Читать книгу In Plain Sight - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 10

“Hey, boss, you got a minute?”

Jan looked up from her computer. It was Monday, mid-morning. She’d had another nightmare at three in the morning and hadn’t slept since. “Of course,” she told her assistant. “Come in.”

Andrew, dressed impeccably as always, took one of the two seats in front of her desk.

“I heard you met with Ruple over the weekend.”

She’d figured word would get around. Flagstaff was a small town and Macy’s was a busy place. Or maybe Danny Ruple had said something.

“I did, yes.”

“Is he going to testify?”

The fact that she even had to remind herself that this was Andrew, her handpicked professional soul mate, bothered her. She had to be careful, true, but a complete lack of trust wasn’t healthy.

“I don’t know,” she said, slipping into the navy jacket she’d thrown off earlier. She had some footwork to do over lunch—recreating as much of the Zeidel file as she could, just in case. The only key witness, a roommate, was still in town and had agreed to talk to her. “He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t say no.”

Frowning, Andrew shook his head and said, “I’m just sick about the missing file. You know I’ll do anything I can to help you rebuild the case, if he accepts your offer.”

“Thanks.” Jan’s smile was almost genuine and her shoulders lightened. “I know your own caseload is heavy right now, and I promised you’d have time to be a father when the baby came…”

“I’m always here for you, Jan. You know that.”

A life that had gone a bit out of control started to make sense again. She had to remember what she knew—not lose herself in emotions that weren’t always accurate. Or trustworthy.

“I think you’re about the only one who doesn’t think I’m crazy for going after Hall.”

“I admire the hell out of you for it.” The truth of his words was reflected in his open gaze. “I hope to be just like you when I grow up.”

“Hold it, buddy,” she chuckled. “I’m only five years older than you. You’re making me sound ancient.”

“Sorry.” Andrew was grinning, too. “But I mean it. You’re the only one I know who consistently applies the ethics they taught us in law school to everyday life. You work for justice, not politics.”

“There are a lot of us,” she told him, though she wasn’t as sure of that as she’d been even a couple years before. “But when people like the county attorney and the governor have the last say, and they’re elected officials, politics can’t help but play a part.”

“And we end up with compromised justice.”

Jan glanced at the news clipping she’d just pulled up on her computer—which only hinted at the gory details of Lorna Zeidel’s rape and murder two years before. “It’s when politics define justice that I have a problem.”

Andrew leaned forward, resting an arm on the edge of her desk. “And it honestly doesn’t bother you that if you push this and lose, your professional reputation will suffer?”

She shook her head. There were a lot of things bothering her. Her professional reputation wasn’t one of them. “My mother’s health bothers me. Hailey’s adoption bothers me. The young gang members who have nothing better to do than throw bricks through windows bother me.” My awareness of my neighbor’s presence bothers me. “I’m not sure why, but my career doesn’t. I think I’m on the right track.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” Andrew expelled a long breath. “But I’m here to learn.”

“You’re here to teach, too, my friend,” Jan told him. “You’re an excellent attorney. I’ve bowed to your opinion on more than one occasion.”

“Maybe two.” He smiled and then sat back, his expression sober. “What’s this about your mother’s health? I thought she was doing well, keeping busy.”

“She is.” Jan didn’t want to think about her mother right now. “I’m probably overreacting. Growing up with only one parent tends to make you a bit insecure where their existence is concerned.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Less than twenty-four hours ago. I went down yesterday and took her to the Blue Adobe for dinner. We had cheese enchiladas and prickly pear margaritas and talked about a mah-jongg tournament she’s in.”

“Sounds like she’s doing great.”

Yeah. And Jan had just decided to go with what she knew and not with what she feared. To quit letting random feelings control her so much. Everyone had them—those insecurities that overwhelmed common sense. She just seemed to have to work harder than other people to keep hers at bay.

By Thursday, Jan still had not heard from Danny Ruple. But she was using every spare minute she could find, in between directing the continued research into Jacob Hall’s potential fraud victims and maintaining her other cases, to study police reports on Lorna Zeidel—searching for the elusive clue that might at least get her a grand jury indictment.

She’d had no word from her brother after his impromptu visit, but she’d had a quick visit with Hailey the night before. And not including Saturday, she had talked to Simon three times, twice at the mailbox and once when he was getting his paper in the morning.

By the time she got home that night, she was just plain exhausted with life. She’d seen the It’s a Boy sign in the Thorntons’ front yard on her way to work that morning, and felt such regret at losing touch with her friendly neighbors that she’d gone out on her lunch hour and bought them a gift. But she sure didn’t feel like walking two houses down to drop it off.

She didn’t want to, but as soon as she’d finished the toast and peanut butter she was having for dinner she did it anyway. And was rewarded with a greeting from Simon when she returned.

“I brought the trash out and noticed yours wasn’t at the curb, so I thought I’d get it for you,” he said, meeting her at the end of her drive as dusk was starting to fall. Friday and Monday trash pickup had been part of her routine for years. Today, she would have forgotten.

“My gate’s locked.”

“As I discovered.” He walked along with her up to the house, looking so comfortable in khaki slacks and a flannel shirt with tails hanging out and sleeves rolled up past his wrists, that she wished she’d taken time to change out of the maroon skirt and jacket she’d worn to work.

The clicking of her heels against pavement sounded loud in the early-evening silence.

“You been down the street?”

“Mm-hmm.” She walked up the couple of steps to her front door. Pulled it open. “Molly Thornton had her baby.”

“It’s not locked?”

“I was only gone for a few minutes.”

“Could you see your front door every second of that time?”

“Of course not. The Thorntons are on the same side of the street.”

“How do you know someone didn’t see you leave and then enter your house?”

Ignoring the blade of fear that slid through her, Jan forced a chuckle. “Like I said before, you need to be writing suspense, Green. Because stuff like that only happens between the pages of a book or on the screen. I was two houses down, for goodness’ sake.” They were still on her stoop.

“But it only takes…”

“And during that time you were bringing out your trash.”

She went inside. He stayed out.

“You mad at me now?” she asked lightly.

“No.” But he was frowning.

“You just changed your mind about taking my trash out?” She’d been rolling the big can out by herself for years, didn’t need his help, but she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to mess with him.

It took her mind off her weariness.

“Of course not,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the gate.”

“Simon!” She laughed out loud then. “You can come through the house.”

She didn’t really understand his hesitation. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been inside before. He’d seen every inch of her 2,000-square-foot home when he’d trailed behind the police officer who’d searched it after the brick incident the week before.

He walked through, went out to wheel the trash to the curb, then relocked the gate from the inside and came back into her kitchen, all without a word. He stood there, staring at her.

“What?” She’d poured herself a very weak vodka and orange juice—mostly orange juice—and leaned against the counter, taking a sip.

“It’s none of my business.”

“Probably not. But I’m sure you’ll tell me, anyway.”

He shook his head. “You know what you’re doing. And you have an inside track on crime in this town.”

“Yeah.”

“But I’d still appreciate it if you’d be a little more careful. A woman living alone…”

“I won’t live my life in fear.”

“I’m not suggesting you should. Keep in mind, though, that I live right next door. And I’d like to be able to relax now and then without constantly having to listen for strangers with evil intent bothering someone who’s nice.”

He thought she was nice. That was all right. Because she thought he was sweet.

“Okay,” she said, her mouth twitching as she held back a smile. “In an effort to contribute to your peace of mind, I will be more diligent about locking my door. Since this is the first time in years I can remember leaving it unlocked, I don’t think it’ll be too much of a challenge.”

And she was no idiot. She was prosecuting a killer who had loyal associates. She wanted to live long enough to get him into prison.

“Thank you.”

“Now how about a truce?” She held up her glass. “I have vodka to offer.”

“I accept.”

She was shocked. He was supposed to have made a joke and been out of there. Didn’t he remember his own MO?

Turning, she took down a glass from the cupboard. A juice glass. She didn’t entertain enough to justify highball crystal.

“You pour,” she said, handing him the bottle and pushing the orange juice his way.

He took a splash of juice to go with his vodka, leaned back against the opposite cupboard…and suddenly she was nervous. The man seemed a lot more vital, standing in her kitchen.

“I didn’t realize you knew the Thorntons all that well.” He adjusted his glasses.

His eyes were brown. She’d never noticed before.

“I don’t really. They drop off fruitcakes at Christmas, but I think everyone gets them.”

He nodded. “Never did figure out the appeal there.”

“Me, neither. But my mother likes them. I give them to her.”

“Good, she can have mine next year, too. I feel like a jerk when I throw them away.”

Jan chuckled with him. Took a sip of mostly orange juice and wished it was mostly vodka.

“A few years ago, my washer valve broke when I was out of town,” she said. “The whole house flooded. The Thorntons had just moved in, and they noticed the water coming out from under my doors and called the city to turn off the water. They also helped me move out all my furniture while the damage was being repaired.”

“Where was I?”

“I have no idea.” She smiled at him again. “That was before I’d actually met you. But I think you were gone. For about a month I didn’t see any papers at the end of your drive when I left for work in the morning.”

Oh. Well. It only took a second for her to realize that she’d just admitted that she paid attention. And remembered something that had happened almost four years ago. That was embarrassing.

“I took a…river rafting trip,” he said, stumbling a bit over the words—as if he was finding this experience awkward, as well. “I was gone for almost a month,” he continued, resting one foot in front of the other. “Must have been then.”

She wanted to look away. And didn’t.

“So how were the Thorntons?”

“Fine. They named him Mark.”

“I hear hesitation in your voice,” he said, his expression curious. “Why? Don’t you like the name?”

Were all writers as observant as he was?

“Of course I like the name.” She shrugged, putting her edgy reaction down to fatigue. “I’m sure it’s nothing. They just seemed to go on and on about how happy they were that the baby’s a boy. I got a pretty strong sense that if they’d had a girl they would actually have been disappointed.”

“Maybe they wanted to please the grandparents or something.”

“Maybe. I can’t imagine the sex of a child mattering to me as long as he or she was healthy, but I realize it makes a difference to some people.”

He switched legs, crossing one over the other. She couldn’t really explain why she wasn’t offering him a seat. Standing just seemed like a better idea.

“I also couldn’t help wondering if my father was disappointed, when I turned out to be female.” Jan’s gaze shot up, stricken when she realized she’d spoken aloud. Simon didn’t care about her anxieties.

And he was only supposed to see what she presented to the world. A daring, driven attorney who did things her own way, but always played by the rules.

“Did he act disappointed?” His direct gaze, the soft tone in his voice, made her knees shake.

She shook her head and took a seat at the table in the middle of her kitchen. Simon followed her, bringing the bottle and the carton of juice.

“I don’t really remember much about him,” she continued, telling her better judgment to shut up. She had to start working through things or she’d go nuts. And really, who was safer to think aloud with than a distant neighbor who didn’t have any reason to care, beyond a generic sense of compassion.

“He died when I was four.”

“He was sick?”

“He accidentally shot himself.”

“What?” Simon’s glass hit the table solidly, his eyes narrowing. “How?”

“He was drunk and got his gun out to load it, to go hunting. It was already loaded and it went off….” She closed her eyes against the assault of memories, as if doing so could erase all the blood. “There was an investigation, and the evidence corroborated events exactly as my mother had said they happened.”

“Where were you at the time?”

“At home, taking a nap.” She tried to swallow, but her throat was too dry. Picking up her glass, she tried again. “I don’t remember the shooting at all, but I’ll never forget standing in the archway leading to the living room and watching while they cut out a piece of living room carpet that was saturated with his blood.”

And she’d never spoken of it, either. Jan peered over at Simon, afraid of what she’d done by telling him. Afraid of what she’d see in his eyes.

He looked confused, lost—like a man who was picturing the horrifying scene through the eyes of a four-year-old child.

“Were the two of you close?”

“I’m not sure. My mom’s been emotionally fragile ever since it happened—at least I’ve assumed it started then. In any case, it’s too hard on her to talk about my dad, so we won’t.”

“Seems like, at four, you’d have some memories, if you and he had much of a relationship.”

Something that had occurred to her, too. “I just have flashes,” she said, finishing her drink and pouring another. “I remember moments of anger, but I can’t ever bring back enough to know what he was angry about or who he was angry with. I can just picture his face, red, his mouth, thin, and his eyes small and kind of black.”

“That’s a pretty clear picture,” Simon said. “Sounds like he was angry a lot.”

“Maybe. I also remember a birthday—maybe my third or fourth. I can’t recall anything about the day, except that he and I laughed a lot and he threw me up in the air and caught me and said he always would.”

She smiled when what she felt like doing was crying. “I like to think he’s still up there, catching me. When my brother was little, he used to tell everyone he was special because his daddy was an angel who watched over him.”

“How old was he when your dad was killed?”

“A few months.”

“So he doesn’t remember him at all.”

“Nope.”

“It’s natural that he’d build him into some kind of hero or loving guardian, but those feelings don’t necessarily have any connection to the kind of man your father really was.”

“I know.”

“And your mother never shared anything that gave you any indication? No story about how they met? What he did for a living?”

“Not much.” Jan sighed, wanting to lay her head on a caring shoulder. For a second. “They were high school sweethearts who married fairly young. And they waited several years before having me. He worked for a trucking company, at some point. I discovered that tidbit when I moved my mother to Sedona. I was helping her get her finances together and I found documents concerning a small pension she’d been getting all these years, though it wasn’t clear from the dates if he’d been working at the time of the accident. I’m fairly certain he was an alcoholic, based on something Clara Williams—she was a neighbor and my mother’s closest friend—said once, when I was telling them about a friend who’d bought a fake ID and gotten drunk.”

“That could explain the anger. Some guys get mean when they drink.”

“Yeah.” And some were nice. Please God, for her mother’s sake if nothing else, let him have been a nice drunk.

“You said your mom had problems. Is she okay now?”

He was really sweet to ask. Surely he’d rather be home at his computer. Or doing whatever else he did until all hours of the night.

“She’s fine.” Jan gave the short version, in deference to his kindness. “She had a pretty bad bout of depression nine or ten years ago. I’d just started law school and moved into my own apartment. Johnny was seventeen and going through the rebellious teenaged crap. It was too much for her to handle alone. But she got help. And then there was a bout a couple of years ago. She wouldn’t get out of bed, wouldn’t eat. She finally agreed to check herself into the hospital and came out with this idea that she had to move to an adult-living community in Sedona. She did, and she’s been doing well ever since.”

Simon finished his drink, but didn’t pour another. “You could do an investigation. To track down information about your father.”

She’d thought about it a few times. “I’ve just never been sure enough that I wanted to know,” she said. “If it turns out he was a louse, I’m descended from a louse and that’s all there is to it. And if I find out he was a great guy, I lost one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

Simon stood. “You’re right,” he said. “You may be better off not knowing. That way anything’s possible.”

It made a strange kind of sense. She was tired enough to accept it.

“Thanks for taking out my trash.” She followed him to the front door.

“Thanks for the drink.”

She started to say “anytime,” but decided against it and held the door for him instead.

He began to leave, then stopped abruptly and turned, his face two inches from hers.

She could hardly breathe, struck with the completely unfamiliar desire to have wild, passionate, unrestrained and irresponsible sex. The kind you had without accountability or any thought of tomorrow.

“Lock the door behind me.”

She was deciphering the words when, halfway across her yard, he turned. Jan quickly shut her door and clicked the lock as loudly as she could.

And only then realized that while she’d just told Simon her entire life story, she still knew very little about him.