LITMIR.BIZ

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most young girls want to grow up and get a job that ‘helps people,’ but few are lucky enough to find a vocation where you can provide such immediate aid. I go home at the end of a shift knowing I’ve made a difference. Maybe a small difference—stitching up a cut or just telling someone their injury isn’t serious and they aren’t going to die still has an impact. Have you had breakfast? I thought maybe we could get coffee and something to go—in the interest of time.”

      “Sure, sounds good.” They flagged down a waitress and ordered a couple of breakfast burritos. The paper cups of coffee arrived first, and Bree gulped down half the cup without taking a breath.

      “Need caffeine much?” Not that Eric didn’t drink an impressive amount of coffee himself, but she’d drunk it scalding hot.

      “I was too busy to drink any at home. I need the caffeine, trust me.”

      “Doesn’t it bother you, being a doctor and all, having an addiction, even if it’s only coffee?”

      “It was a necessity in med school and during residency. Now that my schedule is a little less hectic, I could wean myself off. But then I have a day like today. I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours and it’s not likely I will for another twelve.”

      “I guess there are worse vices.”

      “Sorry if I’m a little hyper,” she said in a voice that sounded deliberately slower and softer. “I delivered a baby this morning.”

      “Really? In the E.R.?”

      “By the time they wheeled her in from the ambulance, the baby was crowning. It happened so fast. Basically all I did was catch the kid as he came out. But still... It certainly doesn’t get old.”

      “Did you ever think about becoming an obstetrician?”

      “Oh, sure. Most med students do. I mean, babies and all those excited parents, seeing the start of a new life. But the other side of the coin...I don’t think I could handle that.”

      “You mean when things go wrong.”

      “Yeah.” She grew still, and for a moment she was very far away.

      He stirred his coffee and took a sip. He had no idea what to say.

      She snapped out of her reverie, smiling brightly. “Did you watch MacKenzie being born?”

      Eric really didn’t feel like sharing anything about those days. He’d lived in a different world back then—perfect job, perfect wife, perfect kid. He’d known poverty and loss, and he’d convinced himself that those days were over. He didn’t like being reminded of how fragile life was, how everything could change in one heartbeat. One minute he was driving home, looking forward to a nice dinner with his family. The next, he was staring at his wife’s brutalized body on the kitchen floor and trying to calm his screaming daughter while dialing the police.

      “I’m sorry,” Bree said when he didn’t answer. “I’m babbling like a crazy person, prying into things that are none of my business. Blame it on sleep deprivation.”

      “It’s okay. Bree, you’ve never asked me why I went to prison.”

      “You said your conviction was overturned.”

      “They thought I murdered my wife. Turned out her lover did it. So you can understand why I don’t really want to talk about the tender moments with her.”

      “Oh. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

      “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll pay for breakfast—no arguments.” His macho pride still stung a little from letting her buy him dinner Tuesday night. The waitress motioned for them to pick up their breakfasts at the counter.

      Eric drove to San Antonio while Bree fidgeted in the front seat. He sipped his coffee and ate his burrito while Suzy the GPS led them unerringly to the run-down home of Mildred Hayes. It didn’t take as long as he’d feared, only about ninety minutes from Tuckerville.

      Eric was glad he drove a modest car. Back when he was a hotshot real-estate lawyer, he’d driven a BMW. Those chrome rims wouldn’t have lasted long in this neighborhood.

      He found a parking spot along the edge of the curbless street, having strong reservations about bringing Bree to a place like this. But before he could voice his doubts, she was out of the car and charging toward the apartment building where Mildred Hayes lived. He grabbed a folder from the backseat and hurried to catch up to her.

      The interview with Ms. Hayes was a waste of time. The friendly silver-haired woman could tell them only that the call had come from her hoodlum grandson, Jerome Taylor Hayes, who had probably called her from a “borrowed” phone. She didn’t know how to locate him, as he’d never given her a permanent address. She thought he was in a gang, and probably a drug dealer.

      “So some hood has Philomene’s phone? This isn’t good. Not at all.”

      “I agree. So maybe the sheriff’s department will listen now.”

      “I doubt it. They’ll just say this Jerome person must be a friend of hers.”

      “If the sheriff’s department won’t do anything, maybe the San Antonio police will.”

      “Or maybe it’s up to us. How can we find this Jerome character?”

      “Whoa. Bree, we aren’t cops. We can’t go around interrogating people like we are. Jerome’s not the kind of person we want to tangle with.”

      “If you won’t help me, then I’ll just do it myself.”

      “Get in the car, okay?” Great. Now Bree knew just how to push his buttons. She knew he was just protective enough of her that he wouldn’t want her poking and prodding at lowlife drug dealers by herself. “I’ll go with you to talk to the sheriff. And if he doesn’t take it seriously, I’ll drop Daniel’s name. Sometimes that’s all it takes to light a fire under someone.”

      For the next few minutes, Eric focused on getting them out of the hood. He breathed easier once they’d found the freeway.

      “You know Daniel Logan pretty well?” Bree asked.

      “Some. He’s hard to get to know. My brother doesn’t get along with him—Daniel threatened to kill Travis at one time. But despite that, Daniel offered me a job when I got out of prison. He knew I’d be a mess, and he gave me a safe place to land. That was pretty generous of him.” If Eric did drop Daniel’s name, he’d have to be careful not to come out and say his interest in Philomene was official Project Justice business. The work he and Mitch were doing was completely unofficial, and Daniel would blow a gasket if he thought Eric was invoking his foundation’s name where it wasn’t legitimate.

      But no harm in letting the sheriff—and maybe that obnoxious D.A.—know that Eric knew Daniel Logan.

      “He seemed really nice when I talked to him. I thought if anyone even read the application I sent in, it would be some intern or something. I was shocked when the head guy himself called me.”

      “Most of the time Daniel doesn’t get personally involved in cases. But occasionally he sees something that intrigues him.”

      “I really thought he was going to help me.”

      Eric felt that twinge of guilt, which was becoming way too familiar. “You were right—it was my fault the case got dropped. But I felt like I didn’t have any choice.”

      “You did, though,” she said quietly. “You shouldn’t have let a personal vendetta get in the way of justice.”

      Oh, hell, he shouldn’t have brought this up. They were just going to end up yelling at each other again.

      But Bree didn’t yell. “Maybe you could talk to him.”

      “Talk to who?”

      “Kelly. Maybe if you guys talked about what happened—”

      “Are

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