Fatal Judgment by Irene Hannon Page A

pleasant as he devoured her lasagna. Only when they got to dessert did it drift back to serious topics.
    “It was nice of the judge to share her bounty with us.” Alison dug into the cannoli with gusto, closing her eyes after the first bite as an expression of bliss swept over her face. “Wow. These are as good as the ones from the best restaurants on the Hill.”
    It had been years since Jake had sampled the famed cuisine of St. Louis’s Italian neighborhood, but he didn’t dispute Alison’s evaluation as he polished off his own offering.
    “She said they’ll go to waste before she can finish them all. That’s probably true. I doubt she’s eaten more than a few bites of anything since Friday night.”
    “Do you think she might like some of my lasagna? You could take a piece with you when you go back tonight.”
    “It’s worth a try.”
    Alison used her fork to break off a bite of cannoli. “How’s she holding up?”
    “Better than most people would under the same circumstances. Every time I think she’s about to shatter, she manages to pull herself back together. She’s pretty amazing.”
    Squinting at him, Alison speared the last bite of her cannoli and twirled it on her fork. “I seem to recall you making some sort of disparaging remark about her once. After her husband died.”
    Had he? Jake didn’t remember that. But he might have. He and his sister had always been vocal in their opinions with each other. Now he regretted that particular comment.
    “It’s possible.” He fiddled with his coffee cup. “But after spending time with her these past couple of days, I discovered I may have been operating on some faulty assumptions.”
    She leaned down to give Bert a pat. “So you think she’s nice?”
    The conversation had taken an unexpected turn. One he didn’t like. He’d seen that gleam in his sister’s eye in the past. For all her independence, she was a romantic at heart. Her own love life might be in the doldrums, but it wouldn’t stop her from meddling in Cole’s. Or his. Not that he had one. Or intended to.
    Especially with Liz Michaels.
    As he tried to think of some way to redirect the conversation to a less personal topic, his BlackBerry began to vibrate.
    Yes!
    Praising God for small favors, he pulled it off his belt and scanned the number.
    “It’s Cole. Give me a sec, okay?” Tapping the talk button, he put the phone to his ear. “What’s up?”
    “Good news. We’ve got our man.”

7
     
    ______
     
    A bell was ringing somewhere.
    From her prone position, Liz struggled to open her eyes. As the shadowy, unfamiliar room came into focus, the bell rang again.
    A doorbell.
    Trying to jump-start her muddled brain, she pulled herself upright as the pieces began to fall into place. She’d been reading a brief in the condo where she was sequestered. It now lay on the floor beside the couch, where she’d fallen asleep. And based on the dimness of the room, she’d been out cold for a couple of hours.
    A knock sounded on the door. A loud knock.
    Loud enough to suggest the door might be kicked in if she didn’t open it. Fast.
    “Liz?”
    The tautness of Jake’s muffled voice propelled her to her feet.
    Her shin connected with the edge of the granite-based, glass-topped coffee table, and she yelped as she stumbled toward the door.
    “Liz? What’s going on?”
    A thread of panic wound through Jake’s curt question.
    “Hang on. I’m on my way.”
    In the foyer, she paused to peer through the peephole. Jake stood to the left, almost out of sight, gun in hand. One of the marshals from the CP was on the right, gun also drawn.
    Embarrassment warmed her cheeks as she slid the dead bolt back and opened the door.
    “Sorry, guys. I fell asleep on the couch and didn’t hear the bell.”
    The marshal beside Jake flashed her a grin and holstered his gun. “No problem.”
    As he returned to the CP next door, she stepped back to allow Jake to enter. Instead, he bent and picked up a