| |
Annapolis, Maryland
Friday, July 11
––––––––
LIZ WAS IN the middle of a strategy meeting when she received a call from reception. Her three o’clock had arrived early, could she come down and get her? Liz told reception she didn’t have a three o’clock.
“Says her name is Jacci Wilcox.”
“Tell her I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Jack’s aunt was waiting for Liz outside the building, pacing back and forth in the stifling summer heat. Dark clouds hung low in the sky. The air was humid enough to predict rain. But Jacci Wilcox Coyote hadn’t broken a sweat. The hotter it was, the better she liked it.
It had been years since Liz first met Jack’s adoptive mother. Except for extra silver running through the dark curls of her hair and several worry lines webbing her eyes, the woman hadn’t changed. Her wide intelligent brow, piercing eyes, and straight posture were exactly as Liz remembered. She hadn’t liked Liz then, and from her expression, liked her less now. Her eyes were as turbulent as the cumulous skies up above, but with one difference. Clouds were relatively harmless.
She said, “I noticed a coffee shop down the street.”
After they settled in a booth, steaming cups nestled in their hands, a fan whop-whopping above them, and the place buzzing with conversations, Jacci said what she came to say. “You do know Jack is innocent.” Hers wasn’t merely a statement of fact. It was a challenge. “Then you do know he didn’t do this thing.”
Jacci hadn’t expected Liz’s reaction. She probably thought the ex-girlfriend of her son still held a grudge. Far from it. Liz waited for the coup de grâce. The woman had gotten in touch with her for a reason, and it wasn’t to discuss Jack’s guilt or innocence. She wanted something from her, something she couldn’t give.
“What are you going to do about it?”
Liz opened her hands in a helpless gesture. “There’s nothing I can do about it, as much as I might want to.”
Jacci Coyote was anything but a pushover. For all her forcefulness, she never raised her voice or lost her temper. She didn’t have to. The woman was made of cast iron. And she knew how to express herself without histrionics. “There must be something you can do, influence you can bring to bear, information you can shed light on.”
“I wish there were. Truly.” Liz said the words lamely, robotically, as if there wasn’t an ounce of strength left inside her, as if she had lost herself. For days she had been roiling with emotions, some having to do with loving Jack despite everything that had gone before, others having to do with helplessness in a hopeless situation, and still others having to do with her precarious position at the Firm and the blind loyalty she was expected to demonstrate. “I only know what I read in the papers. He’s being charged with murder in the first degree. To be honest, that’s the least of his problems.”
Jacci leaned forward, her eyes expectant. “Why? What have you heard?
“The FBI is launching an investigation.”
“Shit,” she said, letting out the single syllable in a drawn-out utterance of heartbreak. She sat back, considering the implications, balancing the possibilities, and weighing the likelihood of further indictments coming down the road. “What do they have on him?”
“Something that goes beyond murder. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but ....” There was no way around it but to be direct. “May I remind you where he worked, what he did, and the kind of information he had access to?”
“Treason,” Jacci stated as if it were already an established fact. “Espionage. Is that what you’re implying? You think Jack sold out?”
“I have no way of knowing one way or another.”
“Listen to yourself. So cool. So collected. So damned calculating.”
Liz started to leave, but Jacci’s voice stopped her.
“You didn’t do Jack any favors by bringing him in. Digging ditches would have been more honorable.”
“Go home, Aunt Jacci. There’s nothing you can do for him here.”
“Jack is fighting for his life. Every minute of every hour, he’s fighting for his life. Or don’t you give a damn?”
“I give more than a damn.” The words came out vapidly, without conviction or emotion. She could hear the flatness in her voice, even if it wasn’t how she really felt. Tears sprang to her eyes, but damn it, she wasn’t going to cry for Jack Coyote, now or ever again, and certainly not in front of his aunt. “I love him, too, you know.” Amid the buzzing talk surrounding them, her words were nearly inaudible. She hadn’t meant to say them, but there they were, out in the open. Liz L loves Jack C ... engraved inside a Cupid’s heart.
Jacci reached across the table and covered her hand, the touch warm and unexpectedly comforting. “I remember how silly in love both of you were. What the hell happened?”
Liz slipped her hand out from beneath the coolness of the older woman’s touch. “I’m sorry, Aunt Jacci, but his fate is sealed. There’s nothing anybody can do about it.” Her voice was her own again, composed and detached.
“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Jacci gathered her purse and stood, stiffening her already stiff spine. “I’ll drive you back.”
“I can walk.” After Jacci Coyote left, Liz lingered, feeling alone and frightened. The past was littered with ashes. The future was a vague notion. Only the present remained, along with dry tears for a man she once loved. Still loved. Would always love.
