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his hand, he called Kate. She picked up immediately.
“I’m downstairs.”
“I’ll make sure they let you right up.”
Jude had no doubt his tone set off warning signals in her head so that she jumped on clearing him. He barely made it to the elevator when the attendant greeted him and said, “Miss Stockman is expecting you.”
Jude knew the attendant wore an earpiece to stay on top of all the comings and goings in the building. He’d found it reassuring when he’d learned of this, thinking Kate could very easily wind up in a precarious position with one of her patients, depending on how disturbed they were and how much they projected their angst onto Kate.
If they happened to follow her home…
Jude couldn’t think of that at the moment. It’d be just one more dagger that penetrated too deep.
He tapped his toe impatiently as the car rose. Not fast enough for Jude. His secret war waged within him and his already too-tense body was practically stone when he finally stepped onto Kate’s floor.
He marched down the long hallway to her end unit and she pulled open the door just as he reached it.
Kate didn’t say a word, just moved out of the way, allowing him to cross the threshold.
Jude had been in her place a few times for in-home sessions. Mostly when he was too amped up to wait until morning to see her and she’d insisted he come to her. All that security surrounding her—the cameras outside her foyer and the state-of-the-art system—gave her comfort, he was sure.
Jude was grateful for that, yet would eternally contend she shouldn’t give out her home address. Even to him.
All moot at this point. And she’d told him it was a rare occasion when she divulged that sort of information or acquiesced to an unexpected visitor making it this close to her.
He supposed he should be thankful she trusted him that much. But even that didn’t fully register within Jude.
He preceded her into the main living room. Kate’s apartment was sophisticatedly appointed, but also intimately homey, with lots of plush chairs and sofas and two adjoining walls of windows that showcased the Manhattan skyline. A suspended staircase in a far corner led to her loft/bedroom. Jude’s gaze lifted to that space. Though he innately knew they’d never make it that far. Kate circled around to face him and asked, “Hot tea?”
Jude actually laughed, gruff though it was. “You know I don’t drink hot tea, Kate.”
“Scotch, then.” She walked over to the wet bar, but spared a few glances at him over her shoulder along the way.
“I need to show you something,” he told her without preamble.
“Show me?” Her expression turned quizzical.
“You’ll understand.”
“Okay.” She fixed his scotch and poured a glass of wine for herself. She joined him in the center of the room, in front of a sofa and coffee table. She handed him his drink and sipped hers. Then said, “I had a feeling you’d hit a wall soon.”
“Been trying to scale it since this case started.”
“Tell me.”
With a nod, Jude said, “I can’t get my closing argument out of my head and onto paper—or even a recording. And it’s a fucking brilliant one, Kate. One of my best yet. So damn good…the plaintiff will go down in flames. Problem with that? There’s nothing left of the man to incinerate.”
“Jude.” The cords of her neck pulled taut. “What the hell?”
15
“He’s completely wrecked, Kate. Destroyed on a level even I can’t comprehend. I mean, I can, but… No.” Jude’s brow furrowed as anger roiled through him. “I know what destroyed me. I was there. I witnessed it. This guy… Fuck.”
Jude took a deep sip, then pulled the strap from his shoulder and slung his bag over the arm of the sofa. He released the clasp and yanked out a photo. The one that had tormented him for weeks.
Thrusting it at Kate, he said, “This is all Nathaniel Stevens has. The only testament or solidification or…whatever justification needed to demonstrate what happened to his wife. This woman he loved, who went to work one day and never came home.”
Kate stepped forward, never one to shy away from the grim and gritty. The very reason Jude was here tonight.
