Blind Justice Read online

  Once Ty took position outside, Olivia said, “Jerome will be here soon to back him up. I’ll have two guys on this room around the clock. It’s already been cleared with the hospital administration.”

  Tara thanked her, feeling marginally better. At least Evan would be protected.

  Bill shook Olivia’s hand. “Thank you for finding Evan.”

  She shook her head. “I’m just sorry it took so long.” She gestured to the bed with a frown. “And that we couldn’t get him out before this happened.”

  “He’s safe now. That’s what matters.”

  With a clipped nod, Olivia handed both of them her card. “Call me if you need anything.”

  Tara and Bill were silent for several minutes, both watching Evan sleep.

  Bill finally sat in the plastic chair next to the bed. “You’re good with kids.”

  “Thanks.” Her cheeks warmed. “I enjoy them.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t end up as a teacher.”

  No one had ever said that to her before. “It never occurred to me.” She might not have followed the path her parents wanted, but all of their concerns over her getting a well-paying job must have rubbed off on her because she’d subconsciously dismissed the idea of becoming a teacher based on salary alone. “I like what I do now, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “All the business stuff at Steele so Kurt—the owner—can focus on drumming up new clients, finding new people to join the team, and keeping the guys we have happy.” She wanted to talk more, maybe learn some fun facts about Jeff, but she really had to pee. “I’m going to use the bathroom and get some coffee. Do you want anything?”

  “No, thanks.”

  She left the cheerfully decorated unit through oversized swinging doors that opened into the main corridor with its wide handrails and boring wall art. She went in search of the restroom, cataloguing every person who passed, inspecting every shadow.

  Operating at a heightened level of awareness had her jumping at the slightest movement, second-guessing everything she saw, anticipating an encounter around every corner.

  She’d kill for a nap right now. Anything to give her brain a rest from this constant state of “on.” It was like learning how to drive a car, where everything inside and outside the vehicle catches your attention and you don’t know what to filter. How did people operate in a hyper-vigilant state twenty-four/seven without losing their minds?

  Living like that and facing all the horrors of war, no wonder so many service members returned home with mental health issues. Jenna’s husband and brother had both struggled with how to handle the low-stakes, low-adrenaline life after returning to the States. In the end, it had gotten Rob killed.

  Tara picked up her pace toward the lounge at the end of the hall.

  Even though the danger to her life wasn’t over, at least the local cops now had all the evidence. A lot hinged on whether there were any usable fingerprints on the items in Tara’s purse—the ones she could remember for sure that the blonde had touched—and whether the prints were a match to those found in Annette’s house and the police department’s fingerprint databases.

  The local detective had warned her that it wouldn’t necessarily be a quick process like on TV, and that they might come up empty. Until then, she lived on hope. Apparently, it was a habit she couldn’t shake.

  In the lounge, a little redheaded girl with porcelain skin and freckles played with dolls in the corner set aside for children, while a woman with the same coloring looked on, her eyes red-rimmed. A deeply tanned and wrinkled man with greasy gray hair pulled into a ponytail sat on a loveseat flipping through a magazine while a young blonde with heavy makeup dozed against his shoulder.

  A tall brunette holding a soda can stood in front of two televisions mounted near the ceiling. The local news played on mute, covering the latest politician who planned to announce his candidacy for President.

  Hospitals were a study in patience—and fear—everyone stuck in time, waiting for news, waiting for life, death, recovery. Endless waiting with no privacy. One’s most private pain played out in front of strangers.

  Tara would be happy to never enter a hospital again. Looking away from the depressing tableau, she made a beeline for a unisex one-holer, but found it locked. She wandered the halls for several minutes until she finally found a multi-stall bathroom in another wing. She might need a map to find her way back, but at least she could finally pee.

  After taking care of business and washing her hands, she scowled at the mirror. How long had she been walking around looking like her hair had been dressed by a tornado? Taking down the wild ponytail, she finger-combed the mess and twisted it into a low bun. Good enough.

  The door to the restroom opened behind her and the brunette from the waiting room entered, her tall boots clunking loudly on the tile. She pushed up her thick glasses and shuffled toward the stalls as if weighed down by grief.

  Tara could relate. Feeling grody, she splashed water on her face and patted it dry with a paper towel. Best she could do for now.

  “You’re a slippery little bitch, aren’t you?” the woman said from Tara’s left.

  That voice. Tara swiveled, her heart pounding. “I’m sorry?”

  Tara gasped. It was her. The woman who’d tripped over her outside Annette’s house. The short wig and awful glasses were an excellent disguise, but they didn’t hide her bright blue eyes.

  With a cruel smile, the woman slid a gun from her jacket pocket. “Not yet, but you will be.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  JEFF EXITED THE stairwell on the third floor, his blood humming. He’d been with the cops for more than an hour, telling his story again and again until they were satisfied. His head was pounding and he desperately needed sleep. And to see Evan and Tara.

  This time he planned to tell her exactly what he wanted.

  When he reached the room where Evan slept, he shook hands with Ty and Jerome, happy to see Olivia had dispatched the guards so quickly.

  Once inside, Jeff’s heart filled. He loved his little boy more than life, and they were finally together again.

  He greeted his dad and asked, “Where’s Tara?” Had she left him already?

  Despite telling her he loved her when he thought they both might die, he hadn’t given her any reason to believe things between them had changed. He wasn’t sure they had, but he was leaning toward trying to carve out a future with her. If she’d have him and his son.

  “She went for a bathroom and coffee break. You just missed her.”

  “Oh.” Ridiculous to be disappointed that she wasn’t available the minute he wanted to see her. But he also didn’t like her walking around unprotected.

  If she could have waited for him… Except he hadn’t bothered to let her know he was on his way back, had he?

  His dad closed the book he’d been reading in the chair next to the bed where Evan slept. “She and Evan got along well.”

  Jeff met his dad’s gaze. “Oh, yeah?” he asked carefully.

  Dad smiled. “She was great with him. They talked and played games. I think he might be as smitten as you.”

  If he were honest, that was exactly what Jeff had been hoping for when he brought her here. Not insta-love, but the first step in a long process of getting Evan comfortable with the idea of having Tara around.

  Jeff sat hard in the recliner under the window and rubbed his face.

  “How’d the interview go?”

  “Fine. Exhausting.” Outside, a bird landed on a pine tree branch and peered in the window. “I know they’re just doing their job, and this case is a bit of a clusterf— uh, disaster, but how many times do they need to ask the same question before they’re satisfied with the answer?”

  Dad circled the bed and laid a hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “I’ve never been through anything like that, but I imagine it’s trying. Especially after all the emotional and physical blows you’ve taken this weekend.” He squeezed lightly. “I’m here fo
r you if you need to talk, or whatever.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it. Knowing you were with Evan made today easier.” Jeff sighed. “I’ll fill you in on the details when I’m not such a zombie.”

  The older man smiled. “Whenever you’re ready.” He glanced out the window. “You mind if I go for a quick walk around the building? I could use some fresh air.”

  “Of course not.”

  His dad stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Daddy?”

  Jeff stood and moved to Evan’s side. “Hey, bud. How’re you feeling?”

  “You came back.” Evan looked up at him earnestly.

  Trying not to take it personally, Jeff smiled. “Of course.”

  “Where’s Miss Tara?”

  “She went to the restroom.”

  “Oh.” Evan pouted. “I was afraid she went home without saying goodbye.”

  “Not yet, but soon.”

  Evan’s face screwed up. “Where’s she live again?”

  “Virginia.”

  “Is it far? Can we go there?”

  Jeff smiled. Apparently Evan also understood Tara’s appeal. “It’s not too far from here. It’s very far from Colorado, though.”

  He thought for a minute. “Does it snow in Vir-ja?” Evan loved the snow.

  At least he had when he was three, but what did Jeff know about what Evan loved? He’d been kept from him for months. “Sometimes. But it doesn’t have big mountains like Colorado.”

  “Oh. I like the mountains.”

  “Me too. But Virginia has other neat things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Rivers and streams. Lots of trees. And it’s close to where the President lives.”

  Evan’s eyes brightened. “Really? Wow. Can we go?”

  “Sure. We can stop there on our way home.”

  “And see Miss Tara?”

  Jeff chuckled even as his heart twisted. “If she’s available.” If she wanted to see him again. “Maybe Papa can come with us.”

  “Yay!” Evan looked around. “Where is Papa?”

  “He went for a walk. He’ll be back in a bit.”

  “Okay.” Evan toyed with his stuffed dog for a few minutes before looking at Jeff. “Do you like Miss Tara?”

  “I do. Very much.”

  “Do you want to marry her?”

  Jesus. “Maybe, Ev. But I’m more concerned about having time for you right now.”

  “She’s really pretty. And really nice.”

  Jeff couldn’t help but laugh. “True.”

  Evan straightened and in the authoritative voice that preschoolers seemed to have an automatic mastery of, said, “So you should marry her.”

  It couldn’t be this easy. “But then she’d have to live with us.”

  “I know,” Evan said, as if Jeff were an imbecile for pointing it out.

  “That wouldn’t bother you? You just met her.”

  Evan shook his head. “She’s nice.” Wiggling Pickles, he said, “I never get to say who I live with. I want to pick for myself.”

  Jeff swallowed past the bitterness that lodged in his throat. Hard to argue with a kid who’d been ripped away from the only dad he’d known and forced to live with Roy, who’d betrayed him in every way.

  “It’s not that simple, buddy. She might not want to live with us, no matter how much she likes us.”

  Evan frowned. “Tell her we’ll be really nice.”

  Jeff stroked his son’s hair. “She knows. But maybe she wants to live alone.”

  “Why?”

  “Some people like it better.” Jeff didn’t want to get Evan’s hopes up. Besides, Evan might be enamored of Tara now, but that didn’t mean he understood the long-term ramifications of Jeff’s getting serious about a woman. He was an impulsive four-year-old. He might decide tomorrow that he wanted his dad all to himself forever. “And her home is in Virginia. She might not want to move to Colorado.”

  “We could live in Virj-neeya.”

  Jeff half laughed, half sighed. Everything was simple when you were a kid, wasn’t it? “We’ll see.”

  “We can ask her when she comes back.”

  “I love your enthusiasm, but maybe we should wait a few days, okay? Give her some time to get used to us.” He glanced at his watch. Shouldn’t she have returned already? Her purse sat on the small desk built into the wall, so she was definitely still around.

  “She’s not back yet?” Dad asked with a frown as he strode into the room.

  “Maybe she’s reading on the toilet,” Evan said.

  Jeff laughed in spite of himself. “Could be, peanut. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  He checked his watch again, the back of his neck prickling. Under normal circumstances, he might not think her absence was a big deal. Maybe she’d wanted to stretch her legs, or she was on a phone call. But right now life was hardly normal. Under these circumstances, Tara would know he’d worry about her. He riffled through her purse and found her toiletry bag, wallet, and iPhone. “All she has with her is her burner phone, so she’s not fixing her makeup or buying food.”

  “Call her.” Dad glanced at Evan with a quick smile. “Maybe she got lost. This place is confusing.”

  Jeff tipped his head in acknowledgment, pulling out the phone to dial. “Come on, Tara.” He let it ring until it went to voicemail. He left a quick message, not at all confident she’d get it. “Hey, kiddo,” he said to Evan, keeping his voice as even as possible. There was a chance he was overreacting. “You think she’s lost?”

  The boy scrunched up his face in thought and then declared, “Probably. Maybe she’s not good at directions.”

  “Could be.” Jeff glanced at his dad, who gave him a slight nod.

  Evan’s brow wrinkled. “She might be scared.” He tightened his grip on Pickles. “I get scared when I’m lost.”

  “Me too.”

  “You do?” Evan’s eyes widened.

  Jeff nodded.

  “Can you go find her?”

  He kissed his son’s forehead. “I’m on it.”

  Keep her talking. Tara needed to distract this madwoman until someone came looking for her, or she figured out how to turn the tables.

  “What do you want from me?” Tara asked.

  Did she have anything on her she could use as a weapon? A means of distraction? Only her burner phone—which the woman hadn’t let her answer when it rang a minute before—and she’d probably get shot before she reached it anyway. Everything in the tastefully appointed gray bathroom was bolted to the wall. The only loose object within reach was a short stack of paper towels that had fallen from the dispenser.

  “I’d like for you to finally die.” The incognito blonde kept the gun trained on Tara’s torso as she sidestepped to the door and turned the deadbolt.

  Shit. So much for a serendipitous interruption. Think, Tara. Blood rushed in her ears and her fingers tingled. She’d had worse odds before. The woman was taller—not to mention armed with a deadly weapon—but Tara had a few skills.

  “You might want to reconsider. I gave the police the things you touched. Your fingerprints are bound to be on something.” Tara shifted an inch closer to the stalls. “My money’s on the envelope. Did you know paper holds fingerprints really well?” She’d read that somewhere recently. “Turns out the oils in your finger just soak right in and won’t rub off like on glass or plastic.”

  The blonde’s eyes narrowed. “It won’t matter. I can make evidence magically disappear.” She said it with such confidence. Whether or not it was true, she seemed to believe it, which made her dangerous as hell.

  Tara raised an eyebrow and tried to keep her breath steady. “Really? How?”

  Blondie gave her an indulgent look. “When you have enough money and power, you can do just about anything.”

  Point number two against Tara. This woman thought herself untouchable. “Who are you?”

  “You must not have caught the news.” She straightened. “I’m Muf
fin Davis Fitzhugh.”

  “Wow, three names. Impressive.”

  Muffin glared. “Nothing?”

  Tara gave her a blank look. “I guarantee I would have remembered the name Muffin. Did your parents own a bakery? Are your sisters Cupcake and Éclair?”

  Muffin turned bright red and she stepped forward in a flash to slap Tara across the face. “Shut your fucking mouth!” Spittle flew from her lips and she held the gun to Tara’s forehead. “I’ll have you know that I’m going to be the next First Lady of the United States.”

  Good God, I hope not. Tara’s heart threatened to jump from her chest. Before she could knock the gun away, Muffin took two steps back and gave herself a little shake, re-cloaking herself in the mantle of control.

  Something clicked in Tara’s brain. Holy shit. Was Muffin married to that misogynistic senator, something-or-other Fitzhugh from North Carolina?

  “The only thing standing in my way is you.” The picture of composure except for her rapid breathing, Muffin gave her a cruel smile. “Any last word—”

  Someone pounded on the bathroom door, drawing the woman’s attention.

  Tara jumped, grabbing for Muffin’s arm. They slipped on the tile, landing hard. “Oof.” Her hip slammed into the floor.

  She lost her grip, but the fall knocked the gun from Muffin’s hand, sending it into the corner.

  “Tara?” Jeff’s muffled voice came through the door.

  “Jeff!” She crawled toward the weapon. “Hel—”

  Muffin yanked her back by her ankle, clawing over her. “No,” Muffin said. “You will not ruin everything I’ve worked for.”

  Tara threw an elbow, connecting with something bony, pain radiating up her arm as Muffin cried out but didn’t stop crawling. Tara threw back her head and flailed, anything to stop the other woman’s progress.

  A key rattled in the lock. “She has a gun!” Tara yelled.

  The door slammed open with a loud thunk.

  Muffin scrambled off Tara. She grabbed the weapon and raised it toward Jeff, who crouched low in the doorway, ready to pounce.

  No! Tara pushed to one foot and dove for Muffin.