Ashes to Ashes

by Rebecca Norinne

  I didn’t want to examine too closely what that said about me.

  “I’ll take your silence as a no,” Gage answered. “Look, keep fucking her if you want. I’m not going to tell you not to. Just make sure you wrap your dick up and don’t get too close.”

  “I don’t get close to anyone,” came my clipped response. “You know that.”

  “Yeah, I do,” my cousin replied. “But you’re acting different with this one. You’ve been off since you walked out of that conference room and into my office. You’re not yourself, Ash. Just …” he paused, and I could practically see him running his hand over his closely shorn scalp. “Just don’t get invested.”

  I laughed cynically. “When have you ever known me to become invested?” Before he could answer, I rushed to put a stop to what I knew would be the next words out of his mouth. “And don’t you dare fucking say Sonia. I was twenty-one. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.”

  “Okay, fine. I won’t bring her up,” Gage conceded. “But I’ve told you this before, so don’t expect me to pull my punches now. You’ve got a soft spot, Ash. I know you like to think you don’t—that you want everyone else to think you’re cold as ice—but the reality is, you love the broken ones. You’ve always wanted to fix them.”

  “Fuck you!”

  Blanche’s head popped up at my outburst, the perfect example of exactly how often I tried to fix the broken ones. Blanche and Dorothy had been the runts of a litter of pups that were supposed to become police dogs but they’d been small and sickly and their mother had abandoned them. When my buddy Roz told me about them, I’d taken them off her hands, spending more time and money than I’d thought possible on nursing them back to health. Today you couldn’t tell they’d ever been close to death.

  “I guess it’s good though, that you’re not as broken as you think you are,” my cousin continued. “It means there’s still hope for you. Me? I’m a lost cause, but you still have some softness left inside. At least one of us should make it through life without turning into a misanthrope.”

  “You’re not a misanthrope,” I argued jokingly. “You’re just a self-centered asshole.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, that’s probably true. Not that it’s hurt my game; you know the ladies love that shit. They all think they can fix me. Which brings me back around to my earlier point. You can’t fix her, Ash. She might be sober now, but that’s more baggage than you want to carry around for her.”

  “Dude,” I cautioned. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You act like I’ve declared my undying love for her. That’s not what this is.”

  “What is it then?”

  That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted, scratching at my beard. It was getting longer than I liked and in desperate need of a trim. “Right now, it’s just fucking with maybe a side of friendship. I like how I feel when I’m with her.”

  “Like I said,” Gage interjected, “you like fixing people. She’s like catnip for you. Hot as fuck and you get to be the big bad alpha wolf protecting his pack. You can deny it all you want, but I know you Ash.”

  “And like I said, that’s not what this is.”

  “You keep telling yourself that.”

  Our conversation halted when Gage covered the mic and took time to deal with something. “Sorry about that,” he apologized when he came back. “This place has the best barbecue in the city, but the old lady running the cash register is close to a hundred years old it’s always like a game of charades when I want to place an order.”

  “No worries,” I answered, looking at the clock. I didn’t have anywhere important to be, but I didn’t know how much longer I could stand Gage’s commentary either. Mostly because I didn’t want to think he might be right. “I should probably get going though. I can’t sit around talking to your sorry ass all day.”

  “Ha! It’s the best part of your day and you know it.”

  “Fuck off,” I answered, this time with far less rancor.

  “Sure, I’ll do that. But answer one thing before you hang up. Have you told her yet?”

  My blood ran cold. “Have I told her what?” I asked, careful to keep my voice modulated.

  “Don’t be coy,” he answered jovially and I relaxed. If he could be flippant, he certainly wasn’t referencing that. Then again, we’d only ever talked about it once, and neither of us had ever mentioned it again. As far as I was concerned, I could go the rest of my life without ever discussing that day. Shit, if only I could forget it too.

  “I’ve never been coy a day in my life,” I answered, pushing those dark memories away.

  “You’re going to make me spell it out, aren’t you? I shouldn’t be surprised though. You’ve never given a straight answer to anything your whole damn life,” he said around a mouthful of food. “Have you told her about, you know, the sex thing?”

  I groaned. In a list of my Top Ten Biggest Regrets in Life, taking Gage to an exclusive sex club in DC a former client had turned me on to ranked pretty high up there. Gage didn’t just love sex, he loved talking about sex. And against my better judgement, I’d gotten drunk afterward and told him how they knew my name at the door.

  “It’s not a sex thing,” I explained for probably the millionth time. Why he persisted in calling it that was a mystery.

  “Dude, you like tying women up. And I’m pretty sure the Army fucked you up good because that whole ‘sir’ thing is just weird.”

  No matter how many times I tried to tell him that’s not how it worked for me, he refused to listen. I think he’d probably watched that sex movie all the women loved a few too many times.

  “I don’t know why I bother talking to you anymore,” I said with a sigh. I loved my cousin—as much as I loved anyone, really—but he was hard to take in large doses. Everything was a joke to him and that’s just not the way I was wired.

  “You have to,” he replied. “If you don’t, I’ll tell my mom, who’ll tell your mom … and we both know that’s not a phone call you want to get. You’re supposed to be looking after me, remember?”

  “Right,” I laughed, “because you’re perfectly harmless and couldn’t get by in the world without my supervision.”

  As a government-trained assassin, Gage hardly needed looking after. But our family had no idea what he really did for a living. His cover as a bodyguard with McClintock Security was solid, especially since all of Dermott’s employees had similar backgrounds. As far as I knew, though, Gage was the only one of us who’d ever been sent to put a bullet between the eyes of a dictator during a black-tie dinner. Back when I was still active duty, I’d been more of an “under the cover of darkness” type of operative.

  “Yup, perfectly harmless,” he replied with a hint of mocking blitheness.

  “I’m hanging up now,” I told him.

  “Fine, run and hide from your little cousin on that big compound of yours. But remember what I said. Don’t get attached.”

  “I won’t get attached,” I promised and clicked the red button to end the call.

  The only problem was I thought I might already be.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rae

  With my concentration focused on the album, I’d been able to forget the real reason why I was holed up in this big house in the woods, but with the arrival of Grace Trombley, reality came crashing back down.

  Originally, this was supposed to have been a satellite interview, but Grace had persuaded Rocky a one-on-one would be more intimate and would better serve everyone’s objectives. Eventually, Ash had agreed to allow the reporter and one cameraman onto the property under strict, direct supervision. The two were currently setting up their camera and sound equipment in the living room while I was upstairs going over the notes Rocky had emailed earlier that morning.

  I’d always been good at giving soundbites, but this interview was a whole other beast and I was nervous as hell. Grace had provided a general outline of the questions she would touch on
, with the understanding that further questions were likely to crop up as a result of what I might reveal during our conversation. As this would be the one and only time I talked about my marriage, I’d agreed to be as candid as possible, and to share information with Grace no one else had ever had access to.

  While I’d come around to Charlotte’s way of thinking, that didn’t mean I wasn’t worried about the fall out. Ford’s lawyers could slap me with a lawsuit well before the interview even aired, but that wasn’t what had me on tenterhooks. Charlotte and Rocky were right. I could afford the $10 million Ford would sue me for. It was his emotional rebuttal that had my hands shaking now. He’d already proven he had no qualms about lying about me, so I could only imagine what my revelations would dredge up from his twisted and warped imagination.

  A light knock at the door pulled me from my contemplation and Ash popped his head in. “They’re ready for you downstairs.”

  I took a deep breath and stared at my reflection in the mirror one last time. Objectively speaking, I looked good. Healthy and centered. Despite the terror I’d been put through these last few weeks, I looked like a woman who had a handle on her life, who could sit down and tell the world her story and not crumble under the weight of it.

  “Okay, I’ll be right down,” I said to Ash’s reflection over my shoulder.

  Stepping over the threshold and closing the solid wood door behind him, he asked, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I swallowed. “I don’t want to do it, but I have to. It’s the only way to set the record straight. We don’t have the first clue why this person is after me, but if it has anything to do with the lies my ex has been spreading about me, this might put an end to it.”

  Ash crossed his solid arms over his barrel chest. “Permission to speak freely?”

  A rueful smile crossed my face. Once a military man, always a military man, I supposed. “Permission granted, soldier.”

  He stepped closer, but didn’t smile back. Dropping his hands on my shoulders and capturing my gaze in the mirror, he squeezed. “I know you like to believe that’s a possibility, and I really wish it was, but it’s my experience—hell, it’s the experience of every damn person at McClintock Security—that these people don’t just go away. Your stalker is already convinced you’re a slut and a whore. Hearing what happened in the wake of the dissolution of your marriage isn’t going to convince them otherwise. My gut tells me it’ll only strengthen their resolve. For whatever reason, they’ve fixated on you, and this interview isn’t going to change their mind.”

  I flinched at his candor but didn’t disagree. “Look,” I said, swiveling to face him. “I know you’re right, okay? The truth is, I didn’t agree to this interview in the hopes of pacifying my stalker. I agreed because I’m tired of that bastard controlling my life, of him being the one telling the world who I am. For years he was the center of my universe, and I let him take the lead in our relationship, let him dictate the terms of our public personas.

  “But not anymore,” I continued, slapping my palm to the vanity table. “I’m a grown ass woman with a story of my own; one that is separate from who I am as Crawford Madigan’s ex-wife. Sure, my story isn’t always a great one, but it’s mine, and I’m so fucking tired of hiding it. Tired of not being able to release the music I want to because I’m under a goddamn gag order. My music has suffered. My life had suffered. And I’m done.

  “So no, this interview may not accomplish what Charlotte and Rocky are hoping it will, but it’s the first step in claiming my life back, so I’m going to march down those stairs and deliver a star-worthy performance.” I shot to my feet, determination fueling my resolve.

  “Alright then.” Ash’s lips fell into a hard, straight line and his eyes glinted with resolve. “Let’s get you downstairs then and get this over with. I won’t be comfortable until I see their tail lights driving away.”

  I rubbed his arm as I sailed past. “I can’t imagine what a stress case you’d be if I’d hired you to guard me out in the real world. You’re like a live wire and we’re out here, isolated from everyone, and you are still fit to be tied.” I shook my head and chuckled. “So fucking alpha all the time.”

  Trailing behind, Ash placed his palm on the small of my back and whispered in my ear, “You love that alpha shit and you know it.” He nipped at my ear as I took a step forward, causing me to set my foot down awkwardly. Ash’s arm shot out and clamped around my middle, holding me steady. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged.

  “You’re not wrong,” I chirped, stepping out of his hold and skipping down the stairs before he could say—or do—anything else to ruffle my composure.

  Even though Ash had brought up some very real concerns, our playful banter while coming down the stairs managed to banish my nerves. He could be intense and brooding, but more and more I was coming to learn he also knew exactly how to lighten the mood and make me laugh.

  Approaching Grace with a genuine smile on my face, I stretched my hand out in greeting. “Hello there, good to see you again.”

  Returning my smile with warmth, she said, “Hello Rae. Thank you for doing this interview.”

  When she turned and gestured toward the overstuffed leather sofa she wanted me to sit in for the duration of our conversation, I noticed the furniture had been rearranged to make the space look more intimate, less masculine. The chairs had been grouped closer together, and soft cashmere and chenille throws and pillows had been added to each seating area, as well as a cut crystal vase full of fresh lavender and rosemary clippings.

  Seeing my bemused expression, Grace said, “When I spoke with Mr. Devereaux about the security requirements for our visit, I made sure to ask what the space was like. He tried explaining, but …” She cocked her shoulder and smirked. I knew exactly what she was getting at. “In the end, I had him give me a tour with his phone. It’s a beautiful home, as I’m sure you’ll agree, but it’s very masculine.”

  She looked around the room for a quick second and then her eyes found mine. “I hope you don’t mind me saying so since we’ve only met a few times, but I always think of you as being very feminine, but with a bit of an edge. You give off this vibe that you’re not to be messed with, but you also like the softer, finer things in life. Since this is the first time you’ll be discussing your marriage publicly, I wanted to make you feel as comfortable as possible. I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds.” She pushed her long, straight blond locks behind her ears and then fidgeted nervously with her wedding ring.

  Interesting. And here I thought I was the only one who’d been nervous about this interview.

  “No, of course not.” I reached out and squeezed her hand quickly. “I appreciate your forethought. Those things didn’t even occur to me when I agreed to do the interview.”

  Grace laughed good-naturedly. “No, but then again, why would they? Me, on the other hand? This is what I do for a living so I’m always thinking about setting and positioning and lighting and whatnot.” She smiled at me conspiratorially then. “And to be honest, I love getting to play around with new spaces. I know it’s not technically part of my job, but when I was growing up I wanted to decorate houses, so times like these give me an opportunity to flex those muscles a bit so I don’t run away from it all and open up some boutique out in Maine or something.”

  Grace was a consummate professional, the go-to for celebrity interviews. She didn’t do softball questions, but she also did her best to make sure her subjects weren’t on the defensive either. To think journalism hadn’t been her first choice of career came as a surprise.

  “Wow, Maine?” I asked, settling into my chair as Sam, her large, silent cameraman, attached an inconspicuous mic to my sweater and adjusted the background lighting to avoid harsh glares and shadows.

  “It’s my favorite place in the world,” she remarked as she took a seat across from me. “I’d move there in a heartbeat if I wouldn’t go stir crazy in about a month. I have a house there I visit so I get my fill.”


  “I hope you don’t take offense, but I can’t picture you as a shop owner. You’re just … well, you’re an anchor, through and through.”

  She laughed. “No offense taken. I’m good at my job and I do love it, but it’s high pressure too.” She turned to Sam and gave a brief nod. Then, shifting her focus back to me, asked, “If you could do anything else in the world other than be a singer, what would it be?”

  The shift from casual chit-chat to interview mode was fluid, which made it all the more startling. I glanced quickly out the side of my eye and saw the red light of Sam’s camera. We were rolling.

  “Um …” I hesitated and Grace smiled encouragingly at me. “Honestly? I’ve never really thought about it,” I finally answered. “I’ve wanted to be a singer ever since I was a little girl, and everything I’ve done since has been in support of that dream.”

  “That’s right,” she replied. “You were the first winner of Country Superstar. If you hadn’t done the show, what do you think would be different about your life?”

  “Well, for starters, I doubt I’d have earned a Grammy nomination by the time I was twenty-one,” I answered, self-deprecatingly.

  “And four more after that,” she reminded her viewers.

  “Yes, five nominations in total.”

  “Are awards important to you then?”

  Her questions were coming fast and furious. I hadn’t even answered the previous one before she jumped to another, entirely different topic.

  Sensing my discomfort and discombobulation, Grace leaned forward and squeezed my knee. “I know I’m firing questions at you rather quickly, but I’ve found over the years it tends to produce more honest answers. If you’re not anticipating my next question, you can’t anticipate your answer either. Don’t worry about the conversation not making linear sense. We’ll go back later and string it together cohesively in post-production.”

  “Oh, okay,” I replied, still slightly dazed. I’d been on stage most of my life, but the particulars of an intimate one-on-one interview, especially with a powerhouse like Grace Trombley, were still new to me.