That’s why Jane had been so nervous. Jake watched her at the apartment door, finger on the intercom. “Peter?” Peter Hardesty? That’s why she kept looking at the mantel clock. Drinking her wine so quickly. Fussing with her robe. At least she wasn’t wearing a towel. She’d been waiting for Peter Hardesty. Which explained why she’d refused to look at him at the Sandoval hearing. Which proved Jake had been right the first time.
“Ah, Peter?” She put one hand on the doorjamb, leaning toward the intercom. Jake couldn’t see her face.
Pretending she hadn’t expected him? Jake slugged down the last of his Cabernet, clattered it back on the table. No matter how tonight’s ridiculous encounter ended, there was no way for him to leave without Hardesty seeing him. Unless he hid in the bedroom. He snorted, laughing. Like some TV sitcom. On TV, interloper Hardesty would discover the hiding Jake, the laugh track increasing, when the guy carried Jane to her bedroom. Dumb cop, ha-ha, finally going for it, getting the guffaws when the fancy lawyer shows up.
But this was real life, and the personal shit was about to hit the fan. Jake’s own fault, really. For stopping by. For assuming Jane would be alone, and available, while he’d gone to D.C. Seemed like Jane had quickly found alternative plans.
“It’s not a good time,” Jane was saying. She turned to Jake, eyes wide, put up a palm. Hang on. “I’m in my-in for the night.”
“My apologies,” the voice said. “Just took a chance.”
Peter Hardesty, no question. It appeared all three of them had secrets.
Jake took a deep breath. Was he overreacting? Jane had every right to see whoever she wanted, he was just surprised, and well, disappointed, that she’d-but now she seemed to be sending the guy away.
“We’ll talk tomorrow, then, Jane,” Hardesty’s voice was all business, Jake had to admit, not like a disappointed suitor. “I’ll leave a package by the mailboxes, okay?”
“Package?” Jane said. She looked at Jake, shrugging. No idea.
“No big deal,” Hardesty said. “Talk to you tomorrow. Thanks.”
“Thanks.”
Jane turned back to Jake, leaned against the door as the intercom went silent. She clasped her hands under her chin, wincing. “Well,” she said. “That was awkward.”
What on earth was Peter doing? Why had the irony gods instructed him to show up right when Jake was saying-whatever he was saying?
“Don’t you want to get the package?” Jake hadn’t sat in the chair again, clearly he was on the verge of leaving. Which she didn’t, didn’t want to happen.
“I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s probably about the Sandoval case we’re working to-” She paused, trying to assess whether she’d said too much.
“I saw you in court today,” Jake said. Still standing. “Why wouldn’t you look at me?”
“Why wouldn’t you look at me?” Jane said. She sat on the couch again. Maybe if she went back to status quo, he’d take the cue.
“Jake?”
He sat, but all the way at the other end of the couch. Arms crossed. “The Sandoval case is confidential. Sorry.”
“So what else is new, right?” Jane had to keep him talking, find out what was wrong. “We’re all about confidential, right? But if we can’t trust each other, who can we trust?”
Jake gave a half-shrug. “Maybe Peter Hardesty?”
“Yeah, interesting, huh?” At least he was changing the subject, had picked up his wine. Good. “How about that Gordon Thorley? He pulls out a knife, I go to the cop shop with-”
“Peter Hardesty,” Jake said. “Imagine. You two seem to have quite the late-night thing.”
Jane frowned. Felt her shoulders slump. Thing? Where was Jake going with this? “Well, he’s the lawyer for Gordon Thorley, sure. And also the lawyer for Elliot Sandoval. So it makes sense that-hey. What do you mean, ‘late night’?”
She watched Jake finish his wine, consider it, pour another glass. His third, if she was counting, and she was of course, which is how she knew she’d only had two glasses herself. Or so. Why was he suddenly interested in Peter Hardesty?
“Late night? Jake? Come on, you don’t really think-”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “I leave town. For the job. I miss you. I call you. You’re not here. And where are you? In the middle of the night? At Hardesty’s apartment. And one of you is wearing a towel.”
Jane stood, hands on hips. Mouth open. “Jacob Dellacort Brogan, you are such a big-” She scratched her head, trying to decide what he was. “I can’t decide whether to be bullshit angry, or, or-”
She shook her head, sat down right next to him. “You’re jealous. You are so cute when you’re jealous. Come on, Jake. We were about to jet off into the sunset, and you think I’d-”
“Well…”
“Ha. You’re blushing. I love it.” Jane poked him in the arm. So that’s what this all was about. She held up three fingers, girl scout. “It’s all business,” she said. “Like your oh-so-whirlwind ‘trip to D.C.’ was all business, right?”
“It was, if you’d let me-”
“So why didn’t you-”
“The Sandoval arrest.”
Oh. Jane thought this through. Maybe she was the jealous one?
“Okay. Okay,” she said. “Truce? No more D.C. cracks, but no more ridiculous Peter Hardesty stuff. It’s completely business.”
Jake raised his glass. Deal.
“Deal,” Jane continued. “Now, Mr. Jealous, shall we start over? I’m still packed, you know.”
“Maybe try on that bathing suit?” Jake was finally smiling. “Now?”
“You wish, buddy,” Jane said. “So. Speaking of your trip to Washington.” Something in her brain was working hard, and she struggled to let it complete its task. “You were supposedly researching false confessions.”
“I was,” Jake interrupted. “And you said-”
“Okay, okay, I couldn’t resist. But so was Peter Hardesty,” Jane went on. “Did Elliot Sandoval confess to someth-no. Not Sandoval. So Gordon Thorley? Confessed? To what?”
“Jane?” Jake studied the red of his wine, then turned to her. “What you said about trust. Let me ask you something. Can you keep a secret?”
56
It felt great to tell her. Jake hadn’t discussed the possibilities with anyone. Not the Supe, not DeLuca, not even his grandmother, because they had stakes in it, and what if he was missing something or on the wrong track? But he was close. He was sure of it. Jane had promised the Peter thing was all in his imagination. Someone you-love-you have to trust. Even if it was complicated.
And Jane was the perfect sounding board. Her reporter instincts were on the money, almost coplike. He thought about those airport lilacs, wilting in the backseat of his car. Wished he had thought to bring her new ones.
“You have the Lilac Sunday killer?” Jane’s eyes went wide, she’d moved to the edge of the couch, crossed her bare legs, carefully closing that thick white robe over them. “I wasn’t in Boston when it happened, but Chrystal Peralta was just talking about it. And your grandfather was in charge? That I didn’t know.”
Jake watched her process the whole thing, the cold case, his grandfather, the girl’s family, the looming anniversary, the confession. The parole board’s controversial decision to let Thorley out after serving most of his robbery sentence. The murder of Treesa Caramona, which might prove Thorley was guilty. Or not.
“Now, his mortgage payments at A &A are up to date,” Jake said. “He owns a home in Sagamore, with his sister, and it was almost in foreclosure. Now it isn’t. Hey. You were working on that foreclosure story. Anything I haven’t considered?”