“I’ll be right back.”
Lena kept her head up as she walked down the hallway. There were a couple of Grant County patrolmen standing vigil outside the ICU waiting room. Inside, she could see local Macon cops milling around. Frank Wallace was nowhere to be seen. More than likely he was bellied up at a bar trying to drink the bad taste out of his mouth. It was probably best for her not to see him right now. If he’d been standing in the hallway, she would’ve called him out on his drinking, his lies—everything that she’d been ignoring for the past four years. No more. After today, Lena’s knee-jerk loyalty to the man was gone for good.
At least Gavin Wayne, the Macon chief of police, was there. He nodded as Lena walked by. A few weeks ago, he had talked to Lena about joining his force. She was picking up Jared from his shift because his truck was in the shop. Lena had liked Chief Wayne all right, but Macon was a huge, sprawling city. Wayne was more politician than policeman. He was nothing like Jeffrey, an obstacle that had seemed insurmountable when he’d mentioned a job.
Lena pushed open the door of the ladies’ room, glad to find it empty. She turned on the cold faucet. Water ran through her hands. She had washed them a thousand times but the blood—Brad’s blood as well as her own—was still stuck under her fingernails.
She had been shot in the hand. The bullet had taken a chunk of skin off the outside edge of her palm. Lena had doctored it herself, using the first aid kit at the station. Oddly, there hadn’t been much blood. Maybe the heat of the bullet had cauterized the wound. Still, it took three overlapping Band-Aids to cover it up. At first the pain was manageable, but now that the shock had worn off, her whole hand throbbed. She couldn’t have anyone at the hospital look at it. Gunshot wounds had to be reported. Lena would have to call in a favor for some antibiotics so she didn’t get an infection.
At least it was her left hand. She reached toward the faucet with her good hand and added hot water to the cold. Lena felt filthy. She wet a paper towel, added some soap from the dispenser, and washed under her arms. She kept going, giving herself a whore’s bath at the sink. How long had she been up? Brad’s call about the body in the lake came around three this morning. The last time she’d checked a clock, it was coming up on ten in the evening. No wonder she was punch-drunk from exhaustion.
“Lee?” Jared Long stood in the doorway. He was dressed in his motorcycle patrol uniform. His boots were scuffed. His hair was a mess. Lena’s heart jumped at the sight of him.
The words rushed from her mouth. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“My squad came over to donate blood.” He let the door close behind him. It felt like forever as he crossed the room and took her into his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder. She fit into him like a puzzle being solved. “I’m so sorry, baby.”
She wanted to cry, but nothing was left inside.
“I nearly died when I heard one of you got hurt.”
“I’m okay.”
He took her hand in his, saw the Band-Aids she had used to cover her wound. “What happened?”
She pressed her face against his chest again. She could hear his heart beating. “It was bad.”
“I know, baby.”
“No,” she said. “You don’t know.” Lena pulled back, still letting him hold her. She wanted to tell him what had really happened—not what the reports would say, not what the newspapers would be told. She wanted to confess her complicity, to unburden her soul.
But when she looked into his deep brown eyes, words failed.
Jared was ten years younger than she was. She thought of him as pure and perfect. He didn’t have crow’s feet or lines around his mouth. The only scar on his body came from a bad tackle during a high school football game. His parents were still happily married. His younger sister worshipped him. He was the exact opposite of Lena’s type. The exact opposite of any man she had ever been with.
She loved him so much that it frightened her.
He said, “Tell me what happened.”
She settled on half of the truth. “Frank was drunk. I didn’t realize how much until …” She shook her head. “Maybe I just haven’t been paying attention. He’s been drinking a lot lately. He can usually handle it, but …”
“But?”
“I’m through,” Lena told him. “I’m going to resign. I’ve got some vacation time coming. I just need to get my head clear.”
“You can move in with me until you figure out what to do.”
“I’m serious this time. I’m really quitting.”
“I know you are, and I’m glad.” Jared put his hands on her shoulders so he could look at her. “But, right now, I just wanna take care of you. You’ve had a hard day. Let me be there for you.”
She relented easily. The thought of handing over the next few hours of her life to Jared seemed like the best gift in the world. “You go first. I’ll check in on Brad and then follow you in my car.”
He tilted up her chin and kissed her mouth. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He reached for the door just as it opened. Frank stood stock-still, staring at Jared as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered. She could smell the whisky on him from five feet away.
“Go,” Lena told Jared. “I’ll meet you back at the house.”
Jared wasn’t so easily directed. He stood his ground, glaring at Frank.
“Please go,” she begged him. “Jared. Please.”
He finally moved his gaze from Frank to Lena. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” she told him. “Just go.”
Reluctantly, he left. Frank stared after him so long that Lena had to close the door before he would look away.
“What the hell are you doing?” Frank demanded. He had to keep his hand on the wall to steady himself. “How old is he?”
“It’s none of your damn business.” Still, she told him, “He’s twenty-five.”
“He looks ten,” Frank countered. “How long have you been seeing him?”
Lena wasn’t in the mood to answer questions. “What are you doing here, Frank? You can barely stand up straight.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Did you drive here? Don’t answer that.” She didn’t want to think about how many lives he had risked climbing behind the wheel.
“Is the kid okay?”
He meant Brad. “They don’t know. He’s stable for now. Have you had anything to drink today that didn’t have alcohol in it?”
Frank’s footing was off. He didn’t go to the sink so much as fall into it.
Lena turned on the water for him. She had a flash of her childhood, her uncle Hank so drunk that he’d pissed himself. She tried to separate her emotions, to distance herself from the anger she was feeling. It didn’t work. “You smell like a bar.”
“I keep thinking about what happened.”
“Which part?” she asked, leaning down so that her face was close to his. “The part where we didn’t identify ourselves as cops or the part where we nearly shot a boy for holding up a letter opener?”