by T. K. Lukas
“I understand.”
“I just opened a bottle of wine. Would you humor me and share a glass, share some information about yourself? Before you go back to your lodge?”
“All right. Sure. A glass would be nice. Before I go back to my lodge.” No hint of an invitation to stay longer, he noted. Not that he would have.
Three glasses later, Markus stood to leave. “Thank you, Sidney. It’s been an enjoyable, enlightening evening.”
“You’ve enlightened me about the glories of Alpine. However, I’m disappointed I didn’t learn more about you. That was the purpose of this exercise.” Sidney pushed herself out of the chair, her body’s slight sway hinting at the empty bottle of wine.
“Conversations have a funny way of taking their own course.” Markus set the empty bottle of wine on the kitchen counter.
Together they walked to the door, the tight quarters making it difficult to not touch or not bump as they said good night. The image of her in her lacy lingerie that revealed intimate secrets tugged at his mind. He decided to play his card.
“May I make a bold, personal observation?” he asked, his expression once again giving nothing away. Though it was a question, he was prepared to make a statement.
“Yes. Be bold.” Sidney was feeling bold. Wine did that to her.
“Red freckles on your nose and emerald green eyes—I’m guessing that blond is not the color you were born with.” Markus imagined her again in those see-through panties, knowing full well that the best evidence, this woman’s unwitting intimate disclosure was a clue he should keep to himself. He would try to throw her off balance, to make her falter. See if there was a flaw in her story. A chink in the armor.
“Wow. You’re either bold or rude.” Sidney took a step back, giving him an arched-brow, wary look. “If not blond, what color do you think my hair is?”
“Oh, I’d say you’re definitely a redhead,” he smirked.
“What? You want a gold star for guessing?”
“What makes you think I’m guessing?”
“Look, I don’t know what your game is, but I’m not amused. What are you trying to—?”
“I love red hair. Don’t you?”
“I—yes—most of the time.” Sidney shoved both palms outward in a physical blockade, backing away. “You need to leave. Get out of my trailer.”
“Why cover it up? You can take that off, if you want.”
“Excuse me? Take what off?”
“That silly blond wig.” Markus spun out the door, leaving it and her mouth wide open.
*****
Upstairs in his private suite, Markus pushed a wall tapestry aside, revealing a door hidden in the wood paneling that could be seen only if one knew where to look. He located the four secret strips of wood and pressed them in the required sequential pattern, each for the correct length of time. The wooden panels shifted outward, allowing the bulletproof door to slip silently into the wall. He stepped inside the stark room large enough for only a table with a computer and monitor, a state-of-the-art printer, and a shredder. He secured the door behind him.
He slipped a key from his pocket and opened the top drawer of the desk, taking from it another key hidden underneath the drawer. That key opened a small, rectangular black box containing an encrypted one-way phone capable only of dialing out. With the coded numbers entered, he waited, gave the password when asked, and when prompted further, replied with his request.
“Need background check ASAP on female, age thirty-four, current residence Fort Worth, Texas. Name on passport is Sidney Knight, spelled K, N, I, G, H, T. May also go by Sidney McQueen. See what you might find on a Mountain Princess Trust, while you’re at it. Need info as well on her husband, no name available. Suspected of Mexican cartel involvement. Acknowledge.”
A pause—Markus pressed the off button and re-secured the phone into its black box. The same steps were repeated in reverse order until he secured the door and pulled the tapestry into place. It swayed back and forth on its black silk cord before slowing to a stop.
Made of black silk, the hand-woven piece was simple, and the painted lettering in bold white script was written in Japanese Kanji. “A warrior is worthless unless he rises above others and stands strong in the midst of a storm.”
Below the script and spanning the width of the tapestry was a white circle bordered in red. Painted in the circle was the same fiery red dragon that hung over the gated entryway to his ranch. Markus read the quote aloud as he did each time he exited the secret room, his hands pressed together, body bowed at the waist. Then, with eyes closed, he silently repeated the words painted on the tapestry. He visualized the petite figure who had crafted it, the slender hands that wrote the words. He saw clearly the woman with the long black hair who had brought to life the sacred message—who had inspired the man he would become.
CHAPTER 4
Fort Worth (One Week Earlier)
Sidney sat at a bistro table on the rooftop patio of Reata’s Restaurant. She gazed over the railing at the swarm of holiday shoppers crawling the pavement far below. It seemed to her that everyone was sipping coffees and laughing and chatting—an entire cross-section of downtown Fort Worth behaving as if it didn’t have a care in the world.
Sidney let out a doleful sigh. She used to count herself among them. She checked her watch for the fourth time and drained the last of her margarita, running the tip of her tongue around the rim of the glass and licking it clean of the lime-flavored salt. Her platinum Rolex strapped to her wrist confirmed again what she already knew.
Five o’clock. Happy hour. How ironic.
The sound of the elevator doors whooshing open and sliding closed drew her attention to the alcove across from the bar. Whether male or female, every patron sitting at the bar turned and stared as Sidney’s cousin, Jessi, made a grand entrance. An inch shy of six feet and rail thin, she wore her long black hair in her signature style, a tousled ponytail. Jessica Cordoba was used to turning heads. Her chiseled bone structure and full lips made her a favorite with the photographers and makeup artists who worked for the Dallas modeling agency that had represented her for the past dozen years. Despite being thirty-four years old and well past the prime age of most models in the industry, Jessica Shea Cordoba was in high demand.
“Hey, Sid, sorry I’m late,” Jessi hugged her cousin in a warm embrace. “The shoot ran long. Same story. They always run long. I finally put my foot down and said ‘enough.’ I mean, how many takes does one really need of a white sofa, a bottle of vodka, and a naked girl draped in a mink coat? If the art director can’t get it shot in six hours, he’s not going to get it at all. I knew you were waiting for me and that your nerves must have been on edge.”
“No problem. I’m grateful that you’re here. Where’s Rafael? He’s still coming, isn’t he?”
Jessi bit her bottom lip and shook her head. “That was the plan, I know, but we had a big fight about it this morning. Rafe said he couldn’t risk possible repercussions. Thanks to the high-roller clients Winston sends his way, Rafe’s import-export business has doubled in revenue this year.”
“I thought it was the other way around, that Rafe’s firm sent clients to Winston.” Sidney shrugged away her confusion.
“Either way, he’s not coming.” Jessi fidgeted with the ring on her left finger. “Don’t worry about it, Sid. We can handle this without him.”
“I can’t believe he’s putting business before family. And today of all days.” Sidney pressed her fingers against her temples, feeling certain this was a bad omen.
“Winston and Rafe go way back, and he’s considered Winston part of the family since you two got married. Also, Rafe introduced you to Winston in the first place—I’m sure that makes him feel awkward about being here today.”
The memory of that first meeting, when she’d walked into Winston’s law office escorted by her cousin-in-law, seemed eons ago, yet it was only last year. Rafael had been insistent that the two were perfect for each other and she
should meet his longtime friend and attorney. Although she had barely had time to get used to being a widow, she’d agreed. If anything, it might turn out to be profitable for her jury consulting business. To break the ice, Winston had called her a few days before they actually met in person. It was a pleasant conversation, and he asked her for advice on jury management. He read many of her articles, he said, and his comments about what she’d written had been eloquent, knowledgeable, and flattering. In fact, he was so excessively complimentary—to the point of obsequiousness—that she had a momentary urge to call off the meeting. Sidney shuddered at the memory.
“I wish I could blame this mess on your husband and his poor cupid skills,” said Sidney. But this is mine. I own this. I should have listened to my gut. Now, I’m unmessing my life.”
“Rafe meant well,” offered Jessi. “But you’re doing the right thing, and I support you one hundred percent. On the bright side, you don’t have to worry about how to support yourself.”
“Fortunately, money has never been an issue.”
“Speaking about money, Rafe must be raking in the dough with his new client in Spain. Even though he’s got plenty of other international clients, he insists this is The One that will set us up for life. It’s either ego or avarice.” Jessi wagged her finger. “Look at this ridiculous ring. When I refused to put it on, he got pissed. It’s so ostentatious—I’m embarrassed to wear it.”
“Jesus Christ, Jessi. That’s huge.” Sidney eyed the square yellow diamond set in platinum and surrounded by a cluster of white baguettes. “At least it can double as a weapon. You could kill someone if you punched them with a left hook.”
Jessi laughed nervously. “The thought has crossed my mind. Besides his becoming so materialistic, Rafe is behaving like a jealous maniac lately. He accuses me of flirting with other men, even with other women, for Christ’s sake. I mean, if he doesn’t give me a little breathing room, this pretentious ring may become a weapon.”
“Seriously Jessi—are you guys having problems again?”
“Not really problems, just—issues. But, I can deal with it. It’s not half as bad as what you’ve been going through. Anyway, since we’ve been talking about starting a family, Rafe has been, I don’t know, nicer?”
“Rafael is a dick. Sorry, but he is.” Sidney waved the waitress over and ordered another margarita. “Top shelf, please, double shot of tequila, and a sparkling water for my cousin. And if you have one, a brawny male who has the cojones to sit at our table while I serve my husband with divorce papers. My cousin’s husband was supposed to act the role of the brawny male, but turns out he’s an asshole who puts money before family.”
The waitress snorted. “If a brawny male with cojones was a menu item, our ‘take out’ crew wouldn’t be able to keep up with the orders. Chips and salsa? Appetizers?”
“I couldn’t eat. Do you want anything, Jessi? A leaf of lettuce?” Sidney laughed at their old joke, knowing what Jessi would order.
“Buffalo rib eye, rare. Loaded baked potato, extra butter. Don’t come near me with a salad. Instead of the sparkling water, I’ll take a glass of your house pinot noir. I might as well indulge. With what’s planned for this evening’s agenda, this may be my last supper.”
Sidney tried to shrug off the image of da Vinci’s painting of The Last Supper. But she had no answer as to who might play the role of Judas. She watched as Jessi spoke to the waitress, and she noticed how tired her cousin appeared. Or, maybe Jessi’s expression was more worried than tired.
“Hey, are you okay?” Sidney leaned in and gave Jessi’s arm a squeeze after the waitress left with their order. “You seem a bit—I don’t know—tired?”
“I am tired, but I’ll be fine when this advertising campaign is over. Long hours.” She returned the gesture, giving Sid’s arm a squeeze. “So, everything is in place? You’ve taken care of all the details? The money, the bank, the safety deposit box, a post office box, a hotel for tonight until you can get your stuff moved in with Rafe and me?”
“Everything’s in order. I moved Mocha today to a private barn in Weatherford a friend-of-a-friend owns. I left the truck and trailer Winston bought for me at the ranch for him to keep. I took a taxi into town and then rented a car.”
“Good,” said Jessi, nodding. “What else?”
“I’ve cashed out everything I could get my hands on that was mine to cash out—what was mine before we got married. I put into the vault at my new bank the valuables I knew Winston would go ape shit over—the gifts he’d given me and nothing more. All that remains at the ranch means nothing to me. He can have it. I’m walking away with my life and my horse. I don’t care about the rest. I’ll let my attorney hash it out.”
“I’m sure Winston will represent himself.”
“Of course, with a full team of assistants at his beck and call. He’ll leave no stone unturned when it comes to winning. I’ve seen him in action too many times in court. He’ll play dirty. That’s why I hired Aleck Stavros.”
“Thank God he was willing to take your case. I was worried that no attorney between Dallas and Fort Worth would touch it, knowing they’d be going against him.”
“Aleck Stavros isn’t intimidated by anyone, let alone Winston. He said he’d welcome the opportunity to face off with him again.” Sidney sipped her margarita, steeling her resolve. Winston’s reputation was well known, but it was based on unequal parts of respect and the fear of retaliation, the latter part of the equation tipping the scales in its favor.
*****
Charles Winston Knight, III acquired things. One thing he wished to acquire was the stunning redhead sitting in his office. The cousin of his business associate’s wife, she was everything Rafael had said she was, and more. She was a brilliant psychologist. That might come in handy.
Prior to entering the working world, the brainy beauty had been a doctoral student at Southern Methodist University’s School of Psychology in Dallas. Her PhD thesis, ‘Neuroscience-based Credibility Assessment for Jury Management – Is Your Juror a Liar?’ had led to numerous articles being published in legal journals. As a result, her services as a juror manager kept her in high demand. She charged accordingly.
C. Winston Knight became a regular client.
The first time Sidney consulted for Winston’s firm, it was a personal injury case in which his firm’s client, the plaintiff, was suing a drunk driver who’d had multiple DWI’s. It should have been a simple matter of putting a multiple offender behind bars. Sidney soon learned that life in Winston’s world was seldom simple.
It had been mid-morning, just after ten o’clock, when the plaintiff and his wife, experiencing car trouble, pulled over to the side of the road. The husband went to the front of the car to lift the hood and check the engine while the wife had gone to the rear of the car to retrieve the orange emergency cones from the trunk. It was a bright clear morning with very little traffic. The date was December twenty-fifth.
The elderly gentleman didn’t remember the crash. He couldn’t recall hearing a horn honking, or, brakes screeching. Since there’d been no evidence of skid marks, there’d probably been no attempt to stop. What he remembered was waking up in a field of grass several yards away from his car and seeing scattered about him the wrapped Christmas presents they were taking to their grandchildren. The car was slammed so hard from behind, the impact so crushing, that it severed his wife’s legs just above both knees. She bled to death before paramedics arrived. The drunk driver fled the scene, leaving behind his crumpled, bloody license plate as evidence.
The passion and intelligence Winston employed in his arguments, the way he had the jury crying and hanging on his every word, the charisma he displayed in and out of the courtroom, impressed Sidney. The genuine tenderness Winston showed to the grieving husband moved her. Like the female jurors she selected for the case, Sidney was smitten. He won her over, too.
However, winning the case wasn’t enough for Winston—justice was not yet served. While out of j
ail on bond and awaiting an appeal, the defendant was brutally beaten, his legs broken, and both of his eyes gouged out. Whoever did it made sure the man would never again get behind the wheel of an automobile.
Police suspected two drug-thugs who happened to be former clients of Winston’s; however, due to lack evidence, no one was ever charged for the crime. Although he denied any involvement, Winston was emphatic that the drunk driver got exactly what he deserved, no matter who inflicted the punishment. He argued that the cash settlement the insurance company paid wouldn’t give the old man his wife back.
Sidney ignored her internal red flags. She’d seen Winston speaking to the two whom police suspected—had seen money exchange hands and whispered words nodded to. She asked Winston point-blank if he was involved in any way with the attack. She accepted his tear-filled apology that followed his angry and vile denial during a loud argument that ended with her against a wall, him in her face yelling at her to never again accuse him of misconduct.
Three months later, after a tumultuous romance, she was Mrs. C. Winston Knight. It was supposed to have been a simple weekend get-away—a mini-vacation. But when they arrived in Lake Tahoe, a short and sexy Modern Bride wedding dress just her size was hanging in the closet. He had planned everything—flowers, cake, champagne, preacher, and a diamond ring as big as a doorknob.
When Sidney protested, saying she wasn’t ready, wasn’t sure if marriage was what she wanted, his anger flared. “After all I’ve done—this is the thanks I get? When you’re in love, marriage is the next logical step. I’ve gone to all this trouble to surprise you, and you’re going to embarrass and hurt me by turning me down?”
She admitted to having deep feelings for him—but the word ‘love’ had been difficult for her to say. Beyond the initial animal attraction to a handsome man, Sidney was attracted to his brilliant legal mind. She respected his ability to debate any topic—although he did always insist on having the last word. But it was his carefree spontaneity out of the courtroom and his enthusiasm for living life to the fullest that she had fallen for.
