Fatal Judgment by Irene Hannon Page B

through the dense woods, reflecting off the small, shiny gold cross in his hand. Looping the delicate chain around his fingers, he lifted it toward the heavens.
    How odd that this had been among the handful of jewelry he’d snatched before leaving the house.
    But it was fitting.
    Because this symbol of pure, perfect, unselfish love—the kind that showed mercy and kindness, that honored vows and commitment—was a stark reminder of her failures.
    Worst of all, she’d betrayed the solemn promise she’d made before God.
    And wronged him in the process.
    Now she’d paid the ultimate price.
    As the cross dangled from his fingers, glinting in the clear morning light, he took its presence in his cache as a sign that God approved of his action.
    Slowly he inhaled, filling his lungs with the fresh country air.
    It was done.
    Lowering the cross, he let it drop into the Ziploc bag with the other jewelry and picked up the camp shovel. Brittle, frost-nipped oak leaves had formed a thick carpet on the forest floor, and he brushed them aside with the blade, then began digging. The ground was soft from recent rains, and it took him less than half a minute to create a deep cavity in the fertile earth.
    He weighed the bag in his hand for a few seconds, then wedged it into the bottom of the hole and replaced the earth. Once more using the tip of the shovel, he spread leaves over the disturbed ground.
    Stepping back, he surveyed the spot. It looked exactly like the ground around it. There was no indication that anything was buried beneath the surface.
    Good.
    For all intents and purposes, the jewelry had ceased to exist.
    Just as she had.
    And as he turned away, two words echoed in his mind.
    Good riddance.

     
    “My pearls are missing. So are a couple of costume-jewelry rings, a silver bracelet, and the gold cross necklace I always wear under my robe when I’m presiding.”
    Finishing her inventory, Liz stepped back from the jewelry box, which was covered with liberal amounts of fingerprint powder, and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.
    “You need anything else?” Jake directed the question to Cole, who continued to write in his notebook. They’d been through the rest of the house—except for the family room—and nothing else appeared to be missing.
    “No. That should do it. When you have a minute . . .” He tipped his head toward the hall. “Thank you, Judge.”
    As Cole exited the bedroom, Liz slipped Jake’s jacket off her shoulder and handed it back to him.
    “Borrowed for the last time, I hope. Thank you.”
    He took it, resisting the temptation to lift it and inhale her scent. Instead, he handed her the plastic bag containing her blouse. “We can have this cleaned for you.”
    She peeked inside. Rolled the bag into a ball. Set it on the dresser. “Thanks. But I can’t imagine ever wearing it again. What’s next?”
    “Pack as much as you think you’ll need for a week.” He picked up the suitcases they’d retrieved from the guest-room closet during her inventory tour and set them on the bed.
    “Would it be okay if I took a shower and changed clothes while I’m here?”
    Jake hesitated. He’d prefer to leave ASAP, but there were six deputy marshals, a police detective, and several patrol officers on the premises. It didn’t get much safer than that.
    “Sure. Keep the shades drawn. I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready to leave.”
    After closing the door behind him, Jake headed down the hall of the modest bungalow, night-and-day different from the upscale Jefferson City home Doug had shown him through on his one, impromptu visit, when Liz had been out of town. Cole waylaid him en route to the kitchen and directed him toward the dining room, where stacks of boxes were waiting to be unpacked.
    The place reminded him of his condo.
    “Where’s the judge?”
    “Packing. Taking a shower. Changing clothes.”
    Cole surveyed him. Leaned close. Sniffed.
    “When’s the last time you changed clothes?