Justice(66)

It’s my turn to gasp. I’ve never seen anything like that outside of a superhero fight. “Justin!” I rush over to him.

He rests his head on the plane, fist still imbedded. As I take his hand to check for broken bones, he gazes up at me through tear-filled eyes. I’ve seen that look. My mom had it all her life. It’s in my eyes every moment of the day. I can barely look at myself in the mirror because of it. It’s something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

Broken. He’s broken.

“Oh, Jo,” he cries as he crumbles into my arms.

I do the only thing I can. I hold him as tight as I can as he falls apart.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


AFTERMATH


The press began to show up an hour before we left, but by the time we pull through the gate every reporter on the continent is on Justin’s doorstep. The usually calm Dobbs grips the steering wheel, breathing heavily as he plows through the shouting horde, horn honking continuously. Flashbulbs pop and cameras are thrust against the windows, though they can’t see anything. Gotta love tinted windows. That doesn’t stop them. If anything they take it as a challenge, swarming us. They screech their questions, but I can’t make out a single word. Everywhere we look, there they are. Dobbs can barely go one mile an hour, but we make it through the gate.

“Cretins,” Lucy says. “Have they no shame?”

“None,” I say.

“I’m on the phone to the police right now,” Shannon says, pinning a stray strand of brown hair back in her tight bun. “They’ll clear them out.”

“It’s a public street. The police can’t do anything,” I say.

“Bastards,” Lucy says.

Justin stares out the window, lost in his own world. He doesn’t even register their presence.

The reporters stop at the gate, but their questions continue. “Oh, good,” Shannon says. I turn around and see my armed escorts get out of their car for crowd control. “Why were they following us?” Shannon asks.

Justin looks away from the window to me for the answer. “Standard procedure in high profile cases,” I say. “For just this reason. Nothing to worry about.”

As Dobbs retrieves the suitcases from the back, the rest of us retreat inside away from the loud voices. We follow Justin into the foyer where he just stops. Nobody says a word or even moves. We stay like this for almost a minute, even when Dobbs joins us. He looks at Lucy, who turns to me. Justin hasn’t let go of my hand since the airfield. I squeeze it. “Justin?” He says something, but so faintly I can’t hear him from a few inches away. “What?”

“I don’t know what to do,” he says only a little louder. “I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know what to do next. Do I…start the funeral arrangements? Do I go into the living room and just sit down? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Hey,” I say, positioning myself in front of him. He won’t look at me. “We’ll handle everything, okay?” I look at Dobbs. “After you bring the suitcases upstairs, can you make us some sandwiches and coffee?”

“Yes, miss,” Dobbs says as he starts toward the staircase.

“Shannon, why don’t you handle everything at Pendergast? Meetings that need cancelling, worried staff, whatever crops up. Unless there’s an emergency, I don’t want anything work-related to get past you. I’ve already been in contact with Gene Tully in public relations and he’s drafted a statement and is coordinating with the press. On the desk in the parlor there’s a pad with notes about everything he and I spoke about and others who have called. It’ll help you catch up. Dobbs can drive you back to the office when you’re done.”

“Okay,” she says as she walks away, already fiddling with her phone.

“And I think I’ll begin returning phone calls,” Lucy says. “I’ll be up in my room if I’m needed.”

Tentatively, Lucy approaches her nephew. She squeezes his shoulder and with his free hand he pats hers. “Thank you, Aunt Lucy,” Justin says before leaning in and kissing her cheek.

She nods and walks up the stairs to her sanctuary. Just the two of us now. “Why don’t we go into the living room? Or would you rather go upstairs and lie down? I can call Doc Swenson. Get you some Valium?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Okay.” I start toward the living room for lack of something better to do. Justin doesn’t release my hand, so he comes with me. In his shock I could lead him into the ocean and he’d follow.

I choose the living room because it’s the calmest room in the house. The mansion was built over a hundred years ago when the first burnt down. The rest of the house is a cold museum with antique furniture, ancient statues and paintings. When I first stepped in, I was struck by how dark and stuffy it was. Definitely a house, not a home. For the first year I was petrified to even look at the art, let alone touch anything. This room and the library are the only two I’m comfortable in. And since we’ve spent the majority of our friendship in the living room, that is where we end up.