlotte Warren somehow tie into Lena 's questionable parentage?
Larry Gibson had provided some background information on his wife's connection to Lena. Charlotte had been friends with Sibyl, Lena 's sister, when all three girls were in high school. Like most school-time attachments, they had lost touch over the years, but they had obviously reestablished contact, otherwise there was no reason for Lena to be on that football field.
Jeffrey stared up at the shadows on the ceiling, listening to Sara breathe. His arm was going to sleep, so he slid out from under her and got out of bed. The clock read seven- sixteen, but Jeffrey felt as if he'd slept ten hours. They had asked for the highest floor in the hotel, both of them thinking but not saying it'd be nice to know that a body couldn't be thrown up to the tenth-story window. The only thing available was a small suite – a luxury, to be sure, but one that Jeffrey was willing to splurge on.
The suite wasn't the sort of lavish affair you saw on television. It was really just two hotel rooms with a connecting door. Instead of a bed in the adjacent room, there was a couch with two chairs and a television. Jeffrey turned on the TV and muted the sound. ESPN showed two talking heads who'd been on a football field for maybe ten minutes before running for the sports desk and packing on sixty pounds. He flipped the channel, watching the ticker scroll on CNN for a few minutes, then switching to MSNBC and watching the ticker there. They were both pretty much the same, so he flipped again, scrolling through all the stations until he stopped on the Discovery Channel, where a man had his arm stuck shoulder deep up a cow's ass.
Jeffrey didn't want to tie up his cell phone so he picked up the receiver by the couch and used his calling card to check their messages at home. No one had called, so he hung up and dialed the station. He entered the code and accessed his work voice mail. There were six calls, three from the mayor, who wanted to know why Jeffrey hadn't cracked down on the teenage hooligans who were kicking over trashcans up and down his street. The next two were from the county lawyer, asking details on various cases that were about to come to trial. The last call was from Frank Wallace, telling Jeffrey he'd already listened to all the messages and taken care of everything, including arresting a group of boys for kicking over trashcans up and down the mayor's street. Frank wanted his boss to know that the lead hooligan had been none other than the mayor's teenage son. Jeffrey smiled as he returned the phone to the cradle.
'Hey.' Sara stood in the doorway. She had thrown on his shirt but hadn't buttoned it, and he could see just about every favorite part of her where the material fell to the side.
He made a halfhearted effort to stop the appreciative sound in his throat from coming out.
She smiled and pulled the shirt closed as she walked toward him. 'You should be sleeping.'
'So should you.'
She sat beside him, tucking the shirt underneath her, wrinkling her nose at the television. 'What is this, some kind of animal pornography?'
He turned off the set. 'Wanna go back to bed?'
'I want to go back home.'
'I want you to go back home, too.'
Slowly, she turned to face him. She let her back rest against the arm of the couch. 'Let me be the one to do it,' she suggested. 'He'll talk to me before he talks to you.'
Ethan. She could read his mind so well sometimes it scared him. 'I'm not letting my wife go to a prison.'
' 'Your wife,'' she echoed, eyebrow raised. 'Am I your property?'
She didn't want him to answer that. Yes, she was his property. Every part of her belonged to him.
Jeffrey put her feet in his lap and started to rub them. 'You don't know what prisons are like, Sara – the filth, the level of violence.'
'You think I'll set off a riot?' She laughed at the idea, but Jeffrey knew better.
He told her, 'You take your life into your own hands every time you go inside. The guards only run the place because the inmates let them. That can turn on a dime, especially when there's something they want. Anything can happen, especially with a thug like Ethan who has nothing to lose.'
'He's got plenty to lose,' she countered. 'He only has nine more years on his sentence. He's up for parole every two years. There's always the possibility he could con someone on the board and get out early. He's not going to ruin his chance in front of the parole board just to get to me.'
'It's not you he wants to get to,' Jeffrey reminded her.
They both knew he might as well have painted a target on his back that day he took Ethan to prison. She pressed her lips together, then said quietly, 'Please don't go.'
'I won't go if you promise me you'll go back to Grant County today.'
She raised her eyebrow again. 'And when I call tonight and you tell me that you lied to me and that you've been to the prison – what then?'
He traced his fingers down the arch of her foot.
She kept her tone calm, reasonable. 'I told you that I would support you, but this is crazy. You don't even know that Ethan is linked to anything that's happening to Lena. She gave a very plausible reason for her visit.'
'There are too many coincidences,' he told her, wondering why she wasn't yelling at him. He knew how to ignore Sara's temper, but he'd never been able to tune her out when she was being logical. 'I have to find out for myself.'
'I understand,' she said. 'But, do you really think Ethan Green is going to sit down and spill his heart out to you? If he knows why Lena is in trouble, do you think he's going to tell you anything?' Now, she sounded as if she was pleading with him. 'He hates your guts, Jeffrey. He'd just as soon kill you as look at you, and you told me not two minutes ago how violent prisons are. The guards don't control the inmates. What happens if one of them decides to look the other way while you're walking down a corridor? What happens if Ethan has a weapon on him and decides to do it himself?',
'Baby, I hate to say this as a defense, but if Ethan Green wanted me dead, I would already be in the ground.' Tears welled into her eyes. He continued, ' Lena isn't talking. I've got to get answers from somewhere.'
'And you think Ethan Green's just going to offer up answers on a silver platter? Now who's being naive?' Sara sat up and took his hand. 'Please don't go-'
Jeffrey looked at his hand in hers. Though Sara hadn't been in the operating room in years, she still had the hands of a surgeon. Her fingers were long and delicate, but there was something strong about them, too. If anyone came into their hotel room right then and asked Jeffrey to describe all the important things about Sara, he would've started with her hands.
He said, I won't take you with me to the prison.'
