Mike
B ecca had never seen a psychologist or therapist before.
She wasn’t sure what to expect.
But as Joe Lassiter brewed her a cup of coffee in his kitchen, while she sat at the table gazing out of the windows which overlooked the large Woodfield Mall, she was sure this wouldn’t have been it.
He’d greeted her, wearing blue jeans and a long-sleeved dress shirt, the arms casually rolled up to his elbows.
He’d told her to call him Joe.
Then he’d invited her into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
And Carter had been correct.
He had some bad scars on his face and neck.
“Thank you,” she said as he set the cup of coffee in the floral mug she’d chosen from the double-wide cabinet with hundreds of coffee cups.
He sat opposite her.
“Do you regularly shop at the mall?”
“Often enough,” she replied.
“Bet you never would have thought we were here in this building,” he said with a grin.
She returned his smile.
“You are correct. But I guess that’s the point. The agency needs to remain anonymous.”
Lassiter nodded.
“Yes, it does. People’s lives depend on it. Just as people’s lives depend on the job we do, which we can only do if we remain anonymous.”
She nodded.
“These domestic violence cases are important to help get people, mostly women and children, out of abusive and dangerous situations. Briana finds the work rewarding, but the cases also take their toll on her and on the rest of the team who work on them.”
“I can understand that,” Becca agreed.
“You’re wading in,” Lassiter said with a chuckle.
“I’ll assume there is a reason you don’t specialize in divorce cases.”
“When I was in college, I was interested in working for the DA’s office. But what I saw while I interned with the Chicago Police Department over two summers cured me of that. I guess I was na?ve, not knowing that people can really be that evil and inhumane to each other with the crimes they commit. I knew I didn’t want a steady diet of that sort of work. And honestly, divorce cases can be just as vile.”
“How’d you get into estate law?”
“By accident,” she said and then chuckled.
“It’s not exciting, but it’s steady work and I build relationships with my clients. I like that part, the people part. I haven’t checked my email since this morning, so I’m not sure I have a job left. I may have resigned from the firm I work for this morning.”
Now Joe chuckled.
“You don’t sound too broken up if you did resign. What happened?”
She told Joe about the morning messages with the receptionist and the email she’d sent the partners.
She also told him she didn’t want to go back to the office.
“But maybe that’s just me resisting that I have to get back to my normal life.”
“Your normal life had your sister and her family in it. You’ll need to settle into a new normal now that they’re gone,” he said.
She teared up.
Joe handed her a box of tissues.
“I’m sorry, sorry for your loss, and sorry bringing it up has upset you. I’m told you haven’t spoken to anyone about it yet. It’ll be good for you too, you know. Everyone grieves differently and for different amounts of time. You won’t ever get over it, but you’ll learn coping techniques to adjust to life now and to live with what has happened.”
He paused and watched her reaction.
She dabbed the tears which had spilled onto her cheeks.
He took a drink of his water bottle and waited her out for several long minutes.
“I’m not ready to deal with any of that yet, not until after the person who did it has been found and brought to justice,” she finally said.
“What does justice look like?”
“If Illinois had the death penalty, it would be that. But since we don’t, life in prison. And I want to know why, why he had to kill all of them.” She broke down and cried like she hadn’t in weeks.
“The kids, why the kids?”
Joe reached across the table and took her hand.
“Becca, you need to start to deal with it now. You may not ever get answers to those questions, and this will tear you apart if you let it. You can’t change what’s happened. All you can do is deal with it so it doesn’t destroy you, find a new normal, and live your life the best you can. You can heal from this and, in time, find happiness in your new normal.” He again watched her and waited her out.
She didn’t pull her hand away.
“It feels wrong to. I’ve had moments I feel normal, or I should say I’m not thinking about it and am not feeling devastated and then I realize it and feel so guilty.” She kept her gaze fixed on her coffee mug as she spoke.
Joe squeezed her hand.
“Hear me. You should not feel guilty for letting moments of normality sneak in and lift your spirits. It’s not a disservice to their memories. It doesn’t mean you’re not devastated by this, not grieving. All it means is that you’re healing and letting a little bit of light back in.”
Becca kept her gaze on the coffee mug.
“Will I ever feel like myself again? Will I ever have a day that their murders aren’t the first thing I think about when I wake or the last thing I think about before I go to sleep?”
“Yes,” Joe answered gently.
“And you won’t feel guilty for it either. That’s called healing.” He paused.
“Has the intruders and the danger you faced last night dominated your thoughts today, too?”
“You know, I’m angrier about my house being trashed than the intruder attacking me and making me kill him in my sister’s house last night. His death is on him. Is that wrong?”
“No feelings are wrong. The only feelings that are wrong are the ones you don’t acknowledge. Those are the ones that will cause you trouble in the long run. Let’s break this down. You’re angry about your house being trashed. That is a normal, healthy reaction. If you weren’t, there’d be something wrong with you.” He smiled at her.
She couldn’t help but return the small grin.
“And you are absolutely correct that the man who attacked you, the intruder who broke into your sister’s house, where he did not belong, is to blame for his own death. You protected yourself, something everyone has the right to do, and I’d argue, a moral obligation to do.”
Becca nodded emphatically.
“It had to be scary. Recount what happened and name the emotions you felt. This is how you deal with trauma, talking about it and naming the emotions you felt then and now,” Lassiter said.
Becca told him about the events the night before.
Fear was a predominant emotion.
She also named hope that Carter and Jackson would get there before the men in the house found her.
But when the doorknob jiggled, and she knew one or more of the men were on the other side of the door, a momentary paralyzing terror gripped her.
When the door hit her back, she was shaken out of that immobilization, and she told herself she’d fight until she could no longer.
Oddly, when the mirror fell on the man and he went down, she felt relief.
While sitting in the closet, clutching the gun, she felt determined to survive.
She knew she would shoot anyone who entered the closet.
At the sound of the gunshots downstairs, a new level of panic hit her.
And when Carter appeared in the closet doorway, the feelings that washed over her were profound and overwhelming.
She was safe.
“How did you sleep last night?” Lassiter asked.
“Better than I have in a really long time,” she admitted.
“Not only was I exhausted, but I knew I was safe in this building.”
“It’s not surprising you haven’t slept well since the murders. That too is perfectly normal. For what it’s worth, besides, as you said, you were not dealing with it yet, I think you’re coping well. I can help you through a few other parts of it if you’ll let me.”
She moved her head in a noncommittal mix between a nod and a shake.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Will you commit to one more appointment with me?” he pressed.
“Yes, I can do that.”
He grinned.
“Our time is nearly up. If you need anything, reach out to me.” He pulled a business card from his shirt pocket and handed it to her.
“Your brother-in-law didn’t kill your sister or her family. I’m glad you’re coming on board for this domestic violence case to help ensure our client isn’t killed by her husband.”
Becca finished her last sip of coffee and then stood.
“Thank you for the conversation, Joe.”
Lassiter also stood.
“Thank you for being so open. It’s a process, healing. You’ll get there.”
He walked her out.
As expected, Carter sat in one of the chairs in the outer office, which brought Becca a feeling of security.
He came to his feet as she stepped into the room.
She gave him a mild grin, more as recognition, so she wouldn’t have to speak.
She was feeling emotionally exhausted after the meeting with Joe Lassiter and the last thing she wanted to do was recap any of it with Carter.
“Hey,” Tessman greeted.
He noticed her eyes were red.
She’d probably been crying, which meant Lassiter got her to talk about the murders.
Good, she needed that.
The urge to hold her and comfort her hit him hard.
“You ready to go back upstairs?”
“Yes,” she said.
She turned back to Joe.
“Thank you. I’ll talk to you later.”
Joe nodded.
“Have a good evening, both of you.”
They took the public stairs back up to the fifth floor.
Tessman led her into the kitchen.
“I thought you wanted to look for something in the bins from my sister’s house?”
“I looked while you were in with Lassiter,” he said.
She looked bothered that he had looked through them without her.
“I hope that’s okay. It was in the interest of time.”
She shook it off.
“It’s fine. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“No. I was hoping Nick had a copy of his performance reviews at work. I wanted to see how altered the file was that the HR lady gave us. I also wanted to see if he had anything that listed projects he’d worked on or any names of his coworkers.”
“I’m surprised there was none of that in his home office.”
“Unless whoever murdered them found it and took it,” Tessman suggested.
“I hadn’t considered that,” Becca said.
“If he had it all on a flashdrive that could have been what they were looking for last night. I didn’t pack up everything in their drawers yet. It could be hidden in his underwear drawer,” she said.
“A few friends said they’d come help me do that when the time comes.”
“Or he could have some cloud storage account that we didn’t find where his important documents are kept.”
“That would be more like Nick. He wasn’t a paper person. He even read his books electronically.”
Tessman opened the refrigerator.
“What would you like?”
She came up beside him.
“I purposefully didn’t have any of the lasagna for lunch. I’d like some of that and salad.” She reached in and pulled out the salad container.
Tessman got two plates down from the cabinet.
“Sounds good. I’ll have the same.” He pulled the tray of lasagna out as well.
“When this is over, I’d like to take you out for a good steak dinner. I feel bad you’re stuck eating leftovers.”
Becca flashed him a nervous smile.
Had he just asked her out?
Like on a date? No, that couldn’t have been his intention.
“Don’t feel bad. The food has been very good. The vegetable pasta I had for lunch was incredible.” She tapped the restaurant’s name on the package.
“This has just become my favorite Italian restaurant in the area.”
“I think Greek day is tomorrow. You’ll have a new favorite Greek restaurant after you try whichever meals Angel orders. She rotates what she orders, but their chicken lemon orzo soup is incredible.
“Avgolemono?
”
“Yes,” he grinned shyly and dropped his gaze.
“I can never pronounce it properly.”
She returned his smile.
“Chicken lemon orzo soup works. I knew what you meant.”
They heated their meals and then sat and ate, mostly in silence.
Tessman wanted to ask her about her appointment with Lassiter, but didn’t want to pry and he certainly didn’t want to upset her.
She still looked exhausted.
He wasn’t sure where that dinner offer for after this was over came from.
He certainly hadn’t planned on asking her out, though the thought of an actual night out that was strictly personal was an appealing thought.
Tessman checked his watch.
It was eighteen thirty hours.
It would be at least an hour and a half before Briana Woods would hear from the client and get back to Becca on possible terms to include in the divorce papers.
He’d like to spend the time with her, but didn’t want to be pushy or assume she wanted to spend the time with him.
There was really no legitimate work reason for it.
But what else would he do in his office for a few hours before he hit the rack?
“What are your plans for the rest of the night?” she asked after taking her last bite of lasagna.
“I don’t have any,” he said.
“Are you staying here or heading home tonight?”
“I’m staying.”
“Do you have to because I’m here?” She hoped that wasn’t the case.
She didn’t need a babysitter.
Tessman smiled and shook his head.
and looked kind of boyish as he replied.
“No, but I want to, in case you need anything. You know me and I won’t mind if you call or text. Those working in Ops overnight wouldn’t mind either. That’s why they’re here, but I’d like to be here for you.”
Becca felt a warmth spread through her.
She watched him stand and grab both their plates.
“That’s really nice. Thank you. But really, if you’d rather go home,” she began, but he interrupted her.
“I spend most nights here when I’m in town. It’s just easier. I have this shoebox-size apartment with no food in it. I basically store my clothes and stuff there,” he said.
“Here there’s food, the gym, a great locker room with shower facilities and if I get scrambled in the middle of the night, I’m here ready to go. If not, and I’m just reporting for duty, the commute is no problem.” He flashed her another grin and then he stepped over to the trashcan and threw away the used and now empty paper plates.
They’d both eaten every bite.
“What are your plans until you hear from Briana?”
“I was thinking a movie, a funny movie. I’d love a glass of wine,” she said, also coming to her feet.
“I happen to have a couple of bottles of wine in my car,” he said.
“You do?”
“Yes, I remembered you wanted a glass last night, so while Jackson and I were out, I stopped and got a couple of bottles. Not knowing what you like, I got both a red blend and a white blend.”
“Oh my God! Thank you! That’s unbelievable!” She was so surprised; she flung herself into him and wrapped her arms around him.
Tessman tentatively returned her embrace.
“You’re welcome.”
She pulled away.
“That was so inappropriate of me. I’m so sorry.”
He couldn’t help but grin, seeing her embarrassment.
“Wow, if that’s what happens when I get you a bottle of wine, maybe I should try a margarita, or a Long Island Iced Tea.” He already missed her in his arms.
She laughed, looking more relaxed than she had all day.
“If you really want to get a reaction, try a chocolate martini.”
“I will remember that,” he pledged.
She laughed again. “Or a mudslide, especially on a Caribbean cruise.”
“Chocolate martini, check, mudslide, check,” he said.
“I’ve never taken a cruise, well not one on a cruise ship that is. While active duty we got plenty of transports on ships, but trust me, it was nothing like a cruise you’ve been on. I go diving in the Caribbean as often as possible though.”
“Scuba diving?”
“Yes,” he said.
“I love being beneath the waves. It’s so peaceful.”
“I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“You should. It’s a great time,” he said.
She nodded. “Yes, hopefully sometime, maybe on my next vacation.”
“Most island resorts do a quick scuba certification, but I’d never advise doing that if you’re not going out with someone very experienced. If you’re serious about it, there are a few local places that do real dive training and certification.”
“Do you have a favorite place you go diving?”
“St. Thomas,” he replied remembering the last time he was there, just a few months ago with Wilson.
That was before Wilson got together with Rae.
He wondered if his buddy would go diving with him again or if all his leave time would now be dedicated to his new family.
He figured the latter.
“I love St. Thomas,” she said, breaking in on his thoughts.
“How about we go down to the garage and get that wine from my car? I’d like a glass with you, if that’s okay.”
“Sounds good,” she said.
“I was kind of hoping you’d want to watch a movie with me.”
Tessman loved that she asked.
“Yes, that sounds good.”