The Deepest Wound (Jack Murphy Thriller #3) - Rick Reed Page 0,1

happy for her. He also realized that when he was with Susan, he was thinking about Katie. Comparing Susan to Katie. Maybe Susan knew that. Maybe that was why she left.

Outside, Katie and her sister, Moira, were posing for photos. Katie was short like her mother, about five-foot-five, and she worried needlessly about her age because she possessed an ageless beauty, both inside and out. Moira was younger and taller, like their father. She was nearly Jack’s height and he was over six feet tall. The one thing they shared, and their most striking feature, was their bright red hair—thick, wavy, and long.

Jack watched them standing together in the sunlight and thought about the telephone call he’d received from Katie two days ago.

KATIE: Jack! I have some exciting news. Moira is coming home tonight and I thought we should have a celebration for her graduation from law school.

JACK: Wow! That’s great, Katie. I’m proud of her.

KATIE: Trent Wethington has offered her a position as a deputy prosecutor. She starts next week.

JACK: She’s living with you?

KATIE: She has some huge student loans.

(Silence for a beat.)

KATIE: Jack, will you come to the party? Noon-ish Sunday. Liddell and Marcie are coming.

Of course he had said yes. Why wouldn’t he? He and Katie were still friends. And he adored Moira, and she him. Plus, his partner and his wife had already committed to going. So he said yes. Then Katie dropped the bomb:

KATIE: Jack. I’m getting married. I’m engaged to Eric Manson.

She prattled on, but he didn’t hear or remember any of the rest of the conversation, except her comment that her new fiancé had insisted on inviting Jack. Eric wanted them to be friends. Eric thought they should get to know each other. Well, Eric can kiss my ass.

Jack knew the real reason Eric wanted him to be there. Eric wanted to establish himself as the alpha male.

Jack had ended the conversation by congratulating her, promising to come to the party, keeping his tone light, going through the motions that he’d learned from a lifetime of giving and receiving bad news.

Since that call he had thought of at least twenty ways to kill Eric without getting caught. Leave a trail of money leading into a wood chipper. Not allow Eric to talk about himself for a month. Keep him away from mirrors.

Pulling himself back to the present, he thought about the look Katie’s father had given him when the old man arrived. Her father thought that anyone was an improvement over Jack.

Maybe it was the Scotch, but Jack noticed several swarthy-looking characters out in the yard that he didn’t recognize. Some of them looked like Eric’s family, both from the resemblance and the holier-than-thou attitude. In fact, they resembled each other so startlingly, he wondered if incest . . . Be nice, Jack, he reminded himself.

Other people he didn’t recognize. They were probably attorneys because they stood around with their hands in their pockets. Probably to keep the other attorneys’ hands out of their pockets. They taught that in Attorney 101.

Everyone was having a good time. Liddell, Jack’s partner, had of course taken over the barbecue grill, and his wife, Marcie, spread joy and smiles to whomever she touched. Some chatted, and some drank. Some played bocce ball while they drank. “At least I’m drinking,” he said quietly, and lifted his glass of Glenmorangie single malt in a silent toast to Katie and Moira. “Here’s to the Connelly girls. May the road always rise to meet you.” Then he lifted his middle finger and said, “And here’s to you, Eric.”

He knew he should be sociable, but he couldn’t make himself go out there and pretend he was happy about this. But, damn, if Moira and Katie weren’t radiant! Not a care in the world. He hoped it could always be that way for them. Being a cop, he knew that life was something that happened to you, not for you.

Everyone was smiling like one big happy family. And he couldn’t get his mind wrapped around it. Katie’s engaged to Eric Manson. What the hell was she thinking? She knows I hate lawyers.

“Ready for another?” a man asked.

Jack turned and saw Eric Manson framed in the doorway, a full bottle of Chivas Regal in his hand.

Slightly taller than Jack, Eric was perpetually tanned, with a bright-white smile and what women thought was a ruggedly handsome face. The only physical defect was an ever-so-slight drooping of the left side of his mouth and eyelid. It