Page 18 of Dirty Liars

“You did research about how much coffee I can have?” I asked skeptically.

“I live with you. I know you with coffee and I know you without coffee. Of course I researched for you.”

“I just want to do this right,” I said, trying not to let the frustration creep into my voice. I was a doctor for Pete’s sake. And women had been pregnant since the beginning of time. And at the same time, I felt like the most unqualified and most unprepared woman on the planet.

“Of course you do,” Jack said. “Having a baby is a desire of your heart, but being a mom scares you. I get that. You are not your parents. You’re going to do things right because you’re you, and that’s just who you are. You’re going to be a great mom. So eat the extra scone. And don’t torture yourself or me by only drinking one cup of coffee a day. Limit yourself to two twelve-ounce cups, and cut yourself some slack.”

I took deep, measured breaths, trying to loosen the vice grip around my chest. We’d just rattled across the one-lane bridge that led to Heresy Road, where Jack and I lived. As he approached the stop sign, I purposely avoided looking left. Turning left would take us to the old Victorian house where I’d grown up—a place steeped in unhappy memories. It was the source of my occasional panic about impending parenthood. Every time I thought about turning left, a knot of dread twisted in my gut.

Jack had made sure the house was renovated before we sold it, passing it on to another family to create their own memories. I’d made my peace with that chapter of my life, but I had no intention of revisiting it.

Turning right onto Heresy Lane, however, was a step into our future. The land on the right had been in Jack’s family for generations—acres of tobacco fields, woods, and cliffs overlooking the Potomac. His parents’ home was a few miles down the road, and when Jack returned to King George County to take the job as sheriff, he built his own house about a mile from them.

It was the same house we lived in now—well, almost the same. Part of it had been blown up a couple of years back, forcing us to rebuild. In the end, it was a blessing in disguise; the rebuild had turned it into our home instead of just his. His parents had sold off some of the land when they downsized the farm, so now there were a few neighbors scattered about. All in all, it was a good street, a good place to build a life together.

Jack pressed the button that opened our front gate and then we were driving up the tree-lined drive. Every light in the house was on.

“Doug,” Jack said with a sigh. “Looks like he’s home.”

“I take pleasure in the fact that one day he’ll have to pay his own electric bill,” I said.

“Now you sound like my mom,” he said, grinning. “That kind of talk must be a natural instinct for mothers. Before long I’ll start to hear you tell him to close the door so he doesn’t let all the cold air out.”

I didn’t say anything. Did I have natural instincts? I had no idea. I tried to picture myself as a nurturer, like Jack’s mom had been to me, and I just couldn’t see it.

I hopped out of the truck as soon as we were parked and realized I was still clutching the autopsy files in my hand. My nerves were frazzled and I knew I was just tired. It had been a long day, and I knew it was going to be an even longer weekend until we closed this case.

As soon as we walked through the front door there was a flurry of excitement and activity. Mostly from Oscar, our new dog, but Doug seemed pretty excited to see us too. Oscar barked as he sped down the long entry hall and let Jack break his momentum on the wood floor instead of skidding into the wall. There were licks and scratches and the pure joy that could only come from something that really loved you.

“Hey,” Doug said, skidding in socked feet across the wood floor. “I wasn’t sure when y’all would be home. I already ate dinner.”

Doug Carver was the nephew of Jack’s best friend, Ben. The Carver boys were the spitting image of each other. They skimmed just under six feet and had lanky frames—though Ben’s had been honed and refined from his time serving in the military—and the same sandy blond hair and misty green eyes. They were also both geniuses on a level that mere mortals like me could barely understand.

Carver and Jack had been partners of sorts back when they’d worked for the Department of Justice. Jack had gotten out of that line of work when he’d been shot three times and left for dead by a traitor. Carver had joined the FBI and knew everything there was to know about computers, AI, and how to run checks and balances on government departments. He’d written programs that exposed every bit of corruption—who was being paid and by whom, who had dark and depraved secrets, and conspiracy theories that weren’t such conspiracy theories after all.

It turns out the FBI hadn’t been so fond of Carver having all that knowledge and they’d sent a team after him and his family, and Carver hadn’t had a choice but to take his wife and children and run. We knew the information Carver had on several high-ranking members of the government would eventually be brought to light, but the most important thing for now was that he stay alive until the people responsible could be held accountable. It was hard to hold people accountable when there were so many corrupt people in high places. They had to be smoked out one at a time.

The reason Doug had ended up living with us was because his genius had left him in trouble with the law. The judge had told him there’d been no reason for a teenager to hack into the Pentagon, so he’d been sentenced to probation and house arrest until he was eighteen, and his online activity was closely monitored by every alphabet agency. Jack had been able to get the judge to be lenient on the house arrest if he came to live with us and was under our guardianship.

I didn’t really know how to parent a kid like Doug, so we were feeling our way. It was odd to have a sixteen-year-old under our roof who’d just started driving and who’d already graduated from college and was working on his first master’s degree. And as far as having his computers monitored, I was pretty sure the only other person who had the ability to really figure out what Doug was up to most of the time was his uncle. And just like his uncle, Doug had become very helpful on cases now that Carver was in the wind.

“No worries on dinner,” I said. “We’ll grab something for ourselves.” Knowing Doug, he’d probably eaten most of what had been in the house. I’d had no idea teenagers ate so much.

“If you already ate dinner,” Jack asked, “Then what are you eating now?”

“A snack,” Doug said, shoving what looked like a peanut butter and banana sandwich in his mouth. “And then I made brownies for dessert.”

We followed him into the kitchen, Oscar on our heels.

“I’m glad to see those YouTube cooking classes are paying off,” Jack said.

“Someone’s gotta cook around here,” Doug said, grinning and then looking at me. “We know Jaye’s not going to do it.”

“I’d argue with you, but I’m too tired and it’d be a lie anyway,” I said. “So I’m just going to eat your brownies.”

“That’s cold,” Doug said, shaking his head. “But you look like you could use one, so I’ll have pity on you.”

“You want a sandwich?” Jack asked me, already digging in the fridge for supplies.

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