Free Fatal Judgment by Irene Hannon Page B

entirely on her, had he overlooked his own culpability? He’d known his friend was down. Was there something more he could have done to offer support and help avert the tragedy?
    The brake lights on the Suburban flashed as the signal in the intersection ahead changed from yellow to red. Jake slowed as well. And redirected his disturbing train of thought. He was too tired for heavy introspection.
    But he couldn’t stop the little niggle in his conscience that prodded him to admit that maybe—just maybe—he might have been a bit too harsh in his assessment of Liz Michaels.
    And perhaps a bit too lenient with himself.

     
    The silence was oppressive.
    Closing her phone, Liz leaned back on the low-slung gray couch in the living room, wishing she had more calls to return. More arrangements to make. It was easier dealing with logistics than facing the stark quiet of the impersonal, furnished condo she now called home.
    Not that it was a bad place. The open floor plan gave a sense of spaciousness to the compact, two bedroom unit. The living room merged into the dining area, which in turn gave way to a galley-sized kitchen. Modern art hung on the walls, providing the only color in the otherwise neutral palette. The sleek lines were pleasing to the eye, and the furnishings were elegant and sophisticated.
    But the decorating didn’t fit her tastes.
    And it sure didn’t feel like home.
    Maybe the marshals could help her add a few cozy touches, if she asked. They’d been more than accommodating in stocking the kitchen this afternoon with the items on the list she’d compiled at their request.
    However, she hoped she wouldn’t be here long enough for the decor to matter much. Once they found Alan, she could go home.
    Except the thought of returning to her rental house held no appeal, either. How could she ever go into the family room again without seeing the image of Stephanie’s blood?
    Determined to switch gears, she rose and walked over to the picture window. There was probably a great panorama of downtown from this room, if she could see it. The vertical blinds had been closed since she’d arrived, and she’d been told to leave them that way. A quick peek couldn’t hurt, though, could it?
    She lifted her hand to tilt one of the slats—just as the doorbell rang. With a gasp, she jerked back. Talk about weird timing.
    Doing her best to calm her racing pulse, she crossed the room and checked the peephole, as she’d been instructed to do. Jake stood on the other side, juggling a pizza box. He’d left a few hours ago, after a thorough inspection of the condo and the command post—the CP, as he’d called it—had satisfied him the security precautions were adequate.
    He hadn’t said he’d be back, but somehow she wasn’t surprised by his reappearance. He struck her as the kind of guy who took his job seriously and didn’t punch time clocks. She could relate.
    She was surprised, however, by the pizza.
    Unlatching the dead bolt, she twisted the handle and opened the door.
    Now that she had a view of him undistorted by the fish-eye lens in the peephole, she found herself taking another kind of inventory. And liking the results. The shadows under his eyes had faded, and based on his clean-shaven jaw and still-damp hair, it was obvious he’d showered and shaved. He’d also changed clothes. Tonight he wore nice-fitting jeans and a cotton shirt rolled to the elbows. The agents in the CP wore suits, meaning he must be paying an off-duty visit.
    “I wanted to stop by and check on things before I called it a night. May I come in?”
    “Of course.” She edged aside, and once he cleared the threshold she closed the door and twisted the dead bolt.
    “Any problems?”
    “No. It’s been very quiet here.”
    “That’s our goal.” He hefted the box. “Can I interest you in some pizza?”
    Her appetite had been nonexistent all day. But the aromas wafting from the box caused her stomach to growl.
    As heat rose in her cheeks,