by Adira August
"No. But J.J. will. She's going to be the courtroom reporter. She wants you to interview and do color."
"Okay. But we won't be speaking?"
"Legal says you shouldn't. Not directly. You can text or email, so there's a record if the Court asks, they can see she didn't give you forbidden information or whatever."
"I see. So when it's over she might speak to me?"
"No idea, I'm staying out of it," he said. "Nolan will be around with a camera."
"Okay. Can you just tell her to text me when the judge calls recesses? I might be in the bathroom or something."
"Will do," he said. "Glad to have to you back, by the way. The place just hasn't been the same without - "
She clicked off mid-sentence, laughing. Goof. She texted Eustace:
I'M RE-EMPLOYED.
DO WE HAVE A COURT IN THE AM?
Immediately:
CONGRATULATIONS.
LEAVE 6:15.
The day had definitely improved. She touched the collar. Now, she just needed Ben to call.
TUESDAY
BAD BOYS
Avia was doing yoga stretches on the floor when Eustace came through the small door of the racquetball court. She was glad her face was mostly hidden behind her arm, with her hands on her toes and her head on her knee. That way, he couldn't see her mouth drop open.
She loved Ben's body. He was very beautiful to her. But Eustace was ripped. Mega-ripped, she amended. Every muscle in his lean body well-developed and sharply etched.
Ben Hart was a big, powerful man. But Henry Eustace was a weapon. And it showed. She identified three puckered scars, slashed through by a surgical knife as bullet wounds in one thigh. She suspected the line of wounds continued up under his gym shorts. Automatic weapons fire.
Avia switched legs, and continued her stretching, turning her head to face away from him. His history was his own. Personal. He needed no gawking or comment from her.
She stood with her racquet in hand, taking a blue ball from her pocket. She waited for him to complete Achilles tendon stretches against the wall and pick up his own racquet.
"Warm up?" She asked, taking up a stand in the service zone.
He nodded, spun the racquet in his hand and semi-crouched behind her, waiting for her serve.
"Easy at first, okay?" She bounced the ball and sent it into the front wall at a slight angle. She moved back and to the left. It came back to her right and Eustace returned it a little harder than she did, but sending it straight toward her on the return.
They played for a while, and he upped the pace bit by bit, easily managing every shot, seeming to choose with careful deliberation where on the wall to send the ball, always able, somehow, to anticipate her returns, and to be there waiting for them. Avia ran from side to side, faster and with more desperation, but managing to keep up with him for a good ten minutes. She had never volleyed so long. Finally, she sent the ball into the floor before it bounced up and hit the front wall.
They stopped. Avia bent over, hands on her knees, chest heaving, trying to catch her breath. Sweat dripped from her face to the floor. Eustace was barely breathing deeply. He also wasn't sweating, though there was a definite sheen to his skin.
She stared openly at him. "Holy shit, Hank," she gasped. "You're pretty fucking good." He was so good, he had adjusted his own game, playing slightly ahead of her skill level. As she warmed up and adapted to the play, he'd increased the challenge, leading her to reach beyond her comfort level.
He raised the bar gradually, so she had to keep jumping higher and higher.
He reached through the small door and came back with a bottle of water and a small white towel. He twisted the cap off the bottle and handed it to her. He dropped the towel over her shoulder.
"You're out of shape," he said. "You're core is weak, your legs are jello and your cardiovascular sucks."
She drank off half the bottle. He took it from her hands.
"Enough."
"I think fitness in this case," she paused for breath. "Is a relative term. I'm not anybody's bodyguard."
"Bullshit," he said, finishing the water and putting the empty bottle outside the door. "You're your own body's guard. Everyone is." He picked up the ball and put it into one pocket, pulling a fresh one from the other.
She stood up, stretching her neck. "Okay, noted. We're playing a game, now?"
He shook his head. "No, you won't get any exercise. I can beat you in straight serves." He tossed her the ball. "We'll volley. If you want to keep playing with me, we'll do this every day until you can last the whole hour. Then I'll teach you to play."
She wanted to object, but he was right. She served. And then she ran.
Twenty-two minutes later, Avia collapsed on the floor. "I give."
Eustace stood over her with his hands on his hips. "Uh-uh." He reached down and grabbed her hand, hauling her to her feet. "One more volley."
She was stumbling, swaying and thought she might throw up. He handed her the ball.
"Serve," he said.
She turned her head to make a nasty comment and caught sight of someone above the back wall leaning on the spectator's rail. Carson. He waved at her.
She started for the door. "I have to go talk to that guy," she told Eustace.
"No, you don't. He's been up there a while, he'll be up there when we're done. Serve."
Avia glared at him.
Who the fuck does he think he is?
(He's the guy trying to help you save your own life.)
Crap.
She served.
"Carson Sanchez, Henry Eustace," Avia said. The men shook hands. "What the hell are you doing here, Carson? And how did you find me, anyway?"
Eustace looked very interested in the answer to that question. Carson hesitated, looking at Eustace.
Avia waved him on impatiently. "Mr. Eustace works for Ben, he handles my security. Just … what, already? Am I fired, again?"
"I'm here because I'm the only person whose picture isn't on the website. J.J. got through to the hotel penthouse and talked to your sister who only gave you up after I proved I was your best friend by telling her I knew the story of stealing the baby birds when you guys were six.
"Anyway," he went on, "You aren't fired, but you can't go to the courthouse. There's a mob of paparazzi waiting for you to show up."
Avia let her head fall forward. She was exhausted. Not by the physical experion, but by everything being so constantly in flux and far too much of it impacting her relationship with Ben.
"You okay?" Carson asked.
"Yeah." She looked at Eustace. He nodded slightly.
"You need to take a shower before your muscles get cold," he said. "Let me talk to Mr. Sanchez."
"Thank you." She touched Carson's arm. "Be here when I get out and I'll buy you the best coffee and apple strudel you've ever had."
They went back to the Coloradan in Carson's Jeep, Eustace driving. He parked in the underground garage and Avia opened the elevator, leading Carson inside.
Eustace hesitated. "I'll be up in a few minutes, if you'd like. I need to shower."
"Breakfast?" She asked.
"I'll eat before I come up."
The elevator doors closed and Carson fell dramatically back against the wall, his hand over his heart. "If I wasn't engaged, I'd be in love." He drew a hand across his brow as if wiping sweat. "I thought I'd have a heart attack watching him play. The ass on that man! The delts!"
Avia slapped his arm. "Get ahold of yourself. You aren't available. And besides, he's going to teach me how to beat you on the court. Leave him be!"
Carson laughed. "Yeah. If he doesn't kill you, first."
Talia had found the ceramic canister of coffee last night, rummaging through the kitchen for a quick dinner to have in front of the TV. Avia assumed it was the same brand served at the Castle. Of course it was, what else would it be? She was irritated it was in a white ceramic canister with no label.
Avia had the coffee bre
wed and Alma's strudel warmed and on the counter when her sister stumbled out of the bedroom in flannel p.j. bottoms and one of Rolly's old T-shirts. She peered blearily at Avia. "You shouldn't sleep in a choker, they can break. Where's my coffee?"
By the time introductions were made and Talli brought up to date, the plates only held crumbs Avia kept wiping up with a finger she then stuck into her mouth and Eustace had joined them. He accepted a cup of coffee and a small slice of strudel. Avia wondered if he'd downed a liver powder and yeast flake smoothie for breakfast in his apartment.
He carried his cup to the terrace doors and motioned Avia to follow him. "We've put someone in that building," he said gesturing with his cup at the office building on the opposite side of the street. "To cover any assault from the terrace."
Avia's eyes got big, but she kept her voice low. "You mean a sniper." He nodded. "What happened?"
"For one, you pointed out a weakness in security." He took a few steps more along the doors, further from the two at the kitchen island. "And, they found a tracking chip inside the badge you were sent."
"It doesn't make sense," she said. "They must have known I'd figure out the badge was fake and I wasn't going to wear it."
"That's what Devers thinks, too."
"So all they could learn from it is - oh."
"Right. That you're up here."
She thought hard for a minute. "But none of this has to mean anyone wants to harm me. It can just mean they want to know I'm with Ben."
"That's correct," he said. "But that possibility doesn't mean they don't want to harm you, either."
She sighed. "So we're waiting for someone's next move?"
"A lot of people are actively investigating possibilities. We aren't just waiting." He said.
"Okay. Let's go back and figure out how to battle the paparazzi. I'd like to keep my job, now that I have one."
"Yes, Ma'am," he said following her back to the island.
The Courthouse Plaza filled with local broadcast news reporters and equipment, including two satellite vans. Avia accepted Talia's advice to wear some kind of lipstick with color and straightened her skirt and jacket as well as she could inside the S.U.V.
Also on Talli's advice, Avia was wearing the sleek little black suit Talli had on the day before. It wasn't her usual style, but the publicity people said, over Skype, it would photograph really well from the "bosom up" with it's simple but interestingly asymmetric neckline.
Avia liked it, because it showed off her collar, in case Ben saw her interview. She imagined someone in the Hart machine was sure to send it to him.
The Hart machine. That's how she'd come to think of it after the public relations firm took over remote control of her life.
It had been decided that making a statement and granting an interview to local press would be the best way to get all the wolves to go baying off after a deadline or a different story. At least until Ben got back into town. Ten minutes and she was assured she could get on with being a reporter. She had a change of clothes in the S.U.V.
The Courthouse seemed a suitable background against which to speak. It would emphasize her work, accomplishments, and reputation as a serious, intelligent, accomplished woman, not a living sex toy used for a momentary dalliance.
Avia looked out at the crowd as Eustace came around to open her door. There were five security people to get her to set of microphones in front of the building about one hundred feet away.
She recognized a few people. The reporters from the trial, one of the clerks, security guards from the entrance, the middle-aged mumbling woman who craned her neck, trying to see the door of the S.U.V. through the crowd.
Eustace reached for the door handle and winked at her through the window. Eustace winked! It made her smile and lifted some of her tension as he opened the door and offered her a hand down.
"Stay close to my side, Ms. Rivers, and focus on your destination, not the people." He let go of her, keeping his hands free. Avia ignored the shouting and pretended she was at a sports event where shouting was the normal mode of communication. She concentrated on the microphones set up ahead and on keeping her demeanor professional.
A friendly production assistant from a local cable channel, guided her into the appropriate position for the cameras and adjusted the microphones. Avia lifted her chin and looked out at the cameras, photographers and reporters.
The movement pulled a little against her collar. Ben has me, she thought. She imagined him, patiently waiting them out. She did the same.
The production assistant held up her arms and, as they realized Avia was ignoring anything shouted at her, they quieted. The production assistant nodded to her and stepped away.
"Good morning. My name is Avia Rivers, I'm twenty-four years old and a journalist working for The Week. I did not want to make any statements without Mr. Hart being present, but he's out of the country, so -"
"Out of the country where?" A shout from the crowd.
"-I'll make a brief statement and I guess you can take pictures. People seem interested in what a woman looks like who dates a wealthy businessman." She smiled a little. "I imagine not being a supermodel or actress, I'll disappoint a few fans of Mr. Hart, but, photograph away if you wish."
They seemed a bit less threatening, now. A few flashbulbs went off. Some of them still use flash? Several men and one woman in chinos squatted near her with cameras, snapping pics until others crowded them out of the way. Suddenly she was very glad Talli was here and an expert on girl stuff like the make-up she'd forced Avia to sit still for.
Avia removed a card from the small red bag and read. "I am presently dating Benedict Hart, C.E.O. of Hart Development. We met when he granted me an interview as background on an article I was writing. It's new. I find him a lovely, charming man and quite good company." She put the card away and looked at them expectantly.
Hands went up and questions were shouted. "Does he use his products on you Avia?" "How's the sex?" She ignored the noise and pointed, as she was told to do, to a reporter from the local ABC affiliate, a woman about thirty with very red lipstick.
"What do you do on a date with a billionaire, Avia?"
"Uh - I don't know what most people who date billionaires do and Mr. Hart is my first one, so my data set is kind of small," she said, having been prepped for the question.
"We've only been seeing each other a short time. Let's see …" She'd been coached to pause here. "We went hiking in the foothills above Boulder. Um, our last date was for dinner and a movie. Sorry, I don't have anything more glamorous to share, it's just really two people getting to know one another."
More hands went up. She looked for the local cable reporter she was to go to, next, when a rangy man with longish brown hair flopping down over one eye, in jeans and a black leather jacket pushed his way up to the microphones and found himself face-to-face with the even taller Henry Eustace, who had one hand flat on the man's chest.
"You need to take a step back, Sir," Eustace told him. The mics picked it up.
Suddenly, the middle-aged woman was next to Avia with her arm around her waist, leading - dragging - her toward the S.U.V. Several security people surrounded them.
"I'm a police officer, Sir, and you're interfering with me in the performance of my duty." He tried to push pass Eustace to follow Avia. "That woman is coming with me."
Eustace didn't back off an inch. In fact, he moved his body to be solidly between the man and Avia. "I.D.," Eustace demanded, loudly, wanting the microphones to hear. "You're a stranger threatening my protectee unless you have some identification."
The man pulled his jacket back revealing the badge on his belt and the gun in his armpit. Two uniformed officers materialized next to the S.U.V., blocking Avia from getting inside.
Eustace kept his hand on the cop's chest. His other went to the small of his back. "Identification," he over-pronounced. "I can buy a badge online."
"Goddamn it," the cop muttered under his breath and reached into the
back pocket of his jeans.
The microphones caught everything. The cameras followed every move, panning quickly to get Avia near the S.U.V., then back to the titans vying for control of the billionaire's girlfriend right in front of them. It couldn't have been more dramatic, unless a tornado touched down in the plaza.
"I'm Detective Sergeant Hunter Dane, DPD homicide. And that woman is coming with me!" He shoved his ID in Eustace' face. "You have one second -"
Eustace had already stepped back and dropped his hands. But he did not get out of Dane's way. "Ms. Rivers is going nowhere with you unless you can find a warrant in that pocket, Sergeant."
At the S.U.V., Hart security people surrounded Avia, inserting themselves between her and the uniformed cops waiting for Dane to give the order to take her into custody. The press was deadly quiet, but in constant motion, like rippling pond water, recording the story.
Eustace cell rang. "Yes," he said into it, never taking his eyes from the cop in front of him. Eustace held the phone out to Roper. "It's for you. Ms. Rivers' attorney."
The surprised cop held the phone to his ear for one very long minute. Then he handed it back to Eustace. He waved off the uniforms and stalked away.
The second the cops moved an inch in retreat, the middle-aged woman and security shoved Avia into the S.U.V. It sped away before they got the door closed.
Avia twisted in Talli's arms to look out the back at Eustace, standing tall amidst an ocean of press surging around him, watching Avia disappear safely into traffic.
He nodded to her, even though she knew he couldn't see through the tinted back window.
"Ms. Rivers? … Ms. Rivers, I really must insist you put your seat belt on," said her middle-aged handler.
Avia broke down sobbing in Talli's arms.
Chaos Theory
Avia refused to go up in the elevator until Eustace was safely inside it with her. She held it on the parking level, Talli and Carson inside with her. The middle-aged security woman, whose name turned out to be Cleotilde Delia, insisted aggressively that Avia must the door.
