Eyes Wide Open

by Raine Miller

  I hoped to shed some light on what had happened to Tom on this trip but didn’t hold out much hope. Either way, I wasn’t going down without a fight. They could try to get at her, but they’d have to go through me first.

  Mrs. Exley had wanted us to stay with her in the home she shared with her husband, the nontalkative Frank, but Brynne wouldn’t hear of it.

  She said she wanted to be in her father’s home, with his things, in the place where she’d last seen him talking to us on Skype. She felt grateful that the last time they’d spoken had been a happy time. She kept saying that to me. “Daddy was happy about us. He knew everything and he was happy.”

  “Yes he was, baby . . .” I whispered over her sleeping form. My sleeping beauty in the night with her long hair tangled in the pillows, the blanket pulled up to her throat like she was seeking comfort from the weight of the fabric against her body. She was still suffering from shock and barely eating. I feared for her health and that of our baby’s. I was scared that this would change us. Change her feelings for me. Push her into an emotional tailspin.

  I was well aware of her past, and that knowledge bore down impossibly heavy on me now. My girl suffered from depression. She’d even tried to kill herself at one very low and tragic point in her life. There, I said it. Didn’t do me a fuck’s worth of good to acknowledge it either. Yes, it was a long time ago, and she was very together and sensible now . . . but there was no guarantee she wouldn’t revert back to those self-destructive behaviors again, or tell me to sod off and leave my sorry arse for good when it all became too much to deal with.

  I sucked in a breath and looked over toward the mirrored closet doors to see my reflection. Who in the motherfucking hell was I kidding? Brynne wasn’t alone. Depression was a harsh mistress, and she and I had been well acquainted for quite some time now.

  I resisted the urge to touch her. She needed rest and I needed a cigarette. I checked the bedside table for the time and got up carefully. I threw on some joggers and a shirt, heading outside to sit beside the pool and serve my nicotine habit. I wanted to ring Neil too.

  I stared at the dark water while I waited for my call to connect. The same dark water where Tom Bennett had spent his final moments in this life.

  I left the door cracked so I could hear if Brynne needed me. She’d started having nightmares again, and because she was pregnant, drugs were not a good option. There was too much risk to the baby’s development. She would have refused to take them anyway. So she suffered. And I worried.

  The summer moon reflected in the water’s surface, and I thought about Tom dying in it. I was no homicide detective, but some scenarios were certainly running through my head. Bringing myself to voice them aloud was out of the question. If I did that, then I was damning my girl to a similar fate. I wasn’t going there. No fucking way.

  “Hey mate.”

  “Holding down the fort okay?” I replied to Neil’s brusque greeting.

  “Things are typically chaotic here, so you have nothing to worry over. It’s business as usual, E.”

  “True. And I trust you too. Tell those arseholes I said that, please.”

  “With pleasure, boss, but you should know that every client has been very understanding. Most of them are human.”

  I sucked in a deep lungful of clove and held it to get maximum burn. Neil just waited for me patiently. Nothing ever seemed to rush him. Coolest bloke I’ve ever known. “Events like these bring out one’s priorities rather quickly, you know?”

  “Yeah. I bet they do. How is Brynne holding up?”

  “She’s . . . doing her best to be strong, but she’s struggling. I haven’t broached the possibilities with her yet, and I’m not sure we’ll ever have that conversation. Looks like it was a massive heart attack while swimming, which it very well could have been, but I want to see the autopsy report.” I sighed. “You know how long those can take. The forensics labs are just as fucked up in the States as they are at home.”

  “Any clues present themselves at his house?”

  “Not yet. Being a solicitor for probate, wills and trusts and such, everything was in order as you would imagine, but there’s something just a little too tidy about it. Like maybe he knew his time was marked. And it very well could have been his heart. Brynne knew he took blood-pressure medication and she worried about him. You’d never know to look at him. The guy was very fit.”

  “Hmmmm. The only people who would benefited from his death are Senator Oakley’s camp.”

  “I know. I hate to know it, but I do. Everything goes to Brynne—the house, the cars, the investments. No surprise there, but I’m wondering if Tom left anything incriminating against Oakley.”

  “Like a videotaped deposition?”

  “Yeah . . . exactly like that. May know tomorrow. We have a meeting with his business partner in the morning to go over the trust, then the funeral and service. It’s gonna be a long fucking day.”

  “When are you coming home?”

  “If we can wrap everything up, the red-eye tomorrow night. I want Brynne out of here. Makes me fucking nervous. I’m out of my element.”

  “Right. Give her our condolences, please. Ring if you need me. I’m here.”

  “Thanks . . . see you in twenty-four.”

  I ended the call and lit a second clove, the smoke curling slowing up into the still night air. I smoked and thought, my mind going back to a place I’d not been to for a long time. It terrified me, and with good reason.

  Drowning is a horrific way to go out. Well, it is if you’re conscious. This was something I knew from experience. The cold and desperate feeling as water invades your nose and mouth. The impossible attempt to stay calm and hold your dwindling breath. The pain of lungs utterly depleted of oxygen.

  I think the Afghans experimented on me to see what all the fuss was about with waterboarding. It wasn’t their preferred method, that’s for sure. Winching me up by the arms and shredding my back was their favorite. That and depriving me of sleep for what seemed like weeks at a time. The mind does crazy shit when there is no rest for the cogs.

  I looked up at the stars and thought of her. My mum. She was an angel up there somewhere. I knew this. Spirituality is deeply personal and I needed no other confirmation of what I believed other than what I knew to be real inside my heart. She was up there watching over me somehow and was with me when they were going to cut off my—

  Nope. Not going to that fucked-up horror right now. Later . . .

  I got up quickly and stubbed out my second ciggie. I tucked the butts back in the pack and went inside my father-in-law’s nice American modern house. I’d never speak to him again, but ironically, one of the most important conversations I’d ever had, when weighed against all the others in the whole of my life, had been with him. An email with a plea for my help . . . and a photograph.

  As I went back in to crawl into bed with Brynne, I prayed. I did. I prayed that Tom Bennett had been unconscious when he left this world.

  ♠ In a black Chanel suit with her hair pinned up, Brynne looked gorgeous. Terribly sad, but tragically beautiful. Her mother had brought the clothes over for her to wear. They were the same size, apparently, and Brynne was pretty much helpless against arguments at this point. I sensed she was merely coping to get through and hadn’t really allowed herself the freedom of indulging in her grief yet.

  I stayed on the fringe and kept out of discussions as much as possible. Brynne was in no shape to bear a family row, and so I held my tongue to keep the peace. Mrs. Exely and I had a wary truce—we pretty much avoided direct contact. I never heard her ask Brynne about how she was feeling with the pregnancy once. Not one time. It was almost like she pretended it wasn’t happening. What mother didn’t care about her daughter being pregnant enough to even ask her about it?

  I wished for this to end swiftly so I could get my girl out of here. I wanted her back on Br
itish soil. The flight home tonight couldn’t come soon enough for me.

  The funeral had gone off well; if a death suffered too soon could be memorialized in a good way, that is. I wanted it to be an unfortunate consequence of life, not murder. Brynne had not asked me. I don’t think the idea occurred to her, and for that I was grateful.

  I knew him the instant he walked into the gathering after the graveside service. I’d seen enough photos of the slimy prick to know him on sight. Bollocks must be the size of grapefruits for him to stroll in here looking entitled, as he most definitely did. He came right over and put his hands on Brynne, hugging her, and offering his fake sympathies for her terrible loss. I think she was too sad to react much to his presence. Her mum stood alongside and engaged him with demonstrative affection, which angered me. How could she do that to Brynne? This man’s son had raped her child, made a public video of it, and she called him a friend? Blah, blah, bullshit. I locked eyes with Oakley and made sure my handshake was delivered overly hard.

  Yeah, that’s right, Senator, we’re just getting acquainted. You’ll meet my dick in a bit. It’s huge.

  I had to step away and pull myself together. I kissed my girl on the forehead and told her I’d be back shortly. The senator and I had a date.

  I tracked him around and pegged his security detail immediately. I mean, we’re all recognizable in the trade. All I would do was talk to the senator. Harmless, right?

  When Oakley left for a piss I made sure I was a bit delayed behind him. Perfect timing. Security goon was busy filling his plate with food. The men’s room had a lock, which was an added bonus. My luck seemed to have no bounds today.

  I was leaned up against the wash counter when he came out of the stall adjusting his belt.

  “We are alone and the door is locked, Oakley.”

  He stopped dead flat and assessed the situation. The senator seemed to have been blessed with some modicum of intelligence, I’ll give him that. He did not panic.

  “Are you threatening me, Blackstone?” he kept his voice level.

  “You remember my name. Very good. And I really couldn’t say . . . yet.” I shrugged. “Why don’t you tell me, Senator?”

  “I’m here to honor the life of a friend of many years, that’s all.” He went forward to the sink and turned on the water.

  “Ahh, that’s what you call it. I’d say it was more of a campaign stop, wouldn’t you?”

  “Tom Bennett’s death was a tragic shock to me, and to everyone. Brynne is a very sweet girl. She always has been. The loss of her father must be a terrible burden for her to bear. I know how much Tom loved her. She was his world.”

  I just stared at him, quite impressed with his dramatic dialogue. He must be in training for all the political speeches he had in his future.

  “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials and forthcoming child,” he said as he washed his hands at the sink.

  “So you’ve read the announcement already.” I tilted my head in a bow and planted myself in front of the door. This motherfucker wasn’t leaving until I was ready for him to go. “This is how it works, Senator. You listen, I talk.”

  He pulled down a hand towel and methodically began to dry his hands.

  “I know everything. Montrose is dead. Fielding went missing in late May. I’ll bet he’s dead too and will remain missing. I know you had your son stop-lossed by the U.S. army. I can connect the dots. Everyone is disappearing. When the autopsy report is filed on Tom, I will read it. Wonder what it’ll say?” I shrugged dramatically.

  “It’s not coming from me, Blackstone.” His light-brown eyes bored into me. “Not me.”

  I stepped a little closer. “That’s good to know, Oakley. Make sure it is true. I have taped depositions, documents, records . . . everything. Tom Bennett did too.” Couldn’t know for sure on that one, but it sounded good. “And if you think you can take me down to get to Brynne, you’ll unleash a political shitstorm that will make Watergate look like an episode of The People’s Court.” I took another step forward. “My people know what to do if I disappear.” I whispered. “They pop the party balloon and it all goes . . . poof.” I flicked my fingers out for emphasis.

  He swallowed imperceptibly, but I caught it. “What do you want from me?”

  I shook my head. “It’s not what I want, Oakley. It’s all about what you want.” I gave him a moment to absorb. “You want to run for your vice-presidential office and sleep in your comfortable bed at night as opposed to a prison cell with a roommate who wants to get to know you better.” I cracked a small grin. “You want to do everything in your power to make absolute certain that Brynne Bennett, soon to be Blackstone, leads a charmed and very peaceful life with her husband and child in England, with no threats or worries about anything that went on in the past.” I spoke my words more harshly. “A shameful event of which she was the victim. Of. A. Heinous. Crime.”

  He’d started to sweat. I could see the sheen breaking out at his temples.

  “You want to make sure of it, Oakley. Do you understand me?”

  He didn’t move his face, but his eyes agreed. I know the look, and he said yes to me with his eyes.

  “Good. I’m glad you understand because this is the only warning you’ll get. If anything happens to either one of us . . . well . . . it all explodes. I’m talking British Parliament, the Washington Post, the London Times, Scotland Yard, M6, U.S. congressional inquiries, the whole enchilada, as you might say.” I tilted my head and shook it slowly. “And with the Olympics in London, and all that goodwill between the U.S. and Britain?” I held my palms up. “There’ll be no hole deep enough for you to hide in.” I wafted one hand for emphasis. “Think . . . Saddam Hussein . . . if you will.” I moved to unlock the door. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you about shit running downhill either.” I went to leave the men’s room and turned back one last time. “Best of luck to you in the upcoming election. I wish for you a long and successful career, Senator. Cheers.”

  Oakley’s security ape pushed past me and entered the bathroom, looking a tad confused after overhearing my friendly departing comment.

  I gave him a nod and went out to find Brynne. The love of my life, the mother of our unborn child, my sweet girl, had been out of my sight for too long, and I needed to get back to her side.

  17

  ♥ I was relieved when Ethan returned to me from wherever he’d been. I needed him, and everything seemed easier to bear when he was near. It made me very weak, which I despised in myself, but I couldn’t help it, and was too exhausted to care. He was the only lifeline I had here. I wanted to go back home. London—home.

  He had two plates of food with him when he walked up.

  “I brought you a little bit of everything,” he said.

  “Oh, thanks . . . but I’m not hungry at all. I can’t eat that.” I looked at the fruit and the croissant sandwich.

  He frowned and set his jaw. I knew I was in for an argument. “You have to eat something. What’ve you had today besides a little tea?” He whispered. “Think of the baby . . .”

  “You can’t force someone to eat. Trust me, I know from experience.”

  My mother’s disdainful voice broke into our exchange. No sentiment of “Ethan’s right, Brynne, you need to eat because your baby needs food even if you don’t feel hungry.” No “You’re eating for two now, dear” comment. Yeah . . . what did I expect?

  I saw Ethan’s head turn and peg my mom. I think there was a little smoke rising from his ears too, but he didn’t lose it as I thought he could have. He just turned glacial and ignored her.

  “Come sit with me and have a little something,” he said to me with a gentle voice paired with some serious intent to see it through.

  How could I turn him down? I never could. What he did, he did out of concern for me. I did need to eat, even though my appetite was nonexistent. Ethan was rig
ht. I had someone else to consider besides myself. Especially now.

  I looked at my mom and roamed my eyes over her perfectly coiffed and dressed presentation today for her ex-husband’s funeral. Why in the hell had she even come to the service? She’d barely spoken to Daddy after I moved away to London. She certainly couldn’t have any true grief for him. Could she? I had absolutely no idea. It saddened me to realize that I couldn’t tell because I didn’t know her well enough to tell. My mother and I weren’t close like that. We didn’t share deep feelings or secrets. I never knew why she suddenly divorced my dad, or if she’d ever even loved him. I didn’t know why they ever got married in the first place. How had they met? Where had he proposed? Stories of them dating? I had nothing.

  I turned away and went with Ethan to a table, my heart closing off from her a little more with every step I took.

  “You are so very beautiful,” Ethan said softly as I tried valiantly to ingest some of the food he’d gotten for me, “on the inside as much as the outside.”

  I tried to swallow the honeydew melon that must surely be a hunk of wet sawdust from the way it tasted on my tongue, and told him, “I want to go home.”

  “I know you do, baby. I want to take you home. There’s not much left to worry over now. Since your dad had everything in a trust . . . we can come back in a few months and see to things then. Mr. Murdock said it’s best to wait a bit anyway . . . you don’t want to make decisions about something so personal right at first.” He put his hand over mine.

  Yes. Pete Murdock was Daddy’s business partner in his law firm. Or . . . he had been. Living trust was the way to go, Dad always said. I now controlled a house in Sausalito, all my dad’s money and investments; everything of material possession he had acquired in his fifty-one years now belonged to me.