Mischief 24/7

“Who says men aren’t intuitive?” she quipped, trying to smile. This was no time for ancient history. But the time was coming, and they both knew that. In some strange way, Teddy’s death, the old cases, Brainard’s imminent arrest for murder, they were all preludes to the main event. At some point, she and Court had to talk about the past. Only then could they consider a future.

He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “You’ll be all right? We have an agreement here? No ditching me and sneaking down the back staircase and out into the foggy, early-morning darkness, swirling your cape as you head off to confront Joshua Brainard on your own?”

“Last time I had to do a pinky-swear was with Jess, when she was eleven. Yes, I promise.”

“I’d ask what a pinky-swear is, but it’s probably a girl thing, right?”

“Pretty much. And I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I checked on the Internet, and Brainard isn’t scheduled to appear in public until seven-thirty tonight. We have all day to get through before anybody swirls any capes.”

“So Matt and Jess will most probably be back by then. And you made me go through all that business about warning you not to try anything on your own?”

Jade nodded, feeling almost childish. “Yeah. You’re cute when you’re concerned. I mean, I could have done without that ‘I forbid it’ part, but the rest was pretty nice. I, uh, I like when you care. It’s nice.”

“No, Jade. It’s love,” Court said quietly. He was silent for a moment while she felt herself longing to melt into his arms. “Okay, then. I’ll see you downstairs at seven.”

“If Mrs. Archer isn’t up yet, I’ll make us some bacon and eggs,” Jade promised as she lifted her hand in a halfhearted wave. Once Court was gone, she grabbed clean underclothes from a drawer and half ran for the bathroom, feeling the need to wash away the fear she’d felt when she’d thought Jessica might be in danger. She shouldn’t have let Brainard be the one in control, not even for a moment.

“Always be the one pulling the strings, Jade, honey, never the one dancing to someone else’s tune at the end of them,” Teddy had told her more than once when he’d explained the balance of power as it applied to the way he’d worked suspects during his years on the police force. She had the strings now, nearly all of them, Jade believed, and it was time to make Joshua Brainard dance to her tune.

Daylight couldn’t come soon enough for her, and the all-day wait until Brainard’s first public appearance at his seven-thirty rally seemed light-years in the future. Still, she had to prepare, as well as find a way to fill the hours. She’d read those damn files so often she knew most of them by heart. She’d give them one more shot, but she couldn’t face another day of doing nothing but reading them again.

She had a command of the facts now. She’d filled in any blanks with supposition and intuition. She’d practiced a killer opening line for when she confronted Brainard, sure, but after that she was prepared to simply wing it, go where Brainard took her for a while and then lead him where she needed him to go.

She’d save the Baby in the Dumpster for her coup de grâce, hit him right where he lived. No quarter, as Teddy would crow, no mercy.

So maybe, to kill some time, she’d do a little more work on the Scholar Athlete case, the one she’d chosen when she and Jess and Jolie had first divided up the cold cases. Jermayne Johnson haunted her, the sad, lost little boy still residing deep inside that huge, mostly grown-up body. If she needed closure about Teddy’s death, how Jermayne must have been longing for the same thing in his brother’s case this past decade and more.

Yes, that was what she’d do. She’d take another run at Jermayne, press him to remember more about the friends his brother, Terrell, had run with before he was killed, things like that. People knew, remembered, more than they thought they did. It was just a matter of coming at them from the right angle. You could ask the same question a dozen times and not be happy with the answer, and then, the thirteenth time, trying yet another approach, you could hit pay dirt.

Court could go with her, since he was feeling so protective of her. She had a feeling he’d be like gum on the bottom of her shoe until Joshua Brainard was arrested.

Then again, Court Becket, rich and powerful, also liked being in control. That was why they’d fought. That was why they’d both won their last argument, just as they’d both also lost it.

Jade had already begun stripping out of her pajamas when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the sink and stopped, approached the glass.

Who was this woman? Her hair long and straight, with no hint of curl because the curling iron had broken and she hadn’t bothered to buy a new one. When was that? A year ago?

Jade touched a hand to her cheek, her too-thin cheek. She unbuttoned her no-nonsense cotton pajamas and pushed back the material to see the hollows around her collar bone, actual concave scoops. Thin might be in, but not this thin. When was the last time she’d had an appetite?

Tipping her head to one side, Jade continued the inventory. Eyes, huge but dull. Her complexion almost muddy. She leaned in close to the mirror, tracing what looked to be fine lines forming between her nose and mouth. She didn’t wear foundation or powder. She didn’t even bother with face creams or sunscreen. And it showed.

She was only eleven months older than Jolie, and Jolie looked a good five years younger.

Where was the young, carefree Jade, the girl she had been? Where was the well-loved woman she’d seen in the mirror at Court’s hotel the morning after their first night together? Where had that woman gone?

Was there any way to get her back? Any way to get back what she’d lost?

“It doesn’t matter,” she told her reflection. “Nothing matters now but proving Joshua Brainard murdered Teddy. Nothing and no one can matter. Not me, not Court, not the past and not the future. Just the now. You got that?”

Jade turned away from the mirror, unable to lie to herself face-to-face.

Changing her mind about the shower, she returned to the bedroom to pull on cotton-knit shorts and a sleeveless top, and headed down to Sam’s exercise room, intent on running a couple of miles on the treadmill.

If only the treadmill was a time machine, and the faster she ran, the more the calendar flipped backward, until she’d returned to those first days after she’d met Court. Then, this time, she could move forward without making all the same dumb mistakes.

SOMEWHERE ALONG BOATHOUSE ROW

JADE’S RIGHT running shoe found a shallow, slushy puddle as she was forced to move to the edge of the trail by a quartet of joggers decked out in brand-new jogging gear and iPods, and carrying containers of take-out frou-frou coffees.

Joggerettes, Jade called them, not really here for the exercise, but just to see and be seen. The four women had fanned themselves out across the running trail of the east bank of the Schuyl-kill River, along historic Boathouse Row, paying more attention to the men jogging by in the opposite direction than on where they were going.

“Amateurs,” Jade muttered under her breath as, avoiding any more puddles, she redirected her attention to the asphalt. She touched her gloved right hand to her left wrist to check her pulse, and picked up her pace.

It was cold this morning, typical Philadelphia winter weather, but the sky seemed higher than it had when she first got to Fairmont Park, so chances were that the snow the TV weatherman had warned of earlier wouldn’t come.

She was good on time, her routine telling her that if she’d just passed the Vesper Rowing Club boathouse, she’d be able to get in at least most of her usual run before meeting Teddy at the diner to discuss how they were going to approach their latest insurance case.

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