by Nicola Marsh
Christine’s right. She’s domineering and overbearing, always needing to have the last word. Growing up rich does that to a person, I assume. When I initially targeted Trent and researched the Parker family I discovered May had been an heiress and wealthy in her own right before she married Percival Parker. And it shows. May has an air of entitlement no amount of money can buy.
“She won’t like this.” Christine points to her bruised face. “I’ll face a lecture of epic proportions.”
I want to point out she’s forty-four and doesn’t need to answer to anybody but I don’t. “Do you want to spend the night? Trent’s leaving early tomorrow and will be away for a night, so you won’t have to see him. You can have a shower now, borrow some clothes, then I’ll do a brilliant make-up job in the morning so May won’t bombard you with questions? I’ve got an excellent essential oil blend that settles bruises like no other.”
She visibly brightens, the tension creasing her forehead vanishing. “Thanks, that would be great. I’ll text her, saying I decided to pop round and see how you were and decided to stay?”
A blatant lie but then, who am I to talk?
“Sure, go ahead, I’ll leave a towel in the bathroom and clothes in the spare room.”
I stand and sway a little, residual effects of whatever I’d ingested last night. Something niggles at the edge of my conscious, something I wanted to ask Christine… I watch her struggle into an upright position and I remember what it is.
“So you weren’t robbed?”
“No, which is weird, because why else would he beat me up?”
“How did you choose this dealer?”
“Actually, this dealer chose me. As soon as I entered the alley looking for the old crew he shoved me up against a wall and beat the crap out of me.”
My half-baked suspicion starts to coalesce into something unsavory. “How did you escape?”
Her face contorts with fear before she swipes a hand over it. “He just walked away.”
Christine shuffles to the end of the sofa and stands with difficulty. “I’d really love that shower now.”
She’s embarrassed so I drop the subject, despite the inkling that something to do with her assault isn’t right.
“Do you need any help?”
“I’ll be fine.” She gives me a tentative smile. “I really appreciate this. You’ve been amazingly supportive and I can’t thank you enough.” The smile reaches her eyes. “Maybe once I get my head together we could catch up? Get to know each other beyond the obligatory Parker visits Mom makes us endure?”
Glad we’ve warmed to each other—after how many years?—I nod. “I’d like that.”
While her gratitude gives me hope, I wonder if she’ll be as supportive of me when the time comes. I doubt it. If I tell Trent the whole truth I doubt any of them will want to talk to me again.
36
Ria
Twenty-four hours later, I’m still in shock over Grayson’s reappearance and his startling confession.
My ex-husband left us five years earlier because, if he’s to be believed, he put us in danger.
It’s infuriating, to think he didn’t trust me enough to tell me back then. We could’ve talked it through. We could’ve worked out a solution. We could’ve done a lot of things… as a team.
I thought I’d got over him a long time ago but seeing him last night shot that down in a big way: because Grayson Parker is as attractive as ever. Not just physically, but on some deeper level that drew me to him in the first place. And now that I know he isn’t the sicko I thought he was… after he’d left last night I’d studied that awful photo of him being dominated and felt like a complete idiot. It had been digitally altered like he said but I’d been too distraught by him leaving back then to look closely. I hadn’t wanted to; one glance at that sordid photo and I’d seen enough.
Not that it would’ve changed anything if I had discovered the fake, I would’ve despised him anyway for leaving us without an explanation. And for staying away for five long years without a single word.
I should hate him for what he put me, and Shelley, through. I don’t.
I haven’t heard anything from him beyond a terse email saying ‘he’s looking into it’. It’s disarming that he hasn’t found anything out yet.
I met with Lars today, and got him to scour my laptop and run high security programs to ensure my safety is up to date. If Grayson hacked my PC it’s possible my laptop is vulnerable too and I hate the thought of anyone else gaining access.
Lost in my musings I almost miss the turn-off to my street. I rarely walk but needed to clear my head today, so May picked up Shelley from school and is waiting at my place. Dusk streaks the sky mauve as the lights of Chicago cast a glow across the horizon. I like this time of day in bohemian Brunswick.
My cell rings and I fish it out of my bag. I glance at the screen. It’s Shamira. As I’m about to answer I hear a footfall behind me. Not close, but loud enough that I notice. I glance over my shoulder and see nothing but shadows. It usually wouldn’t bother me. I walk these streets at dusk or after dark many times, usually with Shelley, if we’ve been to our favorite vegan café for dinner or popped out for the best gelato in the area. But those threatening emails have made me jumpy and I shake off my momentary fear and answer the call.
“Hey, Shamira, how are you feeling?”
“Much better, thanks. Are you at home?”
“About two blocks away.”
“Uh, good.” She pauses, before rushing on. “Look, this is probably nothing and I don’t want to scare you, but I think someone may be targeting the family and you need to be careful.”
My breath catches and I instill calm into my voice. “Has something else happened?”
She hesitates again, before I hear a soft sigh. “This is confidential because she doesn’t want anyone else knowing her business, but Christine landed on my doorstep last night in a bad way. She’d gone out to score drugs around the corner from here and a dealer attacked her.”
I need to feign surprise, otherwise Shamira will ask how I know about Christine’s addiction and I don’t want to reveal the contents of those emails just yet.
“That’s awful. Is she okay?”
“Yeah, but she’s bruised so she stayed here last night because doesn’t want any more lectures from May, and postponed her checking into rehab. The weird thing is, the guy who beat her up didn’t rob her and might’ve deliberately targeted her. And if that’s true, all the women in this family have had a mishap except you.”
As the implication of what she says sinks in I think I hear it again. A footfall. Another. Like someone’s following me. I dart a glance over my shoulder. Glimpse a shadow…
My blood chills. I pick up the pace, stopping short of breaking into a run as a surge of adrenaline makes my heart pound.
Shamira mistakes my silence for doubt. “Look, I could be way off base but I just thought I’d let you know—”
“I think I’m being followed.” I see the lights from my living room spilling out onto my lawn. May has forgotten to draw the blinds. I’ll chastise her later. Because right now fixating on that light and how close I am to it lends my feet extra speed.
“Ria, this is serious.” She falls silent.
I don’t want to look over my shoulder again. I make a beeline for the front door and all but fall against it, relieved when it opens almost immediately.
May is staring at me with blatant curiosity as I stumble in. “Shut the door,” I say, lowering my voice with effort.
“Are you okay—” May asks at the same time as Shamira shouts in my ear, “Are you home?”
May is still staring at me quizzically, so I say, “Thanks Shamira, I’m home and I’m fine.”
I hear her sigh of relief. “Please take what I’m saying seriously.”
“Shall do.” I hang up but hold onto the cell.
I drop my laptop bag near the front door and switch off the lights in the living room, before walking a
cross to the window.
“What’s going on?” May asks, sounding perplexed as she stares at me like I’m deranged.
“These need to be closed,” I say, tugging on the cord for the blinds as I peer outside. I see nothing but a jogger—average height, dark hoodie pulled up, sweatpants—nothing out of the ordinary.
“Ria, what happened—”
“I thought someone was following me.” I lower my voice and lift a finger to my lips. “I don’t want to frighten Shelley.”
“Of course.” Her tone is brusque as I belatedly question my wisdom in telling her. Nothing fazes May. She’s totally unflappable. Heck, even when that cyclist knocked her down she took it in her stride. “Are you sure you were being followed?”
And just like that, I decide to swallow my fears. May is too pragmatic to fathom someone is potentially targeting this family. Despite those emails only revealing Ashlin’s, Shamira’s and Christine’s secrets, it looks like we’re all in the firing line.
Besides, I can’t articulate my theory, not without betraying how I know everything, so I take a few breaths and wait for my heart rate to slow.
“I could be wrong.” I slip my cell into my pocket, needing the security of having it on me at all times after the fright I just got. “Let me wash up and I’ll go say hi to Shelley. She’s okay?”
May nods. “She’s done her homework, had a shower and eaten dinner.”
I don’t even ask what she ate. May would’ve brought over one of her chef’s meals, packed with protein and nutrients.
“Thanks, I won’t be long.”
However, when I enter my bedroom and close the door, the adrenaline wears off and I barely make it to the bed before collapsing onto it.
Something’s not right. Did what just happen to me have something to do with Grayson’s return and his vague explanation about being threatened years earlier and that danger carrying over to me?
I don’t understand any of this. It makes my head ache and I feel vulnerable for myself and for Shelley. I hate to admit it but I need to talk to Grayson again. I need him to explain why I may be in danger and is that why he really came back. I need him… crazy, because I’ve been fiercely independent for the last five years out of necessity but having him back in Chicago, supposedly out of concern for me, is making me oddly vulnerable.
May hadn’t mentioned him when I rang earlier asking her to pick up Shelley. Then again, she wouldn’t. She saw how I fell apart when Grayson left and she’s nothing if not diplomatic. She left me under no illusions she was appalled by her son’s flaky behavior when he left and was one hundred percent on my side. Though why is Grayson staying with her if she’s so supportive of me? Surely she would’ve told him to go elsewhere? Unless May isn’t as trustworthy as I’ve assumed all these years?
Then again, maybe my recent scare is making me suspicious of everyone. May facilitated our divorce. She did everything she could to show me I was a part of the Parker family. Not such a great thing, taking recent events into consideration.
I stand, glad my legs have stopped wobbling, and pad to the door. I open it a fraction, to find May hasn’t moved from the living room and is peering out into the darkness like I had moments ago.
“May, is Grayson staying with you?”
She jumps, like I’ve startled her, before turning toward me. “Yes. He said it’s not for long.” An embarrassed blush stains her cheeks. “I still don’t approve of the way he treated you and Shelley. In fact, I’ll never forgive him for it, but he’s my son and when he asked if he could stay for a few days, I said yes.”
“It’s okay—”
“He also said he visited you?”
She’s his mother, it’s natural she’s curious, but I have no intention of discussing any of this with her.
I nod. “It was all very civil but like you, I can’t forgive him. But I do need to speak to him. Can you stay for another few hours?”
She opens her mouth, like she’s going to say something, before closing it again. I’m glad. I’m not in the mood to justify my urgency in seeing her son tonight.
“Yes, I can stay.”
“Thanks, I’ll call him and be out in a sec.”
She nods and turns away but not before I see displeasure downturn her mouth. I can’t fathom it. Is she disappointed I’m deigning to speak to the man who abandoned me and that makes me shallow somehow? Or is she disappointed in her son and that manifests whenever he’s mentioned, which is rarely these days?
I close the door and fish my cell out of my pocket. I stab at number one on speed dial, May’s home number, and wait. It always annoyed me that I had no way of contacting Grayson after he left in the event of an emergency regarding Shelley. Until I realized if he gave a damn I would have his new cell number and that rammed home he obviously didn’t care.
Am I being gullible in buying his excuse that he dabbled where he shouldn’t have and left to protect us? Grayson had worked at Parker Partnership. What was the worst he could’ve discovered there?
I hate how discombobulated I feel. Nerves make my palms clammy, like they used to when we first met and I used to call Grayson. Back then, his family’s wealth intimidated me and I lacked confidence. I’m a different woman now but it’s been a long time since I called Grayson. The answering service picks up after the seventh ring.
Annoyed, I leave a brief message for him to call me and hang up. My cell rings ten seconds later, from the same number.
“Grayson?”
“Yeah.” His deep voice zings my synapses as it always does. “Sorry for not answering. I’m laying low until I find out who’s behind all this so thought it prudent I listen to the message rather than answering.”
“Paranoid, much?” I mutter, hating the way his low chuckle makes me press the cell firmer against my ear, like I want to be closer to him.
“Everything okay?” His tone softens like it used to, like he kept a special voice especially for me, and I mentally curse my body’s irrational response to it, my skin tingling with anticipation.
“Yeah, but we need to talk.” It comes out a brusque order because I’m mad at myself more than him.
“Sure, when?”
I don’t want him here, not if there’s the slightest chance Shelley will see him. My daughter finally stopped asking about her father a few years ago and I don’t want her upset if he’s only in town for a couple of days. Morally, it’s wrong to keep him from seeing her. But I’m the one who’ll be left dealing with the aftermath when he breaks her heart again and I won’t let that happen.
“How about I come over there? In an hour?”
I could’ve made it thirty but I want to spend some time with my daughter; and have a shower, which is more a necessity than a vanity thing.
“See you then.”
I hang up before I’m tempted to linger like I used to. His deep voice is mesmerizing, always has been, and I pinch myself to stop from remembering. I open the door again and this time May is on the sofa flicking through a magazine.
“I’m taking a shower, spending a bit of time with Shel, then I’m going to see Grayson.”
I say it almost defiantly, like I’m daring her to disagree. She merely nods. “That’s fine, dear.”
It isn’t, because as I quickly undress and step into a scalding shower I can’t help but think I’m doing the wrong thing.
I need Grayson’s help. But if what he said about his rationale for leaving is true, how much of what’s happening to our family is tied to him?
37
Ashlin
I don’t believe this. Shamira has landed on my doorstep with Christine in tow. They didn’t call ahead. They’ve just arrived and rung the doorbell. Christine is half hidden behind Shamira and appears slumped. Odd. Then she moves to the side and I gasp. Her neck is bruised, her lip is swollen and she’s sporting a shiner. I can ignore them but once I spy Christine’s injuries I’m not that heartless. Besides, I’m curious why these two would pop in unannounced.
In a way it’s good timing. I’ve been at a loose end all day, drifting through the house aimlessly, critically eyeing rooms from a design perspective, assessing how saleable the place is. I’ve been contemplating whether to sell this house or continue living a lie. Because that’s what my marriage has been and if I stay here after the divorce comes through I’ll be plagued by memories of a past I’d rather forget. Besides, with May cutting off access to the family fortune, my home is the only asset I have. I’ll have no choice but to sell, invest the funds wisely and live off a meager income.
I shudder at the thought of cost-cutting and open the door. “This is a surprise.”
“Sorry for turning up like this,” Shamira says, sounding surprisingly forceful. “But Christine needs a place to stay for a night or two.”
I bite back my first response, “Do I look like I run a hotel?” and open the door wider. “Come in.”
“Thanks,” Christine murmurs as she enters. She’s limping, favoring her right leg, and wearing ill-fitting sweatpants and a loose T-shirt. She’s make-up-less and her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. I’ve never seen her anything other than immaculately groomed. Along with the bruises, she’s a mess.
I take them through to the family room where the girls like to hang out. It’s spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the infinity pool. Leather armchairs are placed strategically around the monstrous plasma TV, fitted out with every gaming console known to man. Not that the girls play much these days. Their noses are perpetually stuck to their smartphone and electronic tablet respectively.
“Can I get you anything?” I sound like a polite hostess entertaining friends when nothing is further from the truth. I have nothing in common with these women, never have, apart from our surname. “Maybe a steak for that eye?”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.” Shamira helps Christine into a chair and sits opposite me. Her chutzpah surprises me, considering the last time we spoke she was cowering in my hospital room, sucking up so I wouldn’t tell Trent about her shitty past.
