Shoving the sleeves of her sweatshirt up to her elbows, Sheridan sat crossed-legged on the floor and joined in. “What are we looking for?”
“Anything that’ll give us an idea where they plan to live, what they plan to do. Someone has to keep very close tabs on him.”
Sheridan fished out an empty wine bottle. “Hey, this is expensive stuff.”
Skye studied the label. “A quiet evening alone,” she said, her mind on what she’d witnessed earlier.
“Tell me Oliver’s brother doesn’t have a wife.”
“I’m pretty sure he does.”
Sheridan cursed under her breath. “And it gets uglier.”
“There might be kids involved, too. Besides poor Kate, I mean.”
Sheridan held up a wet Post-it note. Although the ink was running, Oliver’s name was still legible, as well as an address someone had jotted down. “What about this?”
“Doesn’t have a city or zip,” Skye mused.
“That means it’s probably local. But there might not be any real connection between Oliver and the address. Jane might’ve been doodling.”
“It’s worth checking.”
Sheridan relinquished the yellow note into Skye’s hand. “Do you think Oliver’s wife ever wonders if you’re telling the truth about what happened?”
“Going by the letters she sent me a few years ago, she seems convinced I lied about the whole thing.”
“Maybe she’s in denial. Maybe she can’t face that she has a child with a man who’s capable of doing what Burke’s done.” Sheridan tossed a torn shoebox at the discard pile. “Or maybe she doesn’t care whether he’s innocent or not.”
“She cares.” The level of passion in the letters Skye had received clearly revealed that. So did the way Jane had behaved at trial.
“But you’d have to question your own beliefs at some point, wouldn’t you? Can you imagine what her life’s been like?”
“She needs to take her little girl and move on, go somewhere Burke will never find her.”
Sheridan stacked a few letters, mostly junk mail, off to one side. “Why didn’t you call me before you went to Burke’s house?” She looked slightly wounded. “I would’ve gone with you.”
“You would’ve tried to talk me out of it.”
“Of course. I’m your friend. But then I would’ve given in.”
For the same reason. Skye responded with a tired smile. “I know. I just didn’t have the energy to deal with the initial resistance.” The fatigue that ebbed and flowed, depending on the amount of adrenaline in Skye’s system, was making a determined resurgence. She was glad she’d come to Sheridan’s condo. Maybe she’d actually be able to forgo her compulsive checking of doors and windows and get some sleep.
“What about Detective Willis?” Sheridan asked.
Skye remembered his mouth on hers, their bodies pressed tightly together in that parking lot—and wanted more. It was crazy to be so desperate for physical contact, but the heightened emotions of the past few days only made her desire to be with him that much stronger. “What about him?”
“Are you going to tell him you went over to Burke’s?”
Skye grimaced as she opened a plastic bag that held rotting meat. “Ugh, not good.” Quickly closing it, she carried the bag outside to dispose of it. She was pretty sure it held steak scraps—more evidence of a romantic dinner.
“You didn’t answer me,” Sheridan said when Skye returned.
Skye plopped onto the floor. “Because I haven’t thought it through. He won’t be happy to know I was over there. But I need his help to protect Jane. So…yeah, I’ll probably tell him. When I get a minute.”
“Then you’ll be done, right? You’ll turn whatever you find here over to him and quit nosing around?”
“How can I be done when Burke will still be on the loose?”
Sheridan frowned as she gathered up all the trash that had no possible value to them. “Because Detective Willis will take over and eventually put him away.”
Eventually was the key word. Skye knew David was a good detective. But David had to play by the rules and Burke didn’t. Burke had gotten away with murder. “This isn’t David’s only case, Sheridan. He has new stuff coming at him all the time. He needs whatever help we can give him.”
“Then we’ll hire Jonathan.”
“Jonathan’s busy.”
“It wouldn’t matter,” Sheridan said. “You’re caught up in this. You won’t back off until…” She didn’t finish.
“It’s personal,” Skye admitted.
Sheridan worked in silence for a few minutes. When she spoke again, the tone of her voice had changed. “Do you ever think we’re getting carried away?”
Reluctant to address that question, Skye kept her hand down. “I have to know where he is, what he’s doing.”
“I’m not talking about Burke—not exclusively, anyway. I’m talking about living our lives the way we do.”
Skye was about to throw out a sour cream container but hesitated in midmotion. She didn’t see what they did at The Last Stand as getting carried away; she saw it as survival. Each case meant a lot to someone—health, safety, life and limb. She nearly said, “At what point do we decide a life is too much trouble to save?” But Sheridan’s tortured expression quelled the impulse.
“Is it too much for you, Sher?” she asked. “Are you having second thoughts about The Last Stand? The sacrifice and risks involved?”
Sheridan didn’t deny it as quickly as Skye had expected. She actually seemed to consider the question.
“Sometimes.” A spark of defiance brought her chin up. “I know we’re providing an important service. I believe in our cause. But I’d be lying if I said I don’t wish I could be as oblivious as all the people out there who’ve never been touched by violence, who don’t have the kind of memories we do, or…”
Skye tossed the sour cream container in the bag. “Or who simply don’t care?”
“Exactly.”
Understanding what was at the root of Sheridan’s comments, Skye offered her a sympathetic frown. “Sher, you have to quit torturing yourself.” Skye had to live with the consequences of Burke’s actions—and now, his imminent release—but at least she didn’t have to live with the belief that she was somehow responsible for an attack that had cost the life of a friend and nearly killed her, too. “We’ve talked about this before, millions of times. What happened to Jason wasn’t your fault.”