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Evan clasped his hands on top of the conference table and stared at TJ. He didn’t acknowledge the screen. Nor did he begin an explanation. He was throwing down another gauntlet. Whatever TJ wanted to know, he would have to ask. Across the table, TJ scowled back at him. Christ on toast, the toxic testosterone charging the air was exhausting. Someone had to be the adult in the room. Luckily for them, you could take the woman out of trauma surgery, but you couldn’t take the trauma surgeon out of the woman.
I stood and motioned for them to do the same. “Come on, on your feet, both of you.”
They glanced at me, then back at each other, then rose in unison.
“Good,” I said. Command, praise, next command. It all came back easily. “Next, you’re going to shake hands, the ancient ritual to ensure enemies were not armed.”
They stared at me.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “That was not a request.”
They looked at each other. Evan reached out his hand, then TJ followed suit. They grasped hands, then moved to grasp each other’s forearms, taking the ritual seriously. Whether they were doing it to placate me or in an honest move toward a truce, I did not know nor care. It was progress, and I would take it.
“Good,” I said. More praise. “Now, let’s sit down and proceed like the allies we are. The bad guys are the Carbonados, as proven by this,” I pointed to the bruise on my temple, which I knew from my earlier examination was puffy and purple and hideous, “and this,” I pointed to Evan’s bandaged arm. “In the interest of”—I hesitated, searching for the right words to make my point without offending either of these alphas—“efficiency, I’ll ask the questions.”
Evan arched an eyebrow. I didn’t know whether that meant amusement or annoyance, and while I cared a little about that, I ignored my curiosity.
“I think that’s a good idea,” TJ said.
I did know what that meant after working with TJ for so many years. It was a subtle reminder that he was in charge but was deferring to my expertise on the matter at hand. An image flashed through my mind of the expertise I’d already developed regarding Evan’s body. I cleared my throat loudly, hurting the soft tissue around my larynx, but that was fine. Whatever it took to keep all three of us focused so we could get through this meeting.
“No need to ask anything, Red,” Evan said. “Doctor,” he corrected, which stung for no good reason, since there was no future for us and no grounds for nicknames. He looked at TJ as he continued. “I’ll tell you what I know, which is what happened the night of April 7th, two years ago, at approximately 2200 hours central time.”
“It sounds like you have a very precise memory of this event,” TJ said. He leaned back in his chair, conveying calmness and patience.
Evan nodded. “It’s not every day you nearly put a man in the ground, at least not in my line of work.”
TJ nodded, not taking the bait at the dig at HEAT.
Evan leaned back as well, and the tension eased out of the air. “I got a call from my sister at about 2100 that night,” he said. “She was hiding in a ladies’ room at a sports bar where she and her”—he hesitated and frowned—“she and the doctor she was dating had stopped for a drink after work.”
I collapsed back in my chair. He hadn’t mentioned that Kerri’s abuser had been a doctor and coworker.
Evan glanced at me as if he’d read my mind. “She followed him here from Philly when he got a big job at Chicago General. She got a job at the same facility, at his insistence. Made it easier for him to keep his eye on her.”
“He sounds controlling,” TJ said.
“That’s an understatement,” Evan replied.
TJ nodded. I didn’t doubt that he immediately understood that Kerri’s doctor boyfriend had been a monster. “Go on,” he prompted. His tone was gentle.
Evan gripped his hands tighter, but continued. “By the time I got to the bar, Steve—the asshole doctor boyfriend—was banging on the restroom door, making a scene, telling the crowd his girlfriend was a drunk mess who was likely to hurt herself. To be clear, my sister never thought of hurting herself a day in her life. I found out after the incident that he’d been telling people that shit for years as an excuse when anyone saw her bruises. Bullshit like he’d inadvertently bruised her arms restraining her because she’d lunged for a kitchen knife to slit her wrists, or he’d accidentally marked her neck when stopping her from grabbing the steering wheel from him so she didn’t kill them both.”
Evan stopped to take a few deep breaths. I struggled for something to say that would make this easier for him, but for all my excellent bedside manner, I didn’t have soothing words for this occasion.
Evan stared down at his hands and continued. “Those stories were for other people in her life because Steve and Kerri both knew I didn’t believe a word of it. I thought I’d put an end to it in Philly when I threatened to restrain him by his throat the next time he touched my sister. Yet two weeks later, he had his new job in Chicago, and my sister packed her bags to follow him. It took me a month to settle my affairs and follow her. By the time I got here, he’d grown bolder with the abuse, since it was clear no one else was going to stop him. So when I got to the bar that night, I already knew—I’d known for a while—this was only going to end one way.”
“To be clear,” TJ interjected, “you weren’t a cop at this time?”
Evan shook his head. “I had an application in with Chicago PD and excellent references from Philly. But I didn’t have a badge, and the gun I put to his head in that bar wasn’t police issue.”
I stared at him, the scene from Kerri’s perspective etching itself on my brain. Kerri cowering in the ladies’ room. Her abuser terrifying her by pounding on the door and rousing the crowd to believe it was for her own good. And then her brother, prepared to blow a hole in the monster who might do anything, up to and including killing her.
“He talked a good game,” Evan said, “but I talked a better one, and I had the truth on my side. It was a slow night at the bar and there were only ten witnesses. It only took a couple of minutes before they were all on Kerri’s and my side. And then Steve threw a punch. I ducked. He missed me and put a hole in the wall and broke his hand. I kneed him in the ‘nads and he dropped like a cement block. But he had attacked me first and I had ten witnesses who were all ready to tell the cops I’d acted in self-defense.”
“And that’s when you thought about shooting him,” I said quietly.
Evan looked at me, his eyes slowly clearing, as if just remembering I was in the room. “Not just shooting him. Ending him. I did the mental calculation. With the witnesses and the evidence of the physical altercation, I knew the DA wouldn’t charge higher than manslaughter and I gave myself fifty-fifty odds of beating that charge, too.”
