Brenda
Brenda Phillips leaned back in her Ethan Allen leather chair in her corner office of her firm. Her personal office resembled her home—classy, elegant, expensive. She’d worked for it, and she deserved it. But the Complaint on her desk in front of her kept her from simply enjoying the power that her office represented. As the attorney for Austin General Hospital—and as the attorney who had given the advice that was the subject of the suit—she was the one served. She’d expected it. That didn’t mean she liked it. It was going to be a bitch of a trial, and it could turn public opinion even stronger against the abortion law she’d helped push.
She hated that she wouldn’t be handling the matter—that the hospital would have to hire someone else to represent them. At least she’d managed to persuade Tom to change his records to conceal his own role—and hers.
She’d managed to keep the case out of the press so far—the Complaint was under seal—but that wouldn’t last.
Poor Tom. Had he really been that upset that a patient had died? Pregnant women died all the time—and doctors had to harden themselves to live with that fact. Had he really been that weak?
Could he have been upset at the end of their affair? That would be flattering at least. She permitted herself a brief memory of sex with him. He had been a considerate and gentle lover, and they’d had a five-month passionate affair that had threatened Brenda’s comfortable world.
But he’d ended it. Not her.
So why would he kill himself over it?
He wouldn’t.
Tom had been a good doctor who loved his wife—despite cheating on her—and doted on his son, which was more than she could say about her feelings for her own family.
Her husband Roland was a decent person, but he was also an unambitious slug. Her daughter was fat and rebellious. Her son Kevin was delightful, but she could only take any child in small doses. She knew herself well, and one of her faults was that she was not the maternal type.
She cared about her children, even sullen Christina, but she didn’t want to spend her life taking care of them. That’s why having a housekeeper who did the majority of the childcare was so important, and she hoped the woman she’d just hired, Mindy whoever—Brenda had already forgotten her last name—would do an adequate job.
But her family was familiar, and her life was comfortable. While she had lost whatever small passion she’d once had for Roland, she didn’t hate him. And beyond how she felt about her family, she liked what a strong family image got her. She was a respected if not feared attorney. And she hoped to parlay that position to get herself elected to a statewide office. Senator. Governor. Eventually President? Anything was possible for someone with her drive and intelligence. All she had to do was play the game.
Still, had Tom asked, she might have thrown everything away to be with him.
But he didn’t.
And then he killed himself.
Making love to Tom had been exhilarating, transporting her to a state of bliss that she’d only experienced with one other man—whom she’d discarded for the rich and connected Roland.
She’d felt regret and sadness at Tom’s death, as she had in leaving passion behind for Roland, but at least their affair hadn’t come out. So far, so good.
What she didn’t feel was guilt. She was not responsible for whatever had driven him to take his own life.
Her gaze fell on the Complaint. Could the prospect of being sued—and his destruction of evidence at her urging—have anything to do with his suicide?
Maybe it wasn’t being sued that drove him to it—maybe it was penance. She’d persuaded him to change his records to hide the fact that he’d examined Ashley Wise the day before she died and then sent her home until her situation worsened. It was illegal to alter the records, but it was necessary, both to fight the inevitable malpractice charge, and to avoid damaging the pro-life cause. With the alteration of the records, the evidence would indicate only that Ashley had waited too long to seek help. There would be no documentary proof that Tom had refused a medically necessary abortion—on Brenda’s advice—and that refusal had ended with the woman’s death.
If guilt over changing the records was the reason for Tom’s suicide, maybe then his death wasn’t a tragedy. Maybe it was a blessing. He would have been a liability.
She glanced at the clock. Four-thirty. Her next appointment would be coming in the door at any time. She hid the Complaint in her desk drawer, shutting it tight just as a light knock on the door announced the arrival of her visitor. Her secretary opened to door to let him in and then disappeared.
John Petersen marched inside and plopped into the green armchair in front of her desk.
John was lean, with high cheekbones, dark hair, and blue eyes. He had the kind of looks that some women found irresistible. Brenda, who’d dated John in high school, told herself that she was not one of them—not now—although seeing him always gave her a quivery thrill of memory. Back in the day, the sex had been spectacular, but she’d realized that she wanted more out of life than he could offer. She’d given him up for Roland’s money and family connections, but now, as the darling of the pro-life community, he was useful. Even if he did have a dangerous reputation.
“Did you get a copy of the proposed legislation?” He leaned back, stretching out long legs. “Georgina drafted it. “
Georgina Crane, the head of the Texas wide pro-life organization of which Brenda was a prominent member, paid John a salary for unspecified duties as her second-in-command.
“I saw it.”
“And?”
“It’s good but no. It’s not going anywhere. Not now.” Brenda folded arms on her desk.
He frowned at her. “What do you mean ‘not now’?”
“I mean—we are getting push-back already from average people with the laws that are already in place. We put in a bill to ban abortion even in the case of a life-threatening emergency for the mother—and people will go nuts.”
“We need to do this. Women don’t die from being pregnant in this day and age.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake. I told you about the case at Austin General.”
He snorted. “You also told me that she waited too long to go to the hospital. That’s why she died. Not because she was denied an abortion.”
John knew the prettified explanation.
“Still, she died. And there’s a court case coming. The Complaint may be under seal for now, but once we go to trial—it’ll be all over the news.”
“Think of how many babies that haven’t died because of the new laws. How many will not die once we’ve made all abortions illegal.”
The funny thing was that Brenda didn’t actually like babies. They were smelly, demanding, and taking care of them was mind-bogglingly boring. But the cause had been a good one to latch onto, and it had helped her politically. “Dead mothers are not a strong selling point.”
“Women should be willing to give their lives for their children.” He shifted in his seat. “Women have forgotten their roles in life.”
“Like me?”
“You’re married. You’ve had children, and you’re working for the cause. So I’m not opposed to your being a lawyer.”
As if he had a right to be opposed to whatever she did. But she knew better than to say anything of the sort. “Maybe you should spend more time thinking about ways to prevent women from getting abortion pills or going to other states.”
He chuckled softly. “I’m already doing that.”
She didn’t want to know how or what he was doing. There had been an activist who’d been helping pregnant women go out of state who’d been killed by a hit-and-run two days earlier. The police had no suspects.
John was perfectly capable of killing in the name of the cause. She didn’t like it, but as long as she had no actual knowledge of his committing a crime, she didn’t have to do anything.
A different thought occurred to her. “John, you didn’t have anything to do with Tom Martin’s death, did you?”
This time he laughed out loud. “The police were ahead of you, Brenda. They already checked me out. I was miles away when he died. Anyway, I had no reason to go after him. Not now. He’d stopped killing babies. And you’d stopped fucking him—which was the only other thing I had against him.”
“My personal life is none of your business.”
He raised his hands in a sign of acceptance. “Maybe not. But I love you, Brenda. Always have.”
“You need to find yourself a wife.”
John shrugged. “I’d have to find someone I care enough about to tie me down. I have girls when I want them. You’re the one, Brenda. You’ll always be the one.”
Brenda could have commented on the fact that as an antiabortion activist, John was a little careless about what he did with his sperm but decided against it. “You’re a friend, but that’s it.”
“I know. I respect marriage and family. It has to be a life commitment, which is why I’ve never married. Still waiting for my soulmate. It’s also why I haven’t pushed with you. Then I find out that you’re fucking some doctor—it did make me mad.”
“Are you stalking me, John?”
“No.” But his eyes shifted, a tell?
Was he lying about stalking her? An unpleasant thought. She liked that he continued to find her attractive, but not if he posed a danger to her personally.
“But I do take an interest,” he said. “As far as how I knew—I have connections with like-minded hospital staff. They know everything about doctors.”
That some busybody nurse or doctor would know about the affair was almost as bad. “Who?”
He smiled and waved away the question.
“I need to know who I can trust. I have a husband suing the hospital—and me—for his wife’s death—and I can’t have rogue nurses blabbing to investigators.”
“No one’s going to blab, and you’ll handle the lawsuit like you handle everything else. Like a champ.” He pushed his lean frame out of the chair. “If you ever need me to do anything, all you have to do is ask. I can take care of this lawsuit.”
She knew that. If necessary, she’d play that card.