by T. K. Lukas
“And these wealthy foreign clients—”
“Were the reason for the guns Winston kept all over the house. He’s a great attorney, makes a ton of money, but not enough for two private jets, a ski chalet in Breckenridge, and a ranch in Fort Worth with a barn full of expensive show horses. Besides the stacks of cash in the home safe, there’s no telling how much money he has invested in stocks.”
“I’m assuming you think he’s got a little illegal somethin’-somethin’ going on with these foreigners.”
“I can’t prove it, but I have a feeling he’s involved with one of the Mexican cartels. Among other clues I won’t go into, I’ve overheard him talking about Juarez in reference to some of his clients. Perhaps there’s some money being laundered through bogus Texas businesses. At least, I’m guessing that’s what’s happening. He brags too loudly on the phone, especially when he’s talking to my cousin’s husband. Drops names. Flashes money like a big shot when he’s not one.”
“Sidney. Those are bad dudes. They make al-Qaeda look like lambs. Again, why don’t you have a bodyguard? I’m serious.”
“I’m making this divorce very public. Winston’s shiny image and reputation mean everything to him. He won’t do anything to me that would cause people to suspect him of wrongdoing.” Sidney knew that Winston had a very lopsided view of good and bad, right and wrong. He saw himself as being the defender of good and right; he just invented his own rules to suit his game.
“Do you suspect your cousin’s husband is involved, too?”
“No. I’ve known Rafael a long time. He and Jessi have been together since they were high school sweethearts and he was a foreign exchange student from Spain. Even though they’ve been business associates for years, Winston still has a need to impress Rafe—he’s like a hoarder when it comes to amassing people’s admiration.”
“Wow. What a nightmare. You’re one tough cookie.” Trevor stroked his dog’s ear while Gunner slept, the chew toy tucked between his front paws.
“I hate to be rude, but this tough cookie’s exhausted. It’s been a long day and the wine’s gone to my head. I hope you don’t regret suggesting ‘stranger therapy.’ I probably shared more than I should have, and you should probably forget everything I told you. I will say, however, I’m glad I met you and Gunner.”
At the sound of his name, the yellow lab sat up and looked at Sidney, then picked up his chew toy and placed it on her lap. Sidney laughed and hugged the dog, playing a quick game of tug, letting the dog win.
“I don’t regret it at all. It looks to me like you needed someone to talk to, and I doubt very seriously that I’ll forget anything you said. That’s some pretty scary shit you’ve been through. I’m walking you to your room. No. Don’t argue.”
“All right. Thank you.”
Trevor fished around in his backpack. “Here, take my card. That’s my cellphone number. I know this was supposed to be ‘stranger therapy,’ but I don’t want to stay strangers. If you need something, someone to talk to, someone to put a bullet in someone’s head, call me.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Sidney took his card and gave him one of hers from her bag. Collecting her things, she led the way to her room. In the hallway, she hugged Trevor, thanking him again. Grateful for this chance encounter, she was glad she’d decided to trust this person and indulge in a harmless session of stranger therapy.
“Stay in touch, lady. I want to know that you’re okay.” Trevor hugged her in a tight embrace. “I’m serious.”
“I will—I promise. Good night. Good night, Gunner.” She patted the dog and let herself into her room, locking the door behind her and fitting the security chain in place.
Sidney hung her bag on the hook behind the bathroom door and slipped out of her robe and bikini. Showering off the chlorine from the pool, she let steam from the hot water fill the room. She took her time, enjoying the luxury of the scented body oil she rubbed onto her wet skin. As the water began to cool, she reached her arm out of the curtain, searching for one of the folded towels stacked next to the shower. Patting her hand on the counter, she stretched her arm out farther, but she couldn’t find it.
I know it’s there. She pulled back the curtain.
Winston walked toward her, towel in hand. “Need this?”
Sidney gasped. “How did you get in here?” she asked, her voice a harsh whisper.
“When you left earlier in your robe, a sympathetic housekeeper enjoyed a very generous tip for helping this forgetful husband who’d supposedly lost his room key. It took you long enough to get back. I was about to come looking for you. You know I don’t like being kept waiting.”
Frozen in fear, she felt goosebumps erupt along her arms. Trapped, with no way out, she knew she would have to remain calm—think fast—outsmart the devil.
“Don’t divorce me, Sidney. I love you.” Winston approached her with the towel outstretched, a helpless look in his bloodshot eyes. “I know you love me, baby. We can work this out.”
CHAPTER 7
Fort Worth
The room felt suddenly chilled. Sidney tried to wrap the shower curtain around herself, as if for protection. Goosebumps now covered her naked flesh. She told herself to stay calm—play it cool. She mustn’t let him know that she was scared. He would be like a circling shark, having smelled blood in the water, looking to rip flesh to shreds.
Breathe.
“Don’t be modest. I’m your husband. I know what your body looks like naked. I know what you feel like. Smell like. Taste like. Come here. I’ll dry you off.” Winston, towel in hand, held out his arms.
“Please, darling,” she said, both her smile and her carefully chosen words forced. “Hand me the towel. Once I’m dressed, then we can talk.” Keeping her voice even, calm, and soothing was difficult, but critical. She noticed his eyes were bloodshot, his speech slurred.
“I like my idea better.” He moved toward her.
“No. No talking unless I’m dressed. Afterward, we can discuss everything. Hand me the towel.” Sidney forced another smile. She would try anything, say anything, to placate this monster. “Darling. Please.”
Winston handed her the towel. “Have it your way. Can I pour you a cocktail? I found a bottle of Crown in the guest bar.” He turned and stumbled from the bathroom.
“No. Thank you.” She hurried the towel over her body.
“I’m making you a Crown and coke. I’m not drinking alone.” His voice was loud and demanding.
It appeared that’s exactly what he’d been doing, she thought. “Fine. Be right out.”
She knew better than to take a sip—it might be drugged. But what the hell to do? Let him get drunk and pass out. That usually worked. Usually. Could she call the police without Winston hearing? Where was her cellphone? Robe pocket—look there.
She eased the bathroom door closed. Grabbed her robe. The robe felt light. She ran her hands down the terrycloth fabric. No phone.
It must be in my bag.
She clawed through the clutter inside of the bag, but her hands came up empty. Then, she remembered she had tucked it into the outside pocket along with Trevor’s card. Panting with fear, she slid the zipper open.
“What are you doing?” Winston pushed open the door and handed her a cocktail glass. “I thought we were going to talk.”
“I’m looking for something for my upset stomach. I thought I had some in my bag.” Sidney shoved the tote behind the door, her phone peeking out from the now half-zipped pocket, and slipped into her robe.
“Drink up. That’ll settle your stomach.” He pulled Sidney into the bedroom.
Winston led her toward the sitting area in front of the bay window where an oversized chair sat in the neon glow that filtered in from outside. Sidney stole a glance at the bed. It had been turned down, the pillows fluffed and propped against the headboard. Countless one hundred dollar bills were strewn across the mattress like rose petals.
“Some women prefer flowers,” said Winston, following the path of
Sidney’s gaze. “But I know my baby. I know what gets Baby hot.”
She shuddered.
A half-empty bottle of Crown Royal whiskey sat on the nightstand along with Winston’s opened briefcase. Lying next to it was his ever-present Ruger semiautomatic pistol. She knew he kept it fully loaded.
Plopping down onto one of the chairs, Winston pulled Sidney onto his lap. “Look at me and tell me you don’t love me. Look at me and tell me you want to leave me. You can’t, Sidney. I know you can’t. We belong together. I need you. I’m not losing you.”
“Winston, please, let go of my wrist. You’re hurting me.”
He kissed her wrist before letting go. “There. Done. I’m sorry, Sidney. I’m not myself. The idea of you leaving me is driving me mad. I seem to… I’m a better man when we’re together. I know I’ve made mistakes, but I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”
“I need time. Space. Please, Winston—” She turned her head, averting his kiss.
“You can’t leave me. Don’t go through with this divorce. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this marriage work. You have my word.”
Pulling free, Sidney pushed away from his lap. “Winston, I don’t want to fight. That’s all we’ve done for eight months—fight. It’s exhausted me. I can’t think straight. Can you please just give me some time to rest? To try and work things through in my mind? I’m so tired. I’m…”
Involuntary spasms took over, and she began to shake uncontrollably. She squeezed her eyes closed to staunch the flow of tears. The attempt failed. The tears splashed down her face.
“Baby, baby. Come here. Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry.” Winston stood, enfolding her in his arms. “I love you, Sidney. You still love me. You’re my wife. That’s all that matters. We’ll get through this. You don’t want to divorce me. You know that you don’t.”
His attempted persuasion, with the soft, hypnotic voice that he once used to seduce her, now caused her blood to run cold. For full measure, he kissed and caressed each manipulating word against her ear, her neck. “Call your attorney first thing tomorrow. Put a stop to this nonsense. We’ll take the Falcon and fly somewhere romantic. Anywhere you want to go.”
Sidney felt herself being lifted, carried, and laid down on the bed. The strong desire to slip into her shadow-self tugged at her. It was her secret haven when there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Eyes closed. Teeth gritted. She longed to disappear into her out-of-body self. To reach that safe place of nothingness—of not feeling.
Disconnected. She is a voyeur. As if watching through a camera lens…
Her robe was pulled open. Rough hands on her breasts claiming her flesh felt foreign—a mouth on hers, biting her lips, tongue probing her mouth, teeth raking her neck—the weight of him pressing down, grinding, thrusting his way into her. It all felt illusory. Her panicked breath, shallow and fast, seemed to come from another’s body. His sounds and his smell were a faint tie to a world once tangible. The fists her hands made—the deep crescent marks her nails inflicted into the fleshy parts of her palms—felt as though they belonged to another. The word ‘why?’ echoed in her mind—was the sound real, or imagined? The tears were real. The pillow was wet.
*****
The feel of cold steel on her bare stomach startled Sidney from a troubled dream—or was it a trance? She blinked, trying to make sense of her surroundings. In slow inching increments, she raised her head and stared down at the dark outline of the Ruger on her belly.
Winston sat on the side of the bed, a glass of straight whiskey in his hand, and watched her through bloodshot eyes. “Go ahead and do it,” he slurred. “If that’s your intent.”
“Take the gun away.” Sidney’s voice was barely audible. An icy panic ripped through her body like a bullet shot from the gun. “Please…”
“You were mumbling. I could make out what—only a few words. Leaving. Divorce. Finished. If you’re leaving me, divorcing me, if we’re finished, you might as well pick up that gun and shoot me. I’d rather be dead than be without you.”
“Don’t—do—this.”
“But you’re going to have to get over your fear of guns first. I’m going to help you with that, Sidney. Pick up the gun.”
“No.” She choked on the word, gasping for air.
“Pick up the goddamned gun.” Winston poured another whiskey, the bottle now empty. He drained the glass.
“I—I can’t. Don’t do this.” Her eyes grew wide with fear.
Winston reached for the gun and picked it up, brushing the end of the barrel lightly over her skin. He skimmed it up and down over her stomach and between her breasts. Lingering, taking his time, he swirled the tip of the pistol over each nipple. Grabbing Sidney’s hand, he forced it around the barrel. He pressed the cold metal into her palm and squeezed his hands around hers.
“Feels good, doesn’t it? Gives a person power. The ability to take a life. The ability to save a life. What’s it going to be? Leave me—take my life. Stay with me—save my life.”
Sidney felt her fingers growing numb where he clamped her hand vice-like between his hands and the barrel of the gun. Her mind raced as she tried to think of what to say, what to do, how she might defuse this powder keg. Shallow, fast breaths made her mouth dry and cottony. She was prepared to agree to anything. Prepared for whatever he wanted until she could find a way to get out of the room and run like hell.
The long moment stretched on. She knew he was waiting for her answer, and patience was not his virtue. She quickly considered her options before stammering, “I’ll do whatever…”
A pause—but the moment felt different, the air suddenly less charged.
Winston’s eyelids began to droop; his head nodded forward and snapped back. He swayed. His grip weakened. His hands fell away from hers and the gun dropped onto the mattress. The pillows against the headboard cushioned him as he fell back, passed out, mouth open and snoring.
Sidney slipped out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. She searched for her bag in the darkness, finding it on the floor behind the door. Hands trembling, she fished Trevor’s business card and her phone out of the front pocket. Fumbling with her hurried text, she managed on the second attempt to hit the send button.
911. Husband broke into my room. Has gun. Drunk. Passed out. Help. Hurry. Sidney.
Her wet bikini felt cold against her skin when she pulled it on. The robe offered slight warmth. She grabbed her noisy flip-flops and stuffed them into her bag, flinging it over her shoulder. With her suitcases out of the closet and sitting by the door, she stopped and listened for snoring.
Good.
She reached for the safety chain, pinched it between her finger and thumb, and eased it from its slot, careful not to jingle it against the metal door. Then, without preamble, a thought as explosive as a lightning bolt, flashed into her mind.
His briefcase was open.
This opportunity, however dangerous, however risky, begged not to be wasted. A chance this potentially valuable must be acted on swiftly. The significance of learning what Winston hid in that briefcase could not be underestimated.
Sidney tiptoed back into the bedroom. She eased her way to the nightstand. Pried the briefcase open wider. A mouth, spilling its secrets. This was not the formal, hand tooled leather briefcase he took to his office or into court. This was the plain black satchel he carried everywhere else.
Thin curtains filtered the dim neon light. It was enough to see what she was looking at—files with names she recognized—the names of the dinner guests he’d asked her to assess that one evening at the ranch. Scanning the files, Sidney’s hand flew to cover her mouth. The documents confirmed her assumptions. Those names had been all over the media in recent weeks. They were in the hierarchy of one of the most brutal of the Mexican drug cartels.
Next to Winston’s snoring body, she spread open the files. Clearly legible were names—dates—amounts of money—scribbled notes. She eased her phone out of her pocket and selected the video application,
chose high-resolution for low lighting, and began filming. She passed the phone’s camera over each file, then made a quick pass over the gun, over Winston lying passed out and naked, and over the sea of one hundred dollar bills now scattered on the floor.
Breath held, she replaced the files, making each movement as soft as possible. Just as she was about to ease the briefcase back to its original half-open state, Sidney’s eyes were drawn to one file that stood out from the others. The last file in the back had a blue tab instead of the white tabs of the others. The label spelled out S. A. D., her initials when she had first met Winston. Sidney Alexis Dollar. She eased it out and slid the file inside her tote bag and stood to leave.
But something had changed. Winston had stopped snoring. His breathing was measured and slow.
Leave. Get out.
Sidney tiptoed to the door as fast as she dared. She turned the deadbolt—fuck, that was loud—and depressed the door latch with her thumb. Pulling the door toward her a fraction of an inch, she listened for squeaks in the hinges, for someone behind her. She continued to ease the door an inch at a time. A noise coming from the bedroom rattled behind her—the snoring had resumed, louder than before.
She released the breath she’d been holding through lips pulled into a tight slit. Her lungs begged for more air. She pulled air in through her nose, quickly refilling her aching lungs.
With her suitcases in hand, she stepped out into the hallway and saw Trevor hurrying toward her. She set the cases down as quietly as she could and placed a finger across her mouth in the ‘shh’ signal.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
“I will be.”
