The First Wife. Tara Quinn Taylor
with him as he represented abused women seeking freedom.
“I’ve seen you happy, worried, angry and exhausted, but I’ve never seen you look so…lost.”
She felt lost. And utterly alone.
“Obviously something serious has happened. What I can’t figure out is why you aren’t talking to me about it.”
At her silence, his expression intensified.
“I thought we could tell each other anything.”
Not quite. But almost.
“Have I done something to…”
“No! Oh, God, no, Brad. You… I… You’re my best friend.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then, why don’t you tell Uncle Brad what’s got you so distracted that you completely missed my last three attempts at conversation?” His words, while cloaked in levity, increased the tension tightening her chest.
Funny how one phone call could undo years’ worth of moving on.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to recall anything he’d been talking about during the lunch stop.
“Don’t be sorry. Just tell me what’s wrong.” He sat forward, feet on the ground, his arms resting on his knees.
“Did your doctor say something? Are you sick?”
He knew she’d been for her yearly physical a few weeks before.
“No.” She shook her head. “I’m in perfect health.” Physically, at least. And she was determined to be so mentally and emotionally, too. She’d fought too hard to let someone else win now.
“You got another threat, then,” he guessed. It was a testament to how rattled she was by the call she’d received that morning that she hadn’t thought once about the threats. She’d received a couple of pieces of anonymous mail at work, one each for the past two weeks.
Do what’s right or else.
Until this morning, the threats had occupied her thoughts almost constantly. She’d read the words countless times, trying to figure out what they meant. What they referred to.
And hated that she came up blank.
“No,” she said. “Though I got a call from the police yesterday. They found no fingerprints other than mine and Marge’s on the letters. The envelopes had been handled by so many people they couldn’t identify any thing. They’ve talked to everyone and didn’t find anything.” Which hadn’t been a surprise to her. She knew her staff. If any of them had a problem with her, they’d talk to her face-to-face.
“So what happens now?”
“They’re running a search for similar crimes on other magazines, particularly those dealing with women’s issues. They’re also checking into relatives, spouses and ex-spouses of the women at Durango.”
Jane wasn’t all that upset by a check on the women’s shelter where she and Brad both volunteered. Extra police protection wasn’t a bad thing when you were afraid for your life.
“What about you? Do they think it’s safe to continue going into the office?”
“I can’t not work.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“They’re running extra patrols around the office, and around my house, too. And they suggested I hire someone….”
“And did you?”
“Marge made some calls. Found a guy who’s going to be starting on Monday at Twenty-Something.”
“What about at home?”
“In the first place, I can’t afford a round-the-clock private bodyguard,” Jane said. “In the second place, the danger is clearly at the office—even the police think so. I haven’t received any threats at home. And in the third place, I couldn’t stand to have someone shadowing my every move. I’d rather take my chances.”
Brad didn’t look entirely convinced. “So why couldn’t you tell me about this?”
“I just forgot….” As soon as the words slipped out, Jane wished she could take them back. Brad would’ve been satisfied with the threats as the reason for her unusual mental absenteeism.
Brad stood up. “Forgot?” He shook his head. “What’s going on, Jane?”
As Jane thought about the phone call from the Ohio prosecutor, she tried to figure out what she could tell Brad. Brad Manchester might be determined to live footloose and fancy-free, but he was also one of the most decent men she’d ever known. He truly cared.
And while he dated a lot of women, maybe because there were so many of them, Jane was the one he turned to when he needed a friend.
He wanted to return the favor.
She didn’t blame him. She didn’t blame anyone.
Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she should blame her creep of an ex-husband. Or the woman who’d stolen him away from her.
Except… Lee Anne was… And James was… Jane did blame herself.
When she could stand the internal cacophony no longer, Jane jumped up, stepping over the backpack she’d worn on the hike. She stopped a couple of feet from the ledge directly in front of them. It wasn’t a sharp drop, but it was the high point of the property. It seemed as though they were in heaven up here. At the top of the world. And for as far as she could see there was nothing but green, trees, hills, brush, grass and wildflowers. Wilderness.
No pavement. No cars. No people.
No subterfuge.
Sometimes, looking into Brad’s deep brown eyes was a lot like standing there at the top of the world. They’d managed to rise above life’s complications to form a bond that was near perfect.
He was the truest friend she’d ever had.
“I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust you,” she blurted.
Her career she had down pat. But not this.
Not being emotionally vulnerable. Or out of control.
Jane continued to survey the world. “I… This is just something I have to handle on my own.”
“You sure about that?”
Hell, no. She wasn’t sure about much of anything at the moment. Except that she had to be strong, had to take care of herself.
“This is me you’re talking to, Jane. I’m on your side, remember?”
There really was no reason to panic. She’d had a phone call. A blast from the past. Nothing that affected the woman she’d become. Nothing that affected her life today.
And the threats—she’d hired protection for herself and her staff. The police were working diligently on that investigation.
“Maybe I can help.” Brad was just a few feet away.
Her only close friend. A lawyer. The best.
“I got a call this morning.” The statement could have been random.
“Who from?” He’d come closer.
“A prosecutor. In Ohio. Chandler, Ohio.”
“That’s where your ex moved after your divorce, isn’t it?”
“Right.” It didn’t surprise her that he’d remembered a detail he’d heard only once—one night when they’d shared a bottle of wine and exchanged divorce horror stories. “James has been charged with murder. They want me to testify.”
Two short sentences.