ASHER (The Beckett Boys, Book Three)

by Olivia Chase

  “You think this is funny?” I asked. “You think it’s funny that you’ve been arrested for murder?”

  He shrugged, then crossed the room to the refrigerator and surveyed the contents. He shut the refrigerator door, obviously not happy with what he saw. “We’ll order in,” he decided, crossing the room and opening a drawer filled with takeout menus. “You need to eat, Charlotte.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said automatically, annoyed that he was still trying to boss me around. “And you shouldn’t be, either.”

  “I shouldn’t be eating?”

  “No!” I said. “You should be upset or angry or scared! Not standing in your kitchen like some kind of fucking statue looking at takeout menus!”

  “Charlotte,” he said, his voice a warning. “It’s been a very long day.”

  I walked over to him and put my hand on his forearm. “Noah,” I said softly. “Noah, what are you doing?”

  He turned and looked at me, his eyes serious, his breathing suddenly slightly labored. “I’m not scared to go to jail.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No. In face, in some ways, it would be a relief.”

  “A relief?” I slid my hand down his arm and intertwined my fingers with his. “Why?”

  “Because then I would finally get what I deserve.” He said it matter-of-factly, with just a trace of sadness, the way you’d talk about a tragedy in the world you couldn’t do anything about, like world hunger or terrorism.

  I took in a ragged breath. “Noah,” I said. “Are you… did you…?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I didn’t kill those women. But I may as well have.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  But he was done talking. He picked up his phone and ordered the food, again without asking me what I wanted.

  When he was done, he went to go shower.

  And this time, I knew better than to push him.

  The Chinese food arrived about twenty minutes later, just as Noah was finishing his shower. We ate at the dining room table in silence, and soon after that, he retreated to his office, telling me had work to do.

  I stayed in the living room, curled up on the oversized couch, doing my reading for my classes the next day. I was somehow able to lose myself in the case studies and the legal briefs, turning pages and making notes, highlighting passages in my books and on my iPad. I blocked out everything that was going on – that Noah had been arrested, that he had withdrawn from me again, that he’d opened up to me about his childhood and told me something horrible that might have only been the tip of the iceberg.

  Finally, at around midnight, Noah came back to the living room.

  “Charlotte,” he said. “It’s time for bed.”

  “I’m not tired.”

  “I don’t care. You need your rest.”

  I sighed and packed my books and papers back into my bag.

  I followed him into the bedroom. He was already dressed for bed, in just a pair of loose-fitting grey drawstring pajama pants and no shirt. The pants hung low on his hips, and I admired his body as we walked down the hall, letting my eyes linger on his tight ass and his chiseled back muscles.

  I got ready for bed in the master bathroom, quickly brushing my teeth, washing my face, and slipping into a long t-shirt. The bedroom was dark when I got back, and Noah was already in bed. I slid in next to him, turning over on my side and facing away from him, toward the windows.

  I held my breath, hoping he would reach for me, or whisper something, or pull me close. I didn’t even care if it was just about sex, if he just wanted to use me to satisfy some kind of urge. I yearned for some kind of connection with him, and if I had to settle for a physical one, I didn’t care.

  “Good night, Charlotte.”

  “Good night, Noah.”

  I lay there for a while, hoping there would be something more, but there wasn’t. I pressed my eyes together and prayed I would be able to fall asleep. And miraculously, after a long time, I did.

  When I woke, the room was pitch black.

  The blinds had been open just a crack when we’d gone to sleep, allowing a tiny strip of the city lights to filter into the room. The bedroom door had been open as well, the nightlight in the hall throwing a faint circle of light onto the carpet.

  But now there was just blackness. For a moment, I was disoriented, blinking hard, trying to make out any objects in the dark room. I groped for my phone on the nightstand and unlocked the screen.

  2:08 am.

  I turned over and shined the light around the room.

  The door was shut, the blinds were closed.

  And Noah was gone.

  I swallowed hard, wondering where he could have gone at two in the morning. He’s probably just in his office, I told myself, working. I didn’t need to go and check on him. It would have been perfectly normal for him to have had trouble sleeping, to decide it was better to get some work done than to lie in bed tossing and turning. He was a grown man in his own house.

  A grown man who’d just been arrested for murder.

  I slid out of bed, making my way to the bedroom door and opening it slowly. The apartment felt eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that came from an empty space.

  “Noah?” I called. But there was no answer. My heart started to pound, wondering if I’d been wrong about him, if maybe he was a murderer, one who’d decided to just skip town and take off in the middle of the night. I started down the hallway, using my phone as a guide.

  I crept into the kitchen, peeking into the office as I went, but it was empty, the door open. The kitchen was neat and tidy, with no sign of anyone.

  I was clutching my phone so hard the hard plastic of the case was digging into my palm. I was about to call Noah’s name again, when I heard a muffled voice. It took me a second to realize it was coming from the terrace outside – the one off the kitchen.

  The door to the terrace was closed, but I could see the outline of a figure through the glass. A scream threatened to spill out of my throat, but then I realized it was just Noah, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  But my relief was short lived. Why was Noah out on his terrace, the rest of the house locked up tight, at two o’clock in the morning? My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, and I realized now there were two figures on the terrace.

  Someone was out there with Noah.

  “…shouldn’t have come here…” Noah was saying.

  The other figure was a woman, dressed in black jeans and a black leather jacket, her hair pulled back under a black baseball cap. She was leaning back on the railing, her elbows perched on top of the bars.

  “It was important,” she said.

  “Shhh!” Noah said. “I told you to keep your voice down.” He looked behind him into the house, and I quickly crouched down behind the island, holding my breath and praying he wouldn’t see me.

  The woman’s reply was muffled, and I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I peeked around the island, hoping I could see or hear something else. But they moved out of my sight just a little bit, obstructed now by the side of the counter and the furniture out on the terrace.

  “…not to come here…” Noah said again.

  “...wanted to see you in person, Noah… the phone….”

  I watched as she put her hand on Noah’s arm, and he shook his head and grabbed onto the railing of the terrace, leaning over and looking down at the street below. He was still wearing his pajama pants and no shirt, and I hated that she was touching him, hated that she had her hand on his bare arm. It was also too cold to be outside dressed in just a thin pair of pants and no top, and I realized whoever this woman was, she must have shown up completely out of the blue.

  I couldn’t hear any voices now, even muffled ones, and it seemed as if the two of them were just standing there in silence. After a moment, the woman let go of Noah’s am and grabbed a black duffle bag that was sitting on the chair.

  She unzipped it and pulled out two items
– a bulky file folder, and a dark green scarf. It was the kind of scarf that was made more for warmth than aesthetics -- it was bulky, with tassels on the ends, and I couldn’t tell from here, but it looked like maybe it had been hand knit.

  She handed Noah the file folder, and he took it. When she handed him the green scarf, she did it slowly, almost reverently, like it was of great importance. He stared down at it for a while, and she put her hand back on his arm.

  I felt like I was spying on some kind of intimate moment, like I was seeing something between two people that was supposed to be private. At the same time, there was obviously something untoward going on, since this woman was showing up in the middle of the night with documents, and Noah had obviously done his best to keep her from me.

  “You should go,” I heard Noah say very clearly. His voice was a little more raised now, and it broke the spell. They began to head toward the terrace door, and I made my way quickly out of the kitchen and back down the hall to the bedroom.

  I shut the door behind me, wincing at the noise it made.

  I climbed back into bed, my heart pounding so fast I could feel the blood rushing in my ears.

  I lay there for what seemed like forever, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe. I watched as the clock on my phone moved from two to three to four in the morning. Noah still hadn’t returned to the bedroom. I wondered what he was doing – had he left the apartment? I hadn’t heard anyone leave, but it was impossible to know – with the door shut, the lights off, the blinds closed, the room felt more like a cave than a bedroom. Was that woman still here? Was she going to turn up dead? Was I going to turn up dead?

  Finally, at around five in the morning, I heard the sound of the bedroom door opening. I kept my eyes shut and my breathing shallow, hoping Noah would think I was still sleeping. My pulse raced.

  After a moment, I heard Noah moving across the room toward his dresser, then the sound of water running in the bathroom.

  I stayed still.

  The bathroom door opened a few moments later, and I heard the sound of Noah leaving the bedroom and moving down the hallway. This time, he kept the bedroom door open. There were rustling noises in the kitchen before the sound of the front door opening and closing echoed through the apartment.

  Noah was gone.

  I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

  I sat up in bed, not sure what to do. I was tempted to start snooping around his apartment, going through his things, seeing if I could find anything that implemented him. The lawyer part of me wanted to. The part of me that was in a relationship, if you could even call it that, wanted to trust him enough not to do that.

  My phone buzzed, and I almost jumped out of my skin. I picked up my phone.

  One new text.

  Noah.

  I’d like to have a meeting with you this morning. Meet me at my office at 7.

  I arrived at the offices of Cutler and Associates promptly at 6:55. I wasn’t sure what this meeting was going to entail, and so I’d made sure to be prompt. I had class that morning, and I couldn’t afford to be late. Whatever this was, I wanted to make sure I got it taken care of quickly. Even so, adrenaline coursed through my body at the thought of a private meeting with Noah.

  I fiddled with the strap of my bag as I waited for the elevator, wondering if I should bring up what I’d seen the night before out on his terrace. Noah was so temperamental, I couldn’t tell if me confronting him would force him to explain, or just cause him to push me away. My instinct was that he would push me away. Obviously if he’d wanted to tell me what was going on, he wouldn’t have gone so far out of his way to hide it.

  My phone rang as I was about to step onto the elevator.

  Professor Worthington.

  “Charlotte,” he barked into the phone. “Where are you?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. Since I had no idea why Noah wanted to meet with me, I didn’t know if it had to do with the case or if it was something of a more personal nature.

  “I’m about to meet with Mr. Cutler,” I said finally, taking a chance.

  “Good, so he’s been in touch.”

  “Yes.”

  “I emailed him this morning to let him know we’re going to begin preparing his defense, and he indicated he would only be speaking with you.”

  “Oh.” I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.

  “I’m going to need you to get as much information out of him as you can.”

  “Okay,” I said, almost laughing out loud at the absurdity of being tasked with trying to get information out of Noah Cutler.

  “Thank you.” Professor Worthington paused. “Is this arrangement okay with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean are you okay meeting with Mr. Cutler alone?” His voice was tinged with concern. It was the first time I’d heard Professor Worthington show any kind of nervousness about me being involved with Noah. Up until this point, he’d been very clear that I was to do whatever it took to make sure we had what we needed for the case. It made me wonder if perhaps Professor Worthington knew something that made him worried for my safety.

  I wondered if I should tell him about what happened last night, about the mysterious woman who’d shown up at Noah’s house, how they’d been talking out on the terrace. But to do that would make it clear I’d spent the night with Noah. And I was suddenly getting the vibe that something had changed with Professor Worthington – now that Noah had been arrested, Professor Worthington seemed a little more cautious. If he knew how close I really was with Noah, he might take me off the case.

  “I’m fine,” I said, stepping into the elevator and hoping I sounded confident.

  “Do you want me to send Josh?”

  I laughed. “Are you serious?”

  He laughed as well. “No, you’re right. What was I thinking? Do you want me to come down there?”

  “No. I’m okay. I can deal with Mr. Cutler.” The words sounded so strong and forceful coming out of my mouth, that I almost believed them myself.

  “Well, then,” Professor Worthington said, back to being all business. “I’ll expect an emailed report from you as soon as you’re finished. Then we can talk about next steps.”

  “Thank you, Professor.” I hung up the phone and stepped out into the carpeted hallway of Cutler and Associates. I thought about the last time I was here, before any of this had even really started. I almost laughed at how much things could change in such a short time.

  I walked down the hall and was stopped at the reception desk. There was a new receptionist there, young and blonde with shiny hair and an enthusiastic smile.

  “Can I help you?” she asked me.

  “I’m here to see Noah,” I said. “He’s expecting me.”

  “Your name?”

  “Charlotte.”

  “Last name?”

  “Holloway,” I said, trying not to be offended by the fact that I was being questioned while trying to get access to the man I’d been sleeping with.

  She turned toward the computer screen, her perfectly manicured nails tapping over the keys. I suddenly felt self-conscious of my own nails, which I was always biting. I swallowed.

  “Ah, yes,” the receptionist said. “I see here you’re part of his legal team. You can take a seat over there.”

  “Thank you,” I said tightly, sitting down in one of the chairs across from the reception desk, all the while trying not to scream. Why the hell was I being made to wait out here like I was some kind of imposition? Noah had requested this meeting with me, not the other way around. Actually, he hadn’t even requested it -- he’d just demanded it, not even asking me if I was free. He’d been nothing but cold to me last night, and now he was making me wait, while meanwhile some mysterious woman with a binder full of God knows what and a green scarf was able to just come waltzing into his apartment in the middle of the night, no questions asked.

  It was infuriating.

  I sat there getting more and more worked
up, telling myself that if he didn’t come out in five minutes, I was leaving.

  I watched the clock on my phone, trying to block out the sound of his new receptionist’s chirpy little blond voice as she answered his calls.

  One minute… two minutes…

  At four and a half minutes, I began a countdown in my head, and there was ten seconds left when Noah finally buzzed reception.

  “Yes, sir,” the receptionist said. “Yes, right away, sir.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, knowing Noah probably loved that she was calling him sir. “You can go in now,” she said, giving me a smile.

  “Thank you.”

  I made my way through the double doors and back to Noah’s office.

  When I got there, he was standing by his desk, talking to someone on the phone. His suit coat and tie were off, the sleeves of his navy blue dress shirt rolled up, his collar loose around his neck, showing a glimpse of the crisp white t-shirt he was wearing underneath.

  He motioned me in with one hand, and I walked into his office.

  He ended his call and I immediately said, “You shouldn’t have asked me to come for seven if you weren’t ready.”

  I was expecting him to be cold with me, but instead, the side of his mouth twitched into a grin. “I missed you, too.”

  I ignored him and walked over to the chairs in front of his desk, sat down in one and pulled out a legal pad. “Professor Worthington has asked me to conduct a preliminary interview with you so that we can start mounting your defense.”

  “Mounting, huh?” he said. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Noah, please. This is serious.”

  “I am serious.”

  He walked around his desk until was standing behind me, then pushed my chair so that it was facing away from the desk and toward the side wall. Then he moved the other chair so that it was facing mine.

  He sat down and put his hands on my legs. “I missed you, Charlotte,” he said, his voice husky.

  I swallowed. “This is about your case, Noah,” I said. “It’s not about me and you.”

  “I called the meeting.”