Perfect Match Read online

  Caleb sits across from me. The clock on the wall, fast by five minutes, ticks as loud as my heart. "Hungry?" I ask.

  He traces the sharp corner of the pizza box. "I'm starving," Caleb answers.

  But he makes no move to take one of the slices. Instead, we both watch as his fingers creep forward, as he clasps my hand between both of his. He scoots his chair closer and bows his head until it touches our joined fists. "Let's start over," he murmurs.

  If I have gained anything over these months, it is the knowledge there is no starting over--only living with the mistakes you've made. But then, Caleb taught me long ago you can't build anything without some sort of foundation. Maybe we learn to live our lives by understanding, firsthand, how not to live them.

  "Let's just pick up where we left off," I reply, and I rest my cheek on the crown of Caleb's head.

  How far can a person go ... and still live with himself?

  It's something that's been haunting Patrick. There are certain acts for which you easily make excuses--killing during wartime; stealing food if you're starving; lying to save your own life. But narrow the circumstances, bring them closer to home--and suddenly, the faith of a man who's dedicated his life to morality gets seriously shaken. Patrick doesn't blame Nina for shooting Glen Szyszynski, because at that moment she truly believed it was her only option. Likewise, he doesn't consider making love with her on Christmas Eve to be wrong. He'd waited for Nina for years; when she finally was his--even for a night--the fact of her marriage to another man was inconsequential. Who was to say that the bond between Patrick and Nina was any less strong because there was no piece of paper sanctifying it?

  Justification is a remarkable thing--takes all those solid lines and blurs them, so that honor becomes as supple as a willow, and ethics burst like soap bubbles.

  If Nina chose to leave Caleb, Patrick would be at her side in an instant, and he could come up with a multitude of reasons to defend his behavior. Truth be told, it's something he's let himself consider in the soft gray moments before sleep comes. Hope is his balm for reality; if Patrick spreads it thick enough, sometimes he can even envision a life with her.

  But then, there's Nathaniel.

  And that's the point Patrick cannot get past. He can rationalize falling in love with Nina; he can even rationalize her falling in love with him. There's nothing he would like more than to see Caleb gone from her life. But Caleb is not just Nina's husband ... he is also the father of her son. And Patrick could not bear knowing that he was responsible for ruining Nathaniel's childhood. If Patrick did that after all that has happened, well ... how could she ever love him?

  Compared to a transgression of that size, what he is about to do seems insignificant.

  He watches Quentin Brown from the witness box. The prosecutor is expecting this to go easily--just as easily as it did during the practice session. After all, Patrick is a law enforcement official, used to testifying. As far as Brown knows, despite his friendship with Nina, he's on the side of the prosecution. "Were you assigned to work the Nathaniel Frost case?" Quentin asks.

  "Yes."

  "How did the defendant react to your investigation of the case?"

  Patrick can't look at Nina, not yet. He doesn't want to give himself away. "She was an incredibly concerned parent."

  This is not the answer they have rehearsed. Patrick watches Quentin do a double-take, then feed him the response he was supposed to give. "Did you ever see her lose her temper during the case?"

  "At times she'd become distraught. Her child wasn't speaking. She didn't know what to do." Patrick shrugs. "Who wouldn't get frustrated in a situation like that?"

  Quentin sends him a quelling glance. Commentary on the stand is not necessary, or desired. "Who was your first suspect in the molestation case?"

  "We didn't have a suspect until Glen Szyszynski."

  By now, Quentin looks ready to throttle him. "Did you bring in another man for questioning?"

  "Yes. Caleb Frost."

  "Why did you bring him in?"

  Patrick shakes his head. "The child was using sign language to communicate, and he ID'd his abuser with the sign for father. At the time, we didn't understand he meant priest, rather than daddy." He looks directly at Caleb, in the front row behind Nina. "That was my mistake," Patrick says.

  "What was the defendant's reaction to her son signing father?"

  Fisher rises from his seat, poised to object, but Patrick speaks quickly. "She took it very seriously. Her primary concern was always, always, protecting her child." Confused, the attorney sits back down beside Nina.

  "Detective Ducharme--" the prosecutor interrupts.

  "I'm not quite done yet, Mr. Brown. I was going to say that I'm sure it tore her up inside, but she got a restraining order against her husband, because she thought it was the best way to keep Nathaniel safe."

  Quentin walks closer to Patrick, hisses through his teeth so that only his witness will hear. "What the hell are you doing?" Then he faces the jury. "Detective, at what point did you make the decision to arrest Father Szyszynski?"

  "After Nathaniel gave a verbal disclosure, I went down to talk to him."

  "Did you arrest him at that moment?"

  "No. I was hoping he'd confess first. We always hope for that in molestation cases."

  "Did Father Szyszynski ever admit to sexually abusing Nathaniel Frost?"

  Patrick has been a witness at enough trials to know that the question is blatantly unacceptable, because it calls for hearsay. The judge and the prosecutor both stare at Fisher Carrington, waiting for him to object. But by now, Nina's lawyer has caught on. He sits at the defense table with his hands steepled, watching this unfold. "Child molesters almost never admit they've hurt a child," Patrick says, filling the silence. "They know jail's not going to be a pleasant place for them. And frankly, without a confession, a molestation trial is a roll of the dice. Nearly half the time, these guys get off because of insufficient evidence or because the child is too terrified to testify, or because they do testify and the jury doesn't believe the word of a kid ..."

  Quentin breaks in before Patrick can do any further damage. "Your Honor, may we have a recess?"

  The judge looks over his bifocals at him. "We are in the middle of the direct."

  "Yes, Judge, I'm aware of that."

  Shrugging, Neal turns to Fisher. "Does the defense object to stopping at this point?"

  "I don't believe so, Your Honor. But I would ask the Court to remind all counsel that the witnesses have been sequestered and can't be approached during the break."

  "Fine," Quentin grits out. He storms from the courtroom so quickly he doesn't see Patrick finally make eye contact with Nina, smile gently at her, and wink.

  "Why is this cop working for us?" Fisher demands, as soon as he's bustled me into a private conference room upstairs.

  "Because he's my friend. He's always been there for me." At least, that is the only explanation I can give. I knew, of course, that Patrick would have to testify against me, and I didn't take it to heart. Part of what makes Patrick Patrick is his absolute devotion to the clear line dividing right and wrong. It is why he would not let me talk to him about the murder; it is why he has wrestled so hard to stand by my side while I was awaiting trial. It is why his offer to find Father Gwynne on my behalf meant so very much to me, and was so difficult for him.

  It is why, when I think back to Christmas Eve, I cannot believe it ever happened.

  Fisher seems to be considering this odd gift that has dropped into his lap. "Is there anything I should watch out for? Anything he won't do to protect you?"

  The reason we slept together isn't because Patrick tossed morality to the wind that night. It's because he was too damn honest to convince himself the feelings weren't there.

  "He won't lie," I answer.

  Quentin returns on the attack. Whatever game this detective's playing, it's going to stop right now. "Why were you in court the morning of October thirtieth?"

&nb