Her Protector

by R. S. Lively

  "That you orchestrated be close to it when you chose this resort for our vacation?"

  "Maybe."

  "Lee!"

  "I'm sorry! I just hate to see you like this. You've never been this mopey before. Ever. And I've seen you through those really awkward teenage years."

  "I'm not mopey. I just don't feel well."

  "Because you've sad-ed yourself into being physically ill. You miss him. You admitted it yourself. Why aren't you being honest with how you feel about him?"

  "I am honest about it," I argue. "I know my heart is breaking. I know I want to call him a thousand times a day. None of that is a revelation for me. I was all in, Lee. For half a second, I had everything. I was married." My head hangs. "I still feel like I am."

  "That handfasting was real to you."

  "I just don't have the man to show for it." A memory flashes through my mind. "Let me see that last picture again." Lee turns the screen toward me, and I stare at the woman. Micah's arm is around her waist, and though she's smiling, the expression isn't reaching her eyes. "I remember this woman."

  "Who is she?"

  "The night I went to Dean's brownstone to cook dinner for him, this woman was there. Her name is Sandra. She was completely wrapped up in him. I thought she was his wife at first. He told me about her and said he had known her for a long time, but she was just an associate."

  "Is that what rich people call their booty calls?"

  "I thought so, but he was pretty adamant about it. Said she had never been to his house and that the whole dinner party was her idea, so she and a couple other people Dean had worked with before could introduce him to a potential client."

  "That seems shadier than a front porch on Fourth of July."

  "I don't know what that means, but yes, shady. She was obviously trying to get close to him, but he avoided anything but the most basic contact."

  "Apparently she moved on to someone else in the company."

  "No. That's not her style. Why would she go for Micah? I'm sure he's not hurting for money or anything, but he's just the head of a department. Why would a woman who has designs on the billionaire owner of a company settle for someone so much lower in the ranks?"

  "Climbing the first rung on the corporate ladder?"

  "I think I need to call Dean."

  Handing the phone back to Lee, I reach for mine and realize it's back in the hotel room. I don't really need it. Anyone who may want to talk to me has Lee's number, too. Taking the phone back, I scroll through his contacts and select Coffee. Lee categorizes the people in his phone by the first thing that comes to mind when he thinks of them. Usually I'm found under Hetero Life Partner. One time during a particularly long-lasting tiff between us, I became So Much Blackmail Fodder.

  My heartbeat triples in pace as the phone starts ringing. Then rings more. And a few more times. Eventually his voicemail picks up. I leave instructions for him to call me, not wanting to give anything else away in a message and hand the phone to Lee.

  "He didn't answer?"

  "No, he did, I just decided to up the mystery by having him call me later."

  "You are bitchy when you've had too much sun and pineapple juice."

  "Sorry. I'm just--"

  The phone ringing cuts me off.

  "That was fast."

  I snatch the phone but the number on the screen isn't Dean's.

  "Hello?"

  "Alice Larkin, please."

  I never even got to change my name.

  "This is she."

  "Hi, Miss Larkin, this is Officer Schulman, we spoke at Wonderland."

  "Yes, Officer. Good to hear from you again."

  That's a lie. It is never good to hear from a police officer.

  "We've been investigating the incidents at the theater and may have uncovered evidence that links the break-in and fires. I'm going to forward stills from footage we acquired from security cameras on a few businesses around the theater. If you could look at them, see if you recognize the person or if anything else sticks out at you, and get back to me."

  "I will. Thank you."

  Maybe I was wrong.

  I hang up and quickly log in to my email.

  "What is it?" Lee asks.

  "That was the police. They might have a lead on who has been messing with Wonderland. They're sending me some pictures." The message pops up. "Here they are."

  I open it and scroll through the grainy images.

  "You would think with all the technology available today security cameras wouldn't still look like a stop-action movie someone spilled a drink on."

  One picture stands out and I stop on it.

  "Look."

  Lee leans in and gasps when he sees the picture.

  "Oh, my... gold digger."

  "You said the headquarters isn't far from here?"

  Lee nods, and I swing my legs out of the hammock to stand.

  “A few hours’ drive.”

  “Up for an adventure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Dean

  I press the end call button and immediately redial. It rings several times and goes to voicemail. I repeat the process three more times before leaving a message.

  “Alice, it's Dean. I'm sorry I missed your call. Give me a call back when you have a chance to.”

  I hang up and think through what I said before calling again.

  “It's me again. It's good to hear your voice.”

  Slipping my phone back into the pocket of my coat, I continue walking. April is always an interesting time in Central Park. This is right around when the park wakes up again and true signs of spring start to show through the lasting remnants of winter. There's still a distinct chill in the air, but it's not enough to feel like it's biting my skin, and the first brave buds have shown up on the trees.

  I'm walking the same path I have every day since the last time I saw Alice. The steps are automatic now. I don't even have to think about where I'm going, because my feet will take me there. Around me I hear laughter, and the sounds of children overjoyed to be outside playing after spending the long months of winter holed up inside their homes.

  Several people are wandering slowly around the fountain when I get to it. The snow and ice are gone, and the fountain has been turned back on. There will still likely be plenty of days when it's turned off to prevent freezing, but for now it's flowing happily, giving a bit of hope for the warmer months to come.

  In just a few weeks the whole park will be green and blooming, and photographers throughout the city will be flush with commissions to capture images of proposals. Men will walk with sweaty hands and hidden rings, going over their speeches again and again in their minds, until it doesn't even sound like words they'd ever really say. Most of them won't say what they prepared. Women will gasp and cry, shocked when the men drop to one knee, even if they were anticipating it. A few months after that the nearby bridge will become the backdrop for glamorous weddings. The brides and grooms will be wrapped up in each other, but if they pay attention, they'll notice just beyond the perimeter of their wedding are young couples watching breathlessly. Those same couples will spend the summer and fall walking hand-in-hand around the fountain and next year it'll all start again.

  The same process repeats over and over, and I feel like standing still as it all swirls around me. I feel empty without Alice. There hasn't been a day, an hour, I haven't thought about her. I'll see something and want to tell her about it. A song will play, or I'll hear someone make a comment, and I'll reach for my phone to send her a message. But I always stop. She made it clear she needed time away from me, and much as it hurts, there's nothing I can do to force her to change her mind. A voicemail from her was a spark of hope, but it could have been anything. The message had no warmth and no indication of what she was thinking or what she wanted to say to me. I have to wait for her to call back and it feels like the wait will stretch on forever.

  I walk up to the edge of the fountain
and stare into it. Orienting myself by the scenery around me, I walk around until I've gotten to the spot I think is exactly where Alice and I stood on our first date. It looks different now without the blanket of white, but I can still see her smiling here. There are many images that come to mind when I think of Alice, but that will always be one of my favorites. Her eyes were so bright and filled with laughter. The cold had turned her cheeks pink and the wind had blown her hair just enough, so she didn't look so put together. It was just her.

  Several coins twinkle up at me from the bottom of the fountain, and I wonder which two are the ones Alice and I tossed onto the snow in February. During one of our long nights together she had joked that throwing the coins onto the snow was like a layaway policy for our wishes. Maybe they wouldn't come true until the snow had all melted away and the coins were actually sitting in the fountain. Now that they are, I know that can't be true. Neither one of us would have wished for this.

  My phone rings in my pocket, but there's no excitement in my heart. It's not the custom ring for Alice I programmed a few weeks ago. Instead, I know it's my brother Preston.

  “Hello?”

  “Dean, I've been trying to get in touch with you for days. Where've you been?”

  “Nowhere.”

  “What's going on?”

  Fraternal twins may not have any more link to one another than any other set of siblings, but there's still something different when he reaches out to me than any of our other brothers. We are all close, but my relationship with Preston will always be special.

  “I still haven't talked to her.”

  “Nothing?”

  “She called me, but I missed it. I tried to call her back about twenty times, but she hasn't answered. She isn't even in the city. I went by her apartment and her best friends', and neither one of them answered.”

  “You went by their homes? Don't you think you're starting to border a little bit on stalker at this point?”

  “I really don't care. I just want to see her and get her to hear me out.”

  “Dean listen to me. Of all people, I understand what you're going through. But here's the thing. You should have learned by watching me that trying to cover things up, because you think it'll be easier to give a woman what she wants, is never the right move. You saw what I went through with Victoria. I thought I was doing the right thing by not telling her what I did and letting her think it was all her. You saw how well that worked out for me.”

  “Yeah. You're married and have a son.”

  “Which almost didn't happen. Whether you believe it or not, Alice has reason for being pissed off at you. Not only did you lie to her, but you probably made her believe everything she'd been thinking about herself this whole time. She's probably been afraid from the second she started thinking about buying that theater. She has probably questioned herself and her abilities every single day. You have to give her a chance to work through that and decide if she can trust you. If there's ever a time when she can, then you're going to continue to work every minute to prove to her that her trust isn't mislaid and build a new relationship, not expect to just start up again with the old one.”

  “And if she doesn't?”

  Preston hesitates.

  “Then you're just going to have to learn to live without her.”

  “I can't do that. We made a commitment to each other, and I can't just throw that away.” The line makes a clicking sound. “Preston, there's a call on the other line. I'm going to have to call you back.”

  “I hope it's Alice.”

  “Say hi to everybody for me. If you see Emma, let her know I spoke to Luella and she’s planning on getting to Magnolia Falls the middle of next week to start her formal rehearsals.”

  “I will. Are you going to be back by then?”

  “Yeah. Probably tomorrow. I just…”

  “Had to go to the city. I know.”

  I flip over to the other call just before it drops. It isn't Alice. My mind is spinning as I listen to the police officer tell me about the evidence they found. He says he's already spoken to Alice, but figured, due to the circumstances, he should let me know as well.

  A few minutes later I am flipping through the stills from the security footage he sent me. This has to be the reason Alice called me. Anger clenches in my stomach the further I go down the images, and when I get to one that gives an almost perfect view of a person's face as they turn away from the area at the back of the building that will soon be in flames, spots flash in front of my eyes. Rage keeps me from even recognizing where I am in the park as I run down the paths, and I get back to my car by sheer muscle memory. The traffic never moves fast enough, but it has never aggravated me as much as it does right now as I struggle to maneuver my car through the standstills to the office.

  It's Thursday afternoon, but that probably means there will be few people still in the office. It's been a policy of mine since starting my own offshoot of the company, that anyone working in my office has the option of getting their projects for the week done by the end of the day on Thursday and then being off Friday.

  Some don't take the option, preferring to spread out their work for a slower pace than having the day off. Most, however, start drifting out an hour or two after lunch on Thursday and I don't see them again until Monday morning. That seems to be the case now. The sun and slight uptick in temperature has lured people out and the parking lot is virtually empty. I don't care. There's only one person I want to talk to, and he never leaves early. Micah looks at me like a rabid bull has stormed his office when I walk in. It's not too far off from the truth.

  “Dean, please don't tell me you're here to talk to me about the theater again. I told you over and over I have nothing to do with the messages. I don't know why the owner never got the emails I sent to her, and I don't know why she did get the other ones, but it wasn't me.”

  “I know.”

  He blinks a few times like he can't fully process what I just said to him.

  “You know?”

  “Yes. But I'm going to need your help.”

  “Tell me what I can do.”

  “What's your relationship with Sandra?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Alice

  Sometimes it's refreshing to find out that even after decades of friendship, there are still things to discover about the most important people in your life. That's not so much the case when what you're discovering is that your best friend has distinct difficulties gauging distance on a map. I woke up this morning with fire in my belly and champing at the bit to get to the headquarters. Ever since the disasters started popping up at the theater, I suspected the company behind the silent partner, and now I have absolute proof. While going to Dean's office would give me a chance to tell him directly, going to the headquarters will have more impact.

  In theory. The theory being we ever get there.

  “We've been driving for six hours, Lee. Are we anywhere close?”

  “It's kind of a subjective question. What exactly do you consider close?”

  “Do you have the website for the headquarters pulled up? I'm going to call and make an appointment.”

  “With who?”

  “Grant. Dean’s oldest brother. He's the head of the company and would know what needs to be done. We got along well when we met over St. Patrick's Day, and I feel like he would be willing to hear me out without any other drama associated with Dean seeping in.”

  Ten minutes later, I'm off the phone, and Lee is doing everything he can not to make eye contact as he drives to the nearest hotel.

  “It's good thing I still have Charlie's credit card,” he says, trying to put as much optimism in his voice as possible.

  “What would have been a good thing is if we knew Grant leaves at noon on Fridays, or how long we would actually be driving, so we could have gotten there on time.”

  “Think of it this way. Having a couple of days to think will give you a chance to clear your mind and really be able to talk ab
out it when you meet up with him on Monday.”

  “I don't need any time to think about it. I want to get my hands on her right now.”

  “See? Those are not the words of a person who is calm and in control of herself and can be trusted around others. This woman is still going to be a lying, vandalizing monster Monday morning.”

  Lee is using his reassuring adult voice, but it does nothing to take the edge off my fury for the rest of the weekend. Realizing I'd forgotten my phone at the resort and we'd only brought enough clothes for one overnight didn't do anything to help. The clothes are quickly remedied by a shopping trip, but I can't bring myself to have fun with it. All I want to do is pull the covers up over my head and sleep through the next two days. Which is just about what I do.

  I'm feeling worse Monday morning, but that's not going to keep me from confronting Grant. He needs to know what I found out. Even if it doesn't make any difference, I can't just sit back and let Sandra get away with this. High heels and a few swipes of extra mascara help make me feel a little better and give me more confidence as I stalk across the parking lot toward the doors of the massive headquarters building. From what I know about DreamMakers, Inc., I wasn't expecting something this big and elaborate. But I don't let it intimidate me. I hold my chin a little higher as we approach the bank of mirrored glass doors.

  “I feel like we're in a spy movie,” Lee whispers. “Any second now someone is going to sweep past us and hand off a briefcase containing national secrets and cyanide-dipped gum.”

  "I don't know if that's going to happen," I say, "but we're definitely in this to take a bitch down."

  The woman sitting at the desk in the lobby smiles pleasantly at me as I stride toward her. She doesn't have the bored, tread-on look that most receptionists seem to learn during training for their new position, and she also seems unaffected by my walk, which disappoints me somewhat. Not that she's the one who I want to intimidate, because I highly doubt she had anything to do with the situation with her blue floral dress, lace collar, and smell of tea roses, but it would be nice to know if it’s working. The swimmy feeling in my head and stomach must be keeping me from having the edge I need.