by R. R. Banks
I shake my head, not understanding. “What the fuck?”
“Wow,” comes Mason's voice from the darkness of the hallway. “My sister sure was pissed, wasn't she? I don't know the last time I saw her that mad. She's sure got a temper on her.”
He steps out of the shadows and into the dim light of the living room. I glare at him, giving him a look that says I'm giving serious consideration to killing him right then and there. Mason hands the brunette a thick envelope and shoos her away. She scampers back to the bedroom, probably to get herself dressed, ready to get out of here.
Mason and I glare at one another and it's all I can do to not kick his ass right then and there. My hands are at my sides, clenched into fists, and I have to physically restrain myself from attacking him. I have too much to lose right now by being that impulsive.
“You miserable son of a bitch,” I hiss. “How the fuck did you get into my place?”
He slips a piece of paper into his pocket and waves it at me before dropping it on the table beside him.
“Search warrant,” he says. “Me and FBI Special Agent Weathers here executed a routine search warrant in relation to an open case in my office. Seems like you're being accused of insider trading. She's right, you know, you are a naughty, naughty boy.”
“This is pure and utter bullshit and you know it, you fucking prick.”
He shrugs. “We take allegations of this nature very seriously, as you know,” he says. “It's my duty to make sure we conduct a very thorough and vigorous investigation.”
I'm letting my anger get the best of me and I need to throttle it back. I need to think. I'm playing right into Mason's hands by blindly lashing out, and letting my rage consume me. I take a long, deep breath and let it out slowly, working the problem over in my mind.
My head a little clearer, my focus a little sharper, the first question that comes to me is an obvious one.
“You can't have a warrant,” I seethe. “Because there is no crime. You have zero probable cause. Last I checked, you need probable cause. How in the fuck did you get a bullshit warrant?”
His smile is predatory. “Judge Peters, like me, is sick and tired of grifters like you operating with impunity. Scamming people out of millions, maybe even billions of dollars,” Mason says. “He agreed with my preliminary findings, felt there was enough cause and signed a warrant.”
“Uh-huh,” I say. “In exchange for what? A spot in the DOJ when you fulfill your masturbatory fantasy of becoming Attorney General?”
Mason's smile grows wider and his eyes sparkle as he stares at me, but he remains silent – which is enough to tell me I hit the mark.
“I'm going to have your ass for this, Mason,” I growl. “And before I'm done, I'm going to see that Peters is thrown off the bench. I told you I'm not somebody to be fucked with, and now you're going to find out why that is.”
He shrugs. “I couldn't care less what happens to Peters, to be quite honest. He's just another pawn on my gameboard,” Mason says. “He served his purpose, so do with him what you will.”
The brunette steps up beside him. Gone is the lingerie and the sultry stare. Now, she's wearing a conservative dark pantsuit, her hair up in a bun, a pair of black-rimmed glasses on her face.
“Ready to go, Special Agent Weathers?” Mason asks.
She nods but doesn't say anything. She can't even meet my eyes. At least she's got some shred of shame. Not that it matters much at this point. They head for the door.
“This isn't over, Mason,” I say, my voice low and menacing. “Not by a long fuckin' mile.”
He laughs and then pauses, and turns to look at me. “I told you that I always win. People like you don't,” he says. “And my victories are as thorough as they are complete.”
“You are such an unbelievable piece of shit,” I say.
“I've been called worse by far better men than you,” he says. “And it doesn't change the fact that I've beaten you. Again.”
Mason opens the door and Agent Weathers scampers out ahead of him, eager to be out of my place. He pauses at the door, and looks back at me again, as if savoring the moment. There's a look of pure satisfaction, almost orgasmic, on his face.
“Shit,” he says. “I really love winning. That rush I get – it's better than sex.”
“Yeah, keep thinking that, asshole. You haven't won shit, Mason,” I say. “Like I said, this isn't over. When I'm finished with you –”
“You really shouldn't make threats you can't deliver on, Carter,” he says. “It makes you look weak and pathetic. Oh wait, that's exactly what you are.”
I give him a low chuckle. “I'm going to fucking relish ruining your entire career,” I say. “You're going to have nothing left when I'm done. Nothing. You're going to be on a street corner begging for spare change, and it's going to give me the ultimate rush to spit in your face.”
He looks at me, eyes narrowed, a hard, challenging look on his face. “Well, you be sure to let me know when this big takedown happens,” he says. “Because I wouldn't want to miss it.”
“Trust me, you won't,” I say. “It's going to be kind of difficult to miss the flaming wreckage of your life falling down around you.”
His laugh is low but menacing. He really does get off on this shit, on these power plays. What a pathetic man.
“This doesn't change anything, you know,” I say. “I'm not going to stop seeing Darby.”
His laughter is long and loud, and he seems genuinely amused by my statement. Which only makes my hatred for him burn brighter, and the desire to ruin his sad, sick little life all the more intense. Ruining Mason White is going to become my mission. My crusade. I'm going to see him miserable, alone, and without a penny to his name – if it's the last thing I fucking do.
“I don't think she's going to want to see you again,” he says. “Not after tonight. But, good luck with that. Anyway, have yourself a Merry little Christmas, Carter.”
His laughter echoes through my place as he walks out, closing the door softly behind him, leaving me with nothing but my rage.
18
Darby
“You look like shit, Darbs.”
I smile as Jade sits down across from me at the table. “Thanks. You sure know how to lift a girl's spirits.”
She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “How you holding up?”
“Barely,” I say. “Just barely.”
I took the rest of the week off work. I'm in no condition to teach right now. Plus, I don't want my kids to see me like this. It's been a few of days since I walked in on – whatever that was in Carter's place – and today is the first day I haven't cried. Maybe I've run out of tears.
Of course, it's still early.
I needed some company this morning. Somebody to talk to and to help pull me out of the pit of misery and despair I'm wallowing in. Jade, being the true friend she is, was there for me without delay, even if it meant that she also had to call in. Why can't everybody in the world be as good as her? Life would be so much better, if there were more people like her out there.
“I’m such an idiot,” I moan. “Why in the hell would I think somebody like Carter would be into me? Or at least, into me enough that he'd stop seeing other women?”
“You aren’t an idiot, Darbs,” she says. “This isn't on you.”
“What in the hell was I thinking?” I say. “You should have seen her, Jade. She looked like she walked straight out of a Victoria's Secret catalog.”
I feel the tears beginning to well up again. Apparently, I haven't cried enough yet. Dammit. Not wanting to cry in public, I ruthlessly bite them back, biting down on the inside of my cheek until they stop.
“You should have seen her, Jade. I can't compete with that. Not in a billion years. If I were Carter, I'd want to have sex with her too,” I say. “That woman was a ten. A ten plus. A body to die for, sensuality pouring off her in buckets –”
“Yeah, and so are you.”
I scoff. “No, I'm not. Not ha
rdly. I'm nothing special. I'm average at best,” I say. “Of course, somebody like Carter is going to want to sleep with women as gorgeous as she was.”
I stare down into my cappuccino, watching the way the foam swirls about, and wishing for the millionth time, that I could be anywhere but there. Be anybody but me. I feel so stupid for letting myself get attached. Again. For letting myself dare to hope. Again. Because I let myself get played like an idiot. Again.
“I can't believe I fell for him again,” I say. “I should have known better. I really should have. I should know better and just stayed in my lane, doing what makes me happy – teaching my kids and creating art. That's it. I never should have ventured outside of those things. Nothing ever good comes of it.”
My phone rings and when I look at the display, I see that it's Carter calling me. Again. For the ten thousandth time. And for the ten thousandth time, I decline to take the call and then wait. And sure enough, about two minutes later, my phone chirps with an incoming text.
“Darby, we need to talk. Please.”
A hundred snarky replies come to mind, but I dismiss them all. Giving him any sort of a reaction is only going to encourage him to keep trying to contact me. And that's the last thing I want right now. What I want is for Carter to leave me the hell alone while I sort through all this crap in my head.
“Carter?” Darby asks.
“Again.”
“Maybe you should talk to him,” she says. “I know this looks bad. Really bad. But, maybe it's a misunderstanding?”
I arch an eyebrow at her. “I highly doubt that.”
“Not to make you relive that again –”
“But you're going to make me relive it again,” I say, giving her a wry smile.
She says nothing but gives me a little shrug. I called her down here to give me her perspective, so filling her in on all the gory, unpleasant details is the least I can do. I recount the entire evening, leaving little out. Jade listens to every word, nodding along, but not interrupting. When I'm through, she takes a sip of her coffee and nods.
“That's – fucked up,” she says.
“To put it mildly.”
“When he walked in and saw her, how did Carter – seem?”
“What do you mean?”
“I don't know,” she says. “I just – you said he seemed as surprised as you were. Did it seem genuine to you?”
I think back, replaying his reactions in my head. “Yeah, he seemed surprised,” I say. “Though, I figured it was just him being surprised and angry that he got caught. That she showed up when she wasn't supposed to have been there.”
“Could be,” she says.
“You don't sound entirely convinced.”
“You said he played it off like he didn't know the woman?”
I nod. “Yeah. He made a big show of asking who she was, and all that.”
“Huh,” she replies. “Is it possible – and I'm just putting it out there – that he genuinely didn't know her?”
I laugh. “I doubt that,” I say. “She must have had a key to his place to be inside when we got there.”
She shrugs. “It's possible,” she says. “I'm not saying he's innocent, I'm just asking questions.”
Something is obviously swirling around in Jade’s mind. I can see it. She's cooking up one of her big conspiracy theories. She's always fancied herself a bit of a detective or something. Which is fine, I appreciate her perspective. Always. I just don't think this is a case of anything but what it seems to be – Carter got caught cheating on me.
He broke my heart. Again. That son of a bitch.
“Let's hear it, Columbo,” I say. “What's the theory behind the crime?”
She shrugs. “No real theory,” she says. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
“Then what is it?” I ask. “I can see you mulling something over in that big brain of yours.”
A slow smile spreads across her face. “That obvious, huh?”
I laugh – the first real laugh I've had in days. “I just know you,” I say. “I can see when you've got your mind wrapped around something.”
“Fair enough,” she says. “Well, since I'm busted anyway, I was just wondering about the timing of it all.”
I sip my drink and set the cup back down. “Timing? What do you mean?”
“Just that – Mason finds out you two are a thing again and raises hell with you,” she says. “Makes all kinds of unfounded statements and threats, right? And then this happens?”
I nod slowly. “Sure. Yeah.”
“He's desperate to keep you away from Carter because, for whatever reason, he's got a real hard on for him and thinks you seeing him is going to somehow damage his political ambitions or whatever.”
“Okay…” I say, starting to see where she's going with this.
“It's not about his ambitions though, mind you. It's about controlling you. Always has been, always will be,” Jade says.
“That much I can agree on.”
“Anyway,” she says, “with all of that in the background already, some mysterious brunette shows up in his place, making it look like Carter's cheating on you – with a woman he looked genuinely shocked to see. A woman he says he doesn't even know? Doesn't that strike you as – odd? As a bit – coincidental, timing-wise?”
I sit back and let out a long breath. Truthfully, I hadn’t thought about it like that before. It's kind of out there, but there seems to be some ring of truth in it. Or maybe I'm so desperate to believe that Carter wouldn't cheat on me, that I'm grasping at anything that sounds even moderately feasible.
“Okay, let's pretend this theory is correct,” I say. “That doesn't explain how Mason got her into Carter's place. He's got a doorman and you have to check in and show ID before they let you go up.”
Jade cocks an eyebrow at me. “Do you think a man in Mason's position would have trouble getting doors to open for him?”
“Probably not,” I admit. “I just can't see him abusing his position like that. I mean –”
“I can. Easily,” she says. “If it means Mason getting what Mason wants – and in this case, destroying Carter in your eyes, the thing he wants the most – I see him having no problem abusing his position. This might come as a shock to you, but I don't think your brother is the most ethical man out there.”
I hate to admit but, it's an interesting and intriguing theory – Mason setting Carter up to drive a wedge between us. And it's not like he hasn't done something like this before. Still, it seems a little far-fetched to me.
“I don't know, Jade,” I say. “I really don't. And I wouldn't know where to even start getting the truth of it. I can't talk to Mason or Carter, obviously. They're both going to have their own, competing agendas. And I don't know anybody –”
“Sure, you do,” she says. “You know Pops. Well, you know of Pops.”
“Right. Like he'd be unbiased.”
She shrugs. “Maybe not,” she says. “But, if he's half the man Carter tells you he is, he'll give it to you straight. He'll tell you whether or not Carter is capable of doing something like that.”
I take another drink of my cappuccino, letting my mind wander. It's not the worst idea Jade’s ever had. It would help me get some answers. And she's right, if Pops is half the man Carter makes him out to be, he'll give it to me straight – whether I like his answer or not.
The question now is whether or not I want to walk through that door if I open it. Am I willing to hear that Carter isn't the man I thought he was? That he’s been using me – for whatever reason? Though, I can't imagine what for, to be honest.
If I don't go talk to Pops, I'm always going to have doubts lurking in the back of my mind. I have to find out the truth, even if it means my heart gets shattered in the process.
* * *
“Well, if it isn't the notorious Darby White.”
I give Pops a smile as I sit down on the couch across the table from where he sits in his wheelchair. He's not what I expected. I guess based
on his reputation and all, I was kind of expecting him to look like an older version of Tony Soprano or something.
Instead, Pops looks like a kind, doting grandfather. A shock of thinning white hair covers his head, and deep lines etch his face, but he's got a wide, engaging smile, and dark, glittering eyes, filled with life and vitality.
“Notorious?” I ask.
He shrugs. “You've been kinda like Bigfoot all these years,” he says. “Heard a lot about ya but never laid eyes on ya.”
I smile and laugh a little. “I suppose that's a fair assessment,” I say and look around Pops' place. “It's very – festive – in here.”
He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Looks like Santa's fuckin' workshop exploded in here,” he says. “Listen, I like Christmas as much as the next guy, but Adriana’s gone too damn far with it. She's adding somethin' new every damn day. And she's doing it to get under the kid's skin. Knows he hates Christmas and thinks she can make him like it by giving him a holiday enema or something.”
I laugh so hard, tears prick at my eyes. The man is hilarious.
“Anyway, it's nice to finally meet the woman who captured the kid's heart,” he says. “I'm glad to see you back in his life. You're good for him, Darby White.”
“I don't know about that,” I say.
“I do,” Pops replies.
His eyes are fixed to mine, his gaze steady and piercing. It's clear that although his stroke has left him with some physical limitations, his mind is as sharp as ever.
A tall, Hispanic woman enters the room and sets a tray down on the table between us. She looks over and gives me a smile as she hands me a glass of water. I give her my thanks and take a quick sip.
“I don't want to rush you,” the woman says, “but it's almost time for his physical therapy.”
“Of course,” I say. “I won't be long. I'm sorry to drop in on you like this so unexpectedly.”
“Take all the time you want, darlin',” Pops says. “Therapy can wait.”
