Dangerous Games

by Marie Ferrarella

  Rising, Rayne decided that maybe she needed a little time alone with the elliptical trainer in her room. “I’ll let you know if I need a sounding board.”

  “Make sure you do,” Andrew called after her as she went up the stairs.

  Shaking his head, he sat back on the sofa and picked up his remote again. A block of commercials had been launched on the cable network and he began to surf around to see of there was anything worthwhile watching for the next three minutes or so.

  He glanced at his watch. It was only seven-thirty, more than four hours earlier than the earliest time she normally came home after an evening out. Whatever she wrestled with had to be big.

  He wondered if it had anything to do with what they’d talked about at the breakfast table. He supposed if she wanted him to know, she’d tell him.

  But it was the waiting that drove him crazy.

  With a sigh, he shut off the TV and got up. He wanted to reread the technician’s findings with his wife’s wallet again. Maybe there was something he’d missed earlier.

  Chapter 5

  She ran down a dark street that had no beginning, no end. She just knew she had to keep running and that eventually, she’d be safe. But not yet.

  Not yet.

  And then the ringing began. At first it sounded like a faraway church bell, declaring the hour. But as it continued, its timbre changed.

  The ringing came closer, more persistent.

  Layers of sleep pulled away until she became aware that the ringing came from beside her head.

  Opening her eyes, Rayne saw the long, dark street melting away. The ringing didn’t.

  It was her phone.

  With a shiver that chased away the last of her dream, Rayne groped around on the nightstand for the cell phone she’d left there.

  “Hello?” The word felt as if she’d gurgled it up. Rayne paused to clear the fog from her throat if not her brain and then repeated, “Hello?”

  “Did I wake you?”

  She didn’t immediately recognize the voice. Only a select few had her cell phone number and this didn’t sound like any of them.

  “No,” she mumbled, “I had to get up to answer the phone anyway.” Up on her elbow now, Rayne dragged her hand through her hair, trying to pull herself together at the same time.

  “Have you made up your mind yet?”

  Now she recognized the voice. She sat up, awake as adrenaline poked its long, reedy fingers into her bloodstream. How the hell did he get her number? The man was becoming annoyingly resourceful.

  “Garrison? What are you doing calling me?” she demanded.

  In contrast his voice was calm, patient. “We had an arrangement.”

  “Yes, but not one that began at—” she paused to look at the clock that she’d pushed against her lamp in her search for the cell phone “—six in the morning.”

  “Sorry, I guess I’m still running on back east time.”

  He didn’t sound sorry, she thought, annoyed. He sounded sexy.

  Rayne wiped away the thought. She didn’t need this. “Well, I’m not. Call back at a decent hour—after you’ve adjusted your clock.”

  About to snap her phone shut and terminate the connection, she heard him say, “Rayne, please.”

  Swallowing an oath, she sighed. Something in his voice, other than the tone, stayed her hand. Maybe his sincerity spoke to her.

  Or maybe her brain was still fogged over, she thought, annoyed with herself.

  “All right.” She didn’t bother hiding her grudging reluctance. “I’ll see what I can do to help you. But not at six in the morning. I’ll talk to you later.”

  With that, she ended the call.

  Punching her pillow into submission, Rayne tried desperately to get back to sleep. But the sound of his low and sexy voice refused to vacate her mind.

  And when a half sleep finally began to descend on her, it only served to heighten her reaction to the man.

  “Damn.”

  Giving up all attempts at a comforting sleep, Rayne laid on her back a moment longer, staring at the ceiling, the import of what she was about to undertake weighing heavily on her mind.

  The only consoling fact was that she knew she wasn’t doing it because of Cole. She was doing it because of Eric. And because something just didn’t feel right to her about the case.

  She couldn’t put it in any better terms, even to herself. This didn’t change the fact that when she’d heard of Eric Garrison’s indictment for the murder of his former girlfriend, she’d first thought it was someone’s poor idea of a joke. The Eric Garrison she’d known was too squeamish to kill a bug, much less a person. It had to be a mistake.

  But when everyone seemed satisfied with the arrest, and when the body of evidence was put together, the D.A. felt they had a solid case, she knew everyone else took the notion seriously.

  She still couldn’t. And because it was someone she knew, she had to prove it to herself. Quietly, if possible. Without stepping on anyone’s toes. She wasn’t the reckless, the-hell-with-the-whole-world girl she’d once been, not giving a damn about herself or tomorrow. Now she knew she was part of an integral whole, that what she did affected others, most importantly, the people she loved.

  But she still wanted answers.

  With a sigh, and feeling half dead, she dragged herself upright in bed, swung her legs out and let them dangle over the side. Getting her bearings was hard, even under the best circumstances, and these weren’t them. She’d never been one of those morning people, waking up eager to greet the day. She’d always met it reluctantly, her consciousness kicking and screaming as it was brought to the fore.

  Today was no different.

  Slowly the day of the week penetrated the layers of fog that still swirled around her brain. It was Saturday. Saturday, and she’d missed the opportunity to sleep in.

  “Damn you, Cole Garrison,” she said vehemently. He could have waited another hour for his answer.

  A loud thud coming from the room next to hers made her jump. If she’d still been asleep, the noise would have been enough to jar her awake. Because she was a Californian, born and bred, she automatically glanced at the light fixture overhead to see if it was swaying.

  It wasn’t.

  That ruled out an earthquake, she thought. Another thud had her on her feet and quickly in the hallway, knocking on the door next to hers. “Everything okay in there?”

  The next minute, the door opened. Clay stuck his head out, a sheepish grin playing on his lips. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

  She peered into the room past his shoulder. There were boxes piled up everywhere. “Seeing as how I’m not dead, yes, you woke me. What the hell are you doing in here?”

  He gestured toward the boxes. “Getting my gear together.” He looked at her. “I’m moving out today, remember?”

  “No,” she snapped, then amended, “Yes.” But that was a lie. She hadn’t remembered. A vague piece of conversation around the table floated back to her, but it had no beginning or ending and she couldn’t pin it down. “Maybe.”

  Shrugging her shoulders, Rayne took in a deep breath. She was still having trouble focusing. For once she wished she was like Teri. Clay’s twin was like a spring in the morning, able to bounce up and just launch herself into the day no matter how little sleep she’d gotten the night before.

  Crossing her arms in front of her, Rayne leaned against the doorjamb as her brother got back to work stowing his possessions into various boxes that were as yet unlabeled. If she knew Clay, they’d probably remain that way. A good detective, he wasn’t the most organized of people in his personal life.

  “Not that I don’t love seeing you go, but what’s the hurry?”

  He laughed. Taking packing tape, he began to close up the box he’d just finished filling. “Now you sound like Dad.”

  She pretended to take offense. “No need to insult me, just answer the question. You’re getting married soon, right?”

  “Right.” He took the l
ast of his sweaters out of the bureau and deposited them in a tangled pile into the box. “Right after Callie and the good judge make it official.”

  Walking into the room, she elbowed him aside and began to fold his sweaters neatly. “So move out then.” And then she realized what her formerly wild bachelor brother was probably up to. Her hands still busy, she looked at him knowingly. “Or is it that now that you and Ilene have gotten back together, you just can’t contain yourself any longer?”

  He waited until she finished before dumping the contents of his sock drawer on top of the folded sweaters. “That’s none of your business,” he said as he shoved the drawer back into the bureau. “I told Dad I’d move out the minute I found some place affordable.”

  She made the logical assumption. “And that would be Ilene’s place.” Rayne went to his closet. It was already empty. A pang nestled into her stomach. He’d moved back in just for a short while. That had stretched out to more than seven months. She was going to miss seeing him around. “Can’t beat free, I guess.”

  Taking the tape, he began to seal another box. “For your information, I’m moving into a furnished apartment for the next two months.”

  She turned from the closet, surprised. “You’re not moving in with Ilene?”

  He shook his head. “Might send the wrong signals to Alex.”

  Ilene and Alex had stayed with them to ensure their safety before Ilene had gone on to give testimony about her company’s sleight of hand in the annual stockholder’s report. During that time, they had all fallen in love with the precocious boy.

  “What? That his long-lost father is finally sleeping with his mother?”

  Moving the box off the bed and next to the others he’d taped, Clay stopped packing for a moment.

  “I’ve explained who I am to Alex and he’s okay with it, but I don’t want to dump too much on the boy at one time.” Shrugging, he resumed dividing the sum total of his possessions amid the remaining boxes. “It’s better this way.”

  She sat on the corner of the bed. “Maybe for you, but I’m not too sure about Dad. He’s going to miss having another male around the place.” It had taken her a while, but she was finally beginning to appreciate life from her father’s side of the fence. “One by one, his birds are leaving the nest.” She looked at Clay. “Leaving him more time to pore over Mom’s file.”

  Their father’s preoccupation with what they felt was a hopeless quest had been a source of concern for all of them.

  Clay offered his suggestion tongue-in-cheek—for the most part. “Then maybe you and Teri can take turns not being out until all hours and keep him company.”

  She gave him a dirty look. Getting off his bed, she started emptying the small bookcase that held his tapes and books. “Here, let me give you a hand with all that. Maybe we can have you out before noon.”

  Laughing, Clay threw his treasured Angel cap at her. It’s been the one he’d worn the time the team had had the all-important rally in the seventh inning of the sixth World Series game. She caught it, then ran out of the room, challenging him to catch her.

  And missing him already.

  Cole couldn’t sit still, couldn’t just wait for Rayne to call him back. He had to do something. Every minute was precious. Every minute that wasn’t used was another that brought Eric closer to a verdict he didn’t deserve, one that would lock him away from a life he hadn’t mastered, sending him to a place akin to hell. Cole had no delusions about his brother. Eric was the type who had “victim” clearly printed on his forehead. Once in general lockup with hardened criminals, Eric wouldn’t last out the month. He wouldn’t be able to survive mixed in with those kinds of people.

  Making up his mind, Cole went back to jail. He went with the intent of getting as much information out of his brother as possible, starting with the names of some of the people who had been at the party he’d attended.

  Sitting opposite him, Eric made vague responses, not out of any sense of loyalty to the people who had been there, but because he really couldn’t remember.

  “I gave all those names to the police already,” he protested. “The ones I could remember. Most of it’s kind of hazy,” he’d confessed, then added, “I guess most of my life’s been kind of hazy lately. Ever since you left, really.” And then, looking afraid that he’d sent the wrong message, he quickly added, “Hey, man, I don’t mean to dump that on you. It’s not your fault. You got out. I’m glad for you. Me, I never had enough guts to try.” Eric sighed like a man who knew all of his limitations and was powerless to do anything about them. “I liked being close to the purse strings too much. Not that it matters anymore.” Those strings had been tightened and the money cut off less than a month ago. His reserve was almost gone.

  Eric’s expression was sheepish as he looked at him and asked for understanding. “I’m not like you, Cole. I never got a backbone.”

  Pity mingled with sympathy. Eric was such a tangled mess, he didn’t know where to begin to make it right. But making excuses wasn’t the way to resolve anything. “They’re standard issue at birth.”

  Eric laughed shortly, staring at the tips of his fingers as he rested his hands on the table in front of him. “My order got botched.” He raised his eyes to Cole’s face. “But that was why I loved Kathy. With her, I felt different, as if I could do things. She made everything clear, everything in focus.” His face fell as he struggled with a memory. “When she told me she didn’t want to see me anymore, it ripped my heart right out of my chest.

  “That’s why I kept at her, Cole. I was trying to win her back. I wouldn’t have hurt her. Kathy was the only thing that made life worth living. I knew it couldn’t be about the money. She hadn’t been with me because of the money.” It was almost a plea for agreement. Tears shimmered in his eyes again. “I never felt about anyone the way I did about her. You know what I mean?”

  No, Cole thought, he didn’t. He’d never loved anyone, never felt that tightening in the gut he’d heard about. His emotions had all been frozen years ago. “Not firsthand, but yeah, I know what you mean.”

  The guard entered the room. “Time’s up.”

  Cole nodded, rising. He saw Eric flinch as the latter got to his feet. The handcuffs returned. His brother looked at him with supplicating eyes. “Get me out of here, Cole. Please.”

  The words still rang in his ears as he drove up the familiar winding path that brought him to the mansion. He’d come against his better judgment, come not because he wanted to see them after ten years, but because they were where the money was. At least they could be good for that. God knew they hadn’t been good for anything else.

  They hadn’t aged any.

  It was the first thought that occurred to him when, walking behind a maid he didn’t recognize, he was brought into the secondary living room. Fifty years ago the room might have been called a parlor, a place where guests who belonged to the B-list of acquaintances were politely received.

  Unlike Eric, whose lifestyle had embedded itself on his face, making his brother look years older than he was, his parents looked as if not a day had gone by since he’d last seen them.

  “We hear you’re doing very well, Cole,” his father said after the obligatory words of greeting had been gotten out of the way.

  Cole looked from one parent to the other. His mother resembled an old painting, demurely posed. His father was the personification of old money. Not a single true emotion between the two of them.

  “I can’t complain,” he finally answered.

  And then his father smiled at him. Cole was hard-pressed to remember if he had ever seen the expression on his father’s face within this house. There had been plenty of instances when a smiling face had looked up at him from the society papers, but he didn’t recall ever seeing it in person.

  “Well, we’re proud of you,” his father said heartily.

  The words of praise, of approval, left him cold. The last time Cole had wanted either from one of his parents, he’d been eight year
s old. Trying to get his father’s attention after some accomplishment, he’d been shunted to the side.

  Any further chitchat would just be perpetrating a lie. These people had never cared about him and he no longer cared about them. Eric’s plight was the reason he was here, so he got down to the heart of the matter.

  “I’m here about Eric.”

  The smile vanished as if it had only been a figment of his imagination. His father’s still-handsome face frosted over. “Who we are definitely not proud of.”

  Cole watched his mother knot her fingers together as she sat ramrod-straight on the Louis XIV chair she’d lavished more attention on than either one of her children.

  He wasn’t here to debate that, or to point out that had they not failed as parents, maybe they would have had a son to be proud of.

  “You can still bail him out of jail until the trial.”

  His father looked at him as if he’d just been asked to disrobe and run naked through the center of the city. “Why should we do that?”

  No, he wasn’t devoid of emotion, Cole thought, because he felt anger welling up inside of him. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to shout at this man who had sired him. He didn’t waste his time or his breath to say that he believed Eric was innocent. If they’d had bothered to get to know his brother, they would have known that already.

  His voice was steely as he said, “Because he’s your son.”

  His father eyed the liquor cabinet. It was an open secret that Lyle Garrison lubricated his brain cells with healthy doses of liquid libation. Eric had inherited his father’s penchant for drinking. That he did it indiscriminately and habitually wound up drunk was probably one of the reasons his father disliked his second born so much.

  “He’s brought nothing but shame to the family name. He should be grateful that we’re providing legal counsel for him.”

  Cole couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “Maybe if you and Mother—” he spared her a damning glance “—had provided something more when Eric was growing up, you wouldn’t have anything to be ashamed of right now.”