Blind Justice by Ethan Cross Page A

just want you to visit the counselor with me, and we ’ ll see where it takes us. Please.”
    Her cell phone vibrated on her desk, showing a number she didn ’ t recognize. She declined the call. “ I don’ t know, Stuart.”
    Almost immediately the phone rang again, and she declined. “Come on,” Stuart said. “My doctor even said she could refer us to someone in DC to make it more convenient for you.”
    The cell phone rang again. The same number. It had to be something important. “Stuart, I ’ m going to have to call you back. I have another call coming in on my cell. It might be Gerald or Deacon.”
    She was about to hang up when Stuart said, “You know he ’ s the real reason our marriage broke up.”
    “What?”
    “Don ’ t even try to deny it. You ’ ve always had a thing for him. I got so sick of hearing how great a husband and father he was. How the hell was I going to live up to the great Deacon Munroe? For all I know, you ’ ve been screwing him for years.”
    “Actually, Stuart, the ‘real ’ reason our marriage broke up is that you ’ re a narcissistic prick. Goodbye.”
    She slammed down the receiver to her office phone and snatched up her cell phone. The voice on the other end was calm and comforting, but the words spoken didn ’ t match the tone. The world spun, and it became impossible for her to breathe.
    Gerald had been shot and had died on the way to the hospital.
    She analyzed the sentence, and a part of her understood the meaning. But another part still couldn ’ t comprehend what was happening.
    Dropping the phone, she sank from her chair and pressed her palms against her eyes to hold back the tears.
    Before she knew what was happening, she was on her feet and running out of her office. She passed uniformed military officers, civilian staffers, and dark-suited intelligence operatives as she sprinted down the wide, white corridors. She didn ’ t know where she was going or why she was running, but she couldn ’ t make herself stop. She just focused on the sound of each footfall and pressed forward faster and faster.
    If you run, they ’ ll never catch you.

PART TWO

CHAPTER TWELVE
    Feeling with his left hand, Deacon Munroe found the edge of his sideburn and used it as a landmark to start the shave. His right thumb flicked on the electric razor, and he brought the device up against his left index finger that rested against the sideburn ’ s edge. He brought the razor down, continually using his guide hand in front of the razor to trace the contours of his face.
    Even the simple act of shaving made him think of Gerald. They had learned how to shave together. Gerald ’ s father, who had always treated Munroe like his own son, had instructed the boys in the ways of manhood, something his own father had never even considered. He remembered teasing Gerald that he looked like a mummy from all the little pieces of toilet paper covering the shaving nicks on his smooth, dark skin.
    The memories overwhelmed him. He couldn ’ t breathe. The pain and anger coursing through his blood made his whole body feel warm and cold at the same time.
    He smashed the razor down against the sink, feeling the plastic pieces shatter against his palm. Screaming, he ripped the mirror down from above the vanity and smashed it against a nearby cabinet. The rest was a whirlwind of angry fists contacting any surface he could reach. He lost his bearings and stumbled into the wall. His fists kept working. He felt his hand puncture the drywall, and he slammed it through again. This time his knuckles jammed against a stud, and pain shot through his hand and forearm. He tried to lose himself in the simple pain, a pain he could quantify, understand, and overcome. He slid down the wall to the floor and could no longer hold back the tears.
    The door to the bathroom swung open, and Annabelle said, “What the hell are you doing? Dammit, Deac, there ’ s glass everywhere.”
    He felt her kneel down beside him and raise