Love You More: A Novel

  Had to pay attention. Gotta run. Gotta hide.

  Then, another vehicle looming in the distance, headlights bright against the thickening gloom. Vehicle was moving slower, more uncertainly, as if the driver was looking for something. No roof rack bearing sirens, meaning a pedestrian vehicle versus a cop car. Now or never.

  I took a deep breath, stepped toward the asphalt. The headlights swept across my face, then the SUV braked hard.

  Juliana had arrived.

  I clambered quickly into the backseat. Second I closed the door, she was off like a shot. I hit the floor and stayed there.

  Car seat. Empty, but half-covered in a baby blanket, so recently occupied. Don’t know why that surprised me. I had a child. Why not Juliana?

  When we were girls we planned to marry twin brothers. We would live in houses side by side and raise our kids together. Juliana wanted three children, two boys and one girl. I planned on having one of each. She was going to stay home with her kids, like her mom. I was going to own a toy store, where of course her kids would receive a family discount.

  Next to the car seat was a dark green duffel bag. I got on my knees, keeping out of sight of the windows, and unzipped the bag. Inside I found everything I’d requested—a change of clothes, all black. Fresh pair of underwear, two additional tops. Scissors, makeup, black cap and gloves.

  Hundred and fifty in cash, small bills. Probably the best she could scrounge up on short notice.

  I wondered if that was a lot of money for Juliana these days. I only knew the girl she’d been, not the wife and mother she’d become.

  I started by taking out all items in black and laying them on the backseat. It took a bit of wiggling, but I finally managed to shed the orange jumpsuit and redress in the black jeans and a black turtleneck. I twisted my hair up onto the top of my head and covered it with the dark baseball cap.

  Then I turned around to study myself in the rearview mirror.

  Juliana was staring at me. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

  Newborn, I thought immediately. She had that look about her—the frazzled new mom, still not sleeping at night and frayed around the edges. Knowing the first year would be difficult, surprised to discover it was even harder than that. She glanced away, eyes on the road.

  I sat down on the rear bench seat.

  “Thank you,” I said at last.

  She never answered.

  We drove in silence for another forty minutes. The snow had finally started, lightly at first, then falling heavily enough that Juliana had to reduce her speed.

  At my request, she turned the radio to the news. No word of any officers involved in a situation, so apparently D. D. Warren and her team had survived my little surprise, and had chosen to keep a lid on things.

  Made sense. No cop wanted to admit she’d lost a prisoner, especially if she believed she would recapture the inmate shortly. Last Detective Warren knew, I was alone and on foot, meaning D.D. probably had believed she’d round me up within an hour.

  Not sorry to disappoint her, but relieved everyone was okay. I’d done my best to rig the twin pressure-sensitive devices to blow back, away from the recovery team and into the relative shelter of the fallen tree. But given that it was a rookie effort, I had no way of knowing how successful I’d be.

  I’d sat behind Officer Fiske, both hoping and dreading what would happen next.

  SUV slowed again. Juliana had her blinker on, was preparing to exit the highway for Route 9. She’d driven under the speed limit the entire way, eyes straight ahead, two hands on the wheel. The conscientious getaway driver.

  Now our adventure was almost over, and I could see her lower lip trembling. She was scared.

  I wondered if she thought I’d killed my husband. I wondered if she thought I’d murdered my own daughter. I should protest my innocence, but I didn’t.

  I thought she of all people should know better.

  Twelve more minutes. All it took to travel back in time, to return to the old neighborhood. Past her old house, past my parents’ shabby home.

  Juliana didn’t look at any of the buildings. Didn’t sigh, wax nostalgic, say a single word.

  Two final turns and we were there, at my father’s garage.

  She pulled over, killed the lights.

  Snow was falling heavily now, blanketing the dark world in white.

  I gathered up the last of my things, tucked them into the duffel bag, which I would take with me. Leave no evidence behind.

  “When you get home,” I said now, my voice surprisingly loud in the silence, “mix ammonia with warm water, and use it to wipe down the car. That will erase any fingerprints.”

  Juliana looked at me in the review mirror again, but remained silent.

  “The police are going to find you,” I continued. “They’ll hone in on the call I placed to you last night from jail. It’s one of the only leads they have, so they’re going to follow up on it. Just tell the truth. What I said, what you said. The whole conversation was recorded, so you’re not telling them anything they don’t already know, and it’s not like we said anything incriminating.”

  Juliana looked at me, remained silent.

  “They shouldn’t be able to trace today’s call,” I told her. “Our only point of contact has been someone else’s cellphone, and I’m about to take an acetylene torch to it. Once I’ve melted its circuits, there’s nothing it can give away. So you went for a drive this afternoon. I deliberately chose a location that didn’t involve any toll roads, meaning there’s no way for them to trace where you went. You could’ve gone anywhere and done anything. Make them work for it.”

  It went without saying that she would hold up under police questioning. She had before.

  “We’re even.” She spoke up suddenly, her voice flat. “Don’t call again. We’re even.”

  I smiled, sadly, with genuine regret. For ten years, we’d kept our distance. And would’ve continued if not for Saturday morning and my stupid husband dying on our stupid kitchen floor.

  Blood is thicker than water. Actually, friendship was, and so I had honored what I’d known Juliana had needed. Even when it hurt me.

  “I would do it again,” I murmured, my eyes locking on hers in the rearview mirror. “You were my best friend, and I loved you and I would do it again.”

  “Did you really name her Sophie?”

  “Yeah.”

  Juliana Sophia MacDougall nee Howe covered her mouth. She started to cry.

  I slung the duffel bag over my shoulder and stepped out into the snowy night. Another moment, the engine started up. Then the headlights flicked on and Juliana drove away.

  I headed toward my father’s shop. I could tell from the light burning inside that he was already waiting.

  33

  Bobby and D.D. headed back to HQ in silence. Bobby drove. D.D. sat in the passenger’s seat. She had her hands fisted on her lap, trying not to think, her mind racing anyway.

  She hadn’t eaten all day and last night her sleep had been marginal at best. Combine that with the all-time shittiest day of her career and she was entitled to go a little nuts and kiss a married man while carrying another man’s baby. Made total sense.

  She leaned her forehead against the cool window, stared at the snow. The frozen flakes were falling heavily now. Obliterating Tessa Leoni’s trail. Snarling traffic. Complicating an already complicated investigative operation.

  She’d contacted her boss before leaving the crime scene. Better Horgan hear the news from her than the latest media report, where it was bound to break at any time. D.D. had lost a suspected double-murderer. Taken her out to middle-of-nowhere Mass., where her entire team had fallen victim to a rookie booby trap.

  The BPD looked like a bunch of idiots. Not to mention, the violent fugitive apprehension unit—a state operation—was most likely going to take the entire case from them, given the steadily growing size of the search operation. So the BPD would appear incom
petent and be denied any chance to redeem themselves. Talk about a one-way ticket to Asshole Avenue. Let alone a punch line in all future media reports—suspected double-murderer Tessa Leoni, who escaped while in the custody of the Boston police …

  She’d better hope she was pregnant, D.D. thought. Then, instead of getting fired, she could take maternity leave.

  She ached.

  She did. Her head hurt. Her chest, as well. She mourned for Sophie Leoni, a sweet-faced child who’d deserved better. Had she looked forward to her mommy coming home from work each morning? Hugs and kisses, while snuggling close for stories or showing off her latest homework? D.D. would think so. That’s what children did. They loved and loved and loved. With their entire hearts. With every fiber of their being.

  Then the adults in their lives failed them.

  And the police failed them.

  And so it went.

  I love my daughter.

  “Gonna stop ahead,” Bobby spoke up, flipping on the right turn signal. “Need food. Want anything?”

  D.D. shook her head.

  “How about some dry cereal? Gotta eat something, D.D. Low blood sugar has never been your strong suit.”

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Take care of me.”

  Bobby took his eyes off the road long enough to regard her evenly. “Bet Alex would, too. If you’d let him.”

  She scowled. Bobby shrugged off the glare, attention back on the treacherous highway. It took a bit to ease the Crown Vic over, find the exit, then work their way into the parking lot of a small shopping plaza. D.D. noted a dry cleaner’s, a pet supply store, and a mid-sized grocery store.

  The grocery store appeared to be Bobby’s target. They parked up front, most customers scared off by the wintry conditions. When D.D. got out of the car, she was surprised to see how much snow had already accumulated. Bobby came around the vehicle, wordlessly offering his arm.

  She accepted his help, making her way gingerly along the snow-covered sidewalk into the brightly lit store. Bobby headed for the deli. She lasted five seconds before the smell of rotisserie chicken proved too much. She left him to wander on her own, commandeering an apple from produce, then a box of Cheerios from the cereal aisle. Maybe one of those fancy organic fruit drinks, she thought, or a premade protein shake. She could live on Ensure, next logical stage of the life cycle.

  She found herself in the small pharmacy section, and that quickly knew what she was going to do.

  Fast, before she could change her mind, before Bobby could appear: family planning section, condoms, condoms, and of course, when the condoms broke, home pregnancy kits. She snatched the first box she found. Pee on a stick, wait to see what it tells you. How hard could it be?

  No time to pay. Bobby would spot her for sure. So she high-tailed it for the restroom, apple, cereal box, and home pregnancy test clutched tight against her chest.

  A green sign declared that no merchandise was allowed in the restroom.

  Tough shit, D.D. thought, and pushed through the door.

  She commandeered the handicap stall. Turned out it had a changing station bolted to the wall. She unfolded the plastic table and used it as a workbench. Apple, Cheerios, pregnancy kit.

  Her fingers were shaking. Violently. To the point she couldn’t hold the box and read the words. So she flipped the box over on the changing table, reading the directions as she worked the button on her pants, finally shoving her jeans down to her knees.

  Probably this was the kind of thing women did at home. Surrounded by the cozy comfort of their favorite towels, peach-painted walls, maybe some floral potpourri. She squatted in an industrial gray tiled public restroom and did the deed, fingers still shaking as she tried to position the stick and pee on command.

  Took her three tries to get it done. She set the stick on the changing table, refusing to look at it. She finished peeing. She pulled up her pants. She washed her hands at the sink.

  Then she returned to the stall. Outside, she could hear the bathroom door opening. Footsteps as another woman entered, headed for the neighboring stall. D.D. closed her eyes, held her breath.

  She felt naughty, the bad schoolgirl caught smoking in the loo.

  She couldn’t be seen, couldn’t be discovered. For her to look at the stick, she needed absolute privacy.

  Toilet flushing. Stall door opening. Sound of water running at the sink, then the blast from the automatic hand dryer.

  Outside door opened. Outside door closed.

  D.D. was alone again.

  Slowly she cracked one eye. Then the other. She stared at the stick.

  Pink plus sign.

  Sergeant Detective D. D. Warren was officially pregnant.

  She sat back down on the toilet, put her head in her hands, and wept.

  Later, still sitting on the edge of the toilet, she ate the apple. The rush of sugary fruit hit her bloodstream, and suddenly, she was ravenous. She consumed half a box of Cheerios, then abandoned the bathroom in search of a protein bar, mixed nuts, potato chips, yogurt, and bananas.

  When Bobby finally caught up with her, she was standing in the checkout line with her apple core, opened Cheerios box, opened pregnancy kit box, and half a dozen other groceries. The checkout girl, who sported three facial piercings and a constellation of star tattoos, was regarding her with clear disapproval.

  “Where’d you go?” Bobby asked with a frown. “Thought I’d lost you.”

  Then his gaze fell upon the pregnancy test kit. His eyes widened. He didn’t say another word.

  D.D. handed over her credit card, accepted her grocery bags. She didn’t say a word either.

  They’d just made it out to the car when her cellphone rang. She checked the caller ID—Phil from headquarters.

  Work. Just what she needed.

  She punched Talk, listened to what Phil had to say, and whether from his news or her feeding frenzy, she finally felt better about the day.

  She put away her phone, turned back to Bobby, who stood beside his car in the snow.

  “Guess what? Tessa Leoni placed a phone call while under the fine care of the Suffolk County Sheriff’s Department. Nine p.m. last night, she contacted her childhood BFF, Juliana Sophia Howe.”

  “Sister of the guy she shot?”

  “Exactly. Now, if you were arrested for murdering your spouse, what are the odds you’d call a family member of the last person you killed?”

  Bobby frowned. “Don’t like it.”

  “Me either.” D.D.’s face lit up. “Let’s go get her!”

  “Deal.” Bobby opened his door, then paused. “D.D.…” His gaze flickered to her grocery bags. “Happy?”

  “Yeah,” she said, nodding slowly. “I think I am.”

  When Bobby and D.D. finally completed the treacherous drive to Juliana’s house, they discovered the small home lit up bright as day against fat, slow falling snowflakes. A silver SUV and darker sedan were parked in the driveway.

  As Bobby and D.D. approached, the front door opened and a man appeared. He wore a suit, still dressed for his workday, but now lugging a baby and a diaper bag. He met Bobby and D.D.’s gaze as they stepped onto the front porch.

  “I already told her to call a lawyer,” he said.

  The caring husband, D.D. deduced. “She need one?”

  “She’s a good person and a great mother. You want someone to prosecute, go back and shoot her brother again. He deserves this abuse. Not her.”

  Having said his piece, Juliana’s husband pushed past both of them and strode through the snow for the dark blue sedan. Another minute to strap the baby in the back, then Juliana’s family was out of the way.

  “Definitely expecting our visit,” Bobby murmured.

  “Let’s go get her!” D.D. said again.

  Caring husband hadn’t fully closed the door behind him, so Bobby finished pushing it open. Juliana was sitting on the couch directly across from the door. She didn’t get up, but regarded them e
venly.

  D.D. entered first. She flashed her creds, then introduced Bobby. Juliana didn’t rise. Bobby and D.D. didn’t sit. The room was already humming with tension, and it made it easy for D.D. to reach the next logical conclusion:

  “You helped her out, didn’t you? You picked up Tessa Leoni this afternoon and drove her away from her daughter’s burial site. You aided and abetted a fugitive. Why? I mean seriously.” D.D. gestured around the cute home with its fresh paint and cheerful collection of baby toys. “Why the hell would you risk all this?”

  “She didn’t do it,” Juliana said.

  D.D. arched a brow. “Exactly when did you take the stupid pill and how long before it wears off?”

  Juliana’s chin came up. “I’m not the idiot here. You are!”

  “Why?”

  “It’s what you do,” Juliana burst out in a bitter rush. “Police. Cops. Looking but never seeing. Asking but never hearing. Ten years ago they fucked up everything. Why should now be any different?”

  D.D. stared at the young mom, startled by the violence of the outburst. At that moment, it came to D.D. What the husband had said outside. Juliana’s inexplicable agreement to aid the woman who’d destroyed her family ten years ago. Her lingering rage with the police.

  D.D. took the first step forward, then another. She squatted down until she was eye level with Juliana, seeing the tear tracks on the woman’s cheeks.

  “Tell us, Juliana. Who shot your brother that night? It’s time to unload. So you talk, and I promise, we’ll listen.”

  “Tessa didn’t have the gun,” Juliana Howe whispered. “She brought it for me. Because I asked her to. She didn’t have the gun. She never had the gun.”

  “Who shot Tommy, Juliana?”

  “I did. I shot my brother. And I’m sorry, but I’d do it all over again!”

  Now that the dam had finally broken, Juliana confessed the rest of the story in a sobbing rush. The first night her brother had come home and sexually assaulted her. How he’d cried the next morning and begged her forgiveness. He’d been drunk, hadn’t known what he was doing. Of course he’d never do it again … please just don’t tell Mom and Dad.