Rhodium

by Elise Noble

  I’d lost track of time when a policeman called my name through the bars. “Stefanie Amor. You’re up.”

  “Up for what?”

  Beside me, Mara stretched out under a thin blanket. “Interview, stupid.”

  Thanks. How had I ever liked that girl? I dreaded talking to the police because I had no idea what to say, but at least in an interview room, I’d be away from Mara. I walked to the door, and the policeman let me through then cuffed my hands behind my back.

  “Is it morning now?” I asked.

  Because I certainly hadn’t slept, and it didn’t seem as if enough time had passed for it to be Saturday. I stifled a yawn as he led me along a corridor.

  “Four a.m.”

  “You do interviews at that time?”

  “Depends on who it is.”

  He stopped outside a door and reached for the handle.

  “Wait. What happens? Do I need a lawyer? The cop told me in the car that you’d give me a lawyer.”

  I didn’t know what awaited me in that room, but I knew I didn’t want to face it by myself.

  “Your lawyer’s already in there.”

  Of course he was. The cop swung the door open to reveal Oliver sitting on the far side of a metal table, and he looked pissed. Like, really pissed. His lips were so thin I could hardly see them, and he barely looked at me with stone-cold eyes as the cop led me over to the chair beside him and sat me down.

  “You can lose the cuffs,” Oliver told him.

  “I’m not sure…”

  “She’s a twenty-two-year-old barista, not a hardened criminal.”

  Every one of his words pierced the air like a knife.

  The cop reached down and unlocked me, and my left hand went straight to my hair the way it did every time I got stressed. I’d barely managed to twist one lock around my fingers when two more policemen came in and sat opposite us. Right now, I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that a half-competent lawyer had shown up or cry because it was the one man I really didn’t want to see.

  The police asked questions. About Landon and Jamie and the parties I’d been to. And worse, they wanted to know what happened on our dates, and after them. I tried to answer as best I could, but Oliver interrupted constantly, warning me not to speak, telling the cops their questions were irrelevant, pointing out all the ways in which they were wrong.

  After a while, I gave up on talking and just let him get on with tearing the two grown men opposite me into tiny pieces, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, taking pleasure in it. And sitting there beside him, I understood two things. Firstly, that he’d been easy on me in his office so far, and secondly, why he charged the big bucks for his work.

  And all the time, his silver pen flipped around in those long fingers, twirling, flashing, occasionally being used to write neat notes on a yellow pad. I should have listened, but my head was fuzzy and the only thing I wanted to do was crawl under a duvet and sleep. No, not sleep. Hide. I wanted to hide.

  The clock on the wall told me just over an hour had passed when the men stood up. I’d long since lost track of the conversation. A combination of confusion and aching tiredness had caused my brain to shut down, and when Oliver took my elbow and lifted, I could barely stand.

  “Am I going back to jail now?”

  “No, you’re going home.”

  I trailed behind him as he led the way through a maze of corridors, and then we were in the parking lot.

  “Uh, I don’t suppose I could borrow a cab fare?”

  And perhaps a door key because I didn’t know where Imogen was. She’d said Jamie gave her a key to go to his place straight after work, but without him there, would she have stayed? Then a horrible thought struck me. If he was mixed up in all this, would the police have raided his place as well?

  “Imogen…” I mumbled.

  “Is at home.” He opened the passenger door of a black Porsche. “Get in.”

  “Is this your car?”

  He’d driven a Mercedes the last time I saw him at Riverley.

  “No, it’s the fucking tooth fairy’s. Get in.”

  He scared me, but what choice did I have? Either I went with Oliver or I stayed stranded in a parking lot with the wind whistling through the hole in my dress. Goose bumps popped up on my arms, reminding me how cold I was, and worse, my nipples were standing to attention.

  I lowered myself into the passenger seat, and he slammed the door. Hard. He gave the driver’s door the same treatment once he’d gotten behind the wheel.

  “Are you taking me home?” I asked, hating the tremble in my voice.

  “Yes, Stefanie, I’m taking you home.”

  I was surprised he didn’t get arrested himself, the way he spun the wheels leaving the parking lot, but no flashing lights followed. Probably they wouldn’t have kept up anyway. Buildings whipped past, and he blew through at least two red lights. It wasn’t until he stomped on the brakes outside a fancy apartment block that I realised I had no idea where I was. A shutter in the side of the building rolled up, and he pulled forwards into an underground parking garage. Expensive cars stretched in all directions—BMWs, Audis, and even a Corvette.

  “This isn’t where I live.”

  “No, Stefanie, this is where I live.”

  Oh. Shit.

  CHAPTER 19

  “CAN YOU TAKE me back to my apartment? Please?” I clung to the seat belt like a lifeline.

  He waved a hand at me. “I’m not taking you back to Imogen in that state.”

  I looked down at my body. With all the moving around, the tear in the dress had got longer, a white slash against my stomach, and I realised my pantyhose had a huge run in them as well.

  “Does she know what happened?”

  “I sent someone to pick her up from Jamie’s place before the police broke through his door. I had enough on my hands tonight without having to bail her out as well.”

  “Bail? I’m on bail?”

  “Did you not listen to anything back there?”

  “I didn’t understand.”

  “Yes, you’re on bail. You need permission to leave the state.”

  I leaned forwards over the dashboard, fighting down the bile that rose in my throat. “Who paid it?” I didn’t have that kind of money, and I doubted Imogen did either. “You?”

  “I couldn’t. Conflict of interest.”

  “So who?”

  “Dan di Grassi.”

  If I’d had a gun at that moment, I’d have stuck it in my mouth and pulled the trigger. So much shit kept happening to me, and I couldn’t stop it. And now more people knew the sordid details of my shambles of a life.

  “But I barely know Dan.”

  “I know her. And she likes you, the little she saw of you before you disappeared back to Georgia.”

  I slumped over and stared out the window, unseeing. “You must have realised why I did that.”

  “Yes.”

  That was it. Just “yes.” He understood he’d upset me enough that night to send me running through three states, but he didn’t care enough to talk about it. The silence stretched between us, filling the car until he finally spoke.

  “We should go inside.”

  “Stop changing the subject. Or better yet, take me to my own freaking home.”

  He walked around the car, then stooped down and lifted me out, setting me on my feet as he closed the door and bleeped the alarm on. How dare he do this?

  I tried to walk away, but with my broken shoe, I didn’t get very far. I kicked both of the pumps off and went barefoot instead, but I’d only gotten a couple of yards when Oliver threw me over his shoulder like a rag doll and strode towards an elevator in the far corner. Asshole. I beat on his back with my fists, but it made no difference. He adjusted his grip slightly and kept walking.

  The elevator took off with a whoosh, and I watched the floor numbers tick by. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… Did he live in the penthouse? Oh, who was I kidding—of course he did. We emerged into a white hallway on t
he twentieth floor, the starkness broken by a single abstract painting hanging on the wall opposite the elevator, and he took a key out of his pocket and unlocked the only door in sight.

  “Where are all the other apartments?”

  “I’m the only one on this floor.”

  Great. Nobody would hear me scream.

  Without further ceremony, he pushed the door open and flicked on the lights. From my bumpy upside-down position, I barely saw the apartment as he strode through a huge, open-plan living room—white, white, and more white—and along a corridor. Then I found myself dumped on a bed.

  I stared up at him. He still hadn’t smiled once, not that he was the epitome of cheerfulness on a good day, but he didn’t usually look at me like a piece of lint he wanted to flick off.

  “Now what?”

  I half expected him to try some kinky game, especially since I was sprawled out on a mattress, and I wanted to take pleasure in telling him where he could stuff it.

  “Get some sleep. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

  He backed out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  That was it?

  After his show of testosterone carrying me in here, he just walked off and left me? I truly didn’t understand the man.

  Sleep, he’d said. How did he expect me to do that? Sure, I might have been tired earlier, but after the ride in the elevator, I was wide awake. The man lived in his own damn crazy world.

  I stretched luxuriantly, revelling in the sound of silence. Imogen usually put the TV on first thing in the morning, so I figured she must have overslept as well. I gave my head a little shake, trying to get rid of the nightmare that had plagued me last night, the one where I’d ended up in jail and Oliver had charged in to rescue me like some dark knight.

  I reached a foot out, half expecting to find Landon beside me, but I only got empty sheets. Weird. I didn’t remember my bed being that big. And why didn’t he spend the night? I was almost certain I’d planned to invite him in.

  Maybe he’d left early? I cracked an eyelid open, then sat up in a hurry when instead of my pale-pink walls, I saw a white sheepskin rug on a white-tiled floor, a navy-blue leather sofa, and the hint of a roof terrace through sheer floor-to-ceiling drapes.

  Then it all came flooding back.

  My nightmare had become a reality, and now I was in Oliver’s damn apartment.

  I lifted the comforter and peered underneath, finding myself in the remains of the silk dress I’d once loved. With anyone but Oliver, I’d take still being clothed as a good sign, but that didn’t seem to bother him the last time. I slipped a hand between my legs, breathing a sigh of relief when I felt the lace of my most expensive pair of panties—the ones I’d planned for Landon to remove last night.

  Landon. How could I have been so stupid? A drug dealer. A freaking drug dealer!

  I’d had it with men. As soon as the court case ended, I’d become a nun. Life in a convent looked positively idyllic compared to what Richmond had to offer.

  But meanwhile, I still had to get out of Oliver’s apartment.

  I was filthy, not just on the outside but on the inside too, and I knew that kind of dirt wouldn’t be easy to wash off. For now, I’d have to settle for making myself appear presentable, just as a temporary measure. I looked around the room again, and this time I spotted the paper carrier bags stacked near the door, three of them. What did they hold?

  Still wobbly, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, relishing the feel of the fluffy rug between my toes more than I should have, and padded over to the bags. The first held dainty silk underwear, all in my size, the second contained a pair of Converse, and the third yielded a pair of jeans and a pale-green cashmere sweater.

  Were they for me? I wanted to assume yes—firstly, because I hated to imagine how many other women Oliver brought home with him, and secondly, because I didn’t want to leave the safety of the bedroom with a dress that gaped in the middle.

  But first I needed to use the bathroom, and while I was in there, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Wow. If Oliver hadn’t been disgusted with me enough last night, the sight of me with mascara smeared all over my cheeks and dried snot under my nose would have been enough to put him off for life.

  And that was a good thing. Of course it was.

  Not wanting to face him again like that, I slipped my arms out of the loose sleeves, and grey silk pooled at my feet. The shower was one of those complicated affairs with so many knobs and buttons it could only have been designed by a man. With a bit of experimentation, I managed to get a stream of steaming water, and I couldn’t help sighing as I stepped underneath. A wire shelf held luxurious lotions and potions—a mixture of Molton Brown and Bvlgari, all the bottles new and unused—and I shampooed and conditioned my hair. I felt almost human by the time I wrapped myself up in a towel.

  Then I felt like an errant child again when I stepped into the bedroom, because Oliver was sitting in the chair by the window, watching me.

  I clutched the towel tighter. “Do you make a habit of walking into people’s bedrooms?”

  “No.”

  “What if I’d been naked?”

  He didn’t say anything, just smiled for a second, the grin of a predator closing in on his prey. Then his mask slipped back into place, evening out his features.

  “Can I get dressed?”

  He waved a hand in my direction but didn’t move. “Be my guest.”

  Ugh, that man. I snatched up the bags and slammed the bathroom door behind me. I wasn’t sure the clothes would fit, especially the jeans, seeing as I had enough trouble buying them for myself, but it was as if everything had been made to measure. How did Oliver know what sizes to buy?

  I shoved my ruined dress into the tiny trash can in the corner, where it stuck out the top like a bunch of withered flowers. Time to face the music.

  “Uh, thanks for the clothes.”

  “You need to thank Bradley, not me.”

  That explained it. Bradley was the personal assistant to Emerson Black, a friend of Oliver’s, and one more person I’d met during the search for Chrissie’s killer. Like every other woman, I’d adored Bradley, and I wished for a moment I hadn’t left so suddenly afterwards.

  “Maybe I could send a card? And something for Dan?” I had a hazy memory of Oliver saying she’d paid my bail.

  “Or you could go and visit them?”

  “I can’t. Not after…”

  I groaned just thinking about it. Even though I’d skirted the law during my time as a Ruby, not once did I ever get arrested. It was bad enough Oliver knowing what happened last night, without the world finding out. Although I’d embarrassed myself around him so many times already that once more didn’t make much difference. Dammit, I wished he hadn’t told Dan about my mistake, even if it meant staying in jail.

  Come to think of it… “How did you find out I’d been arrested?”

  How did Oliver magically turn up at the police station when I hadn’t even made my damn phone call? Last night, I’d been too busy panicking to wonder, but now that I could think clearly, I realised he’d never give up his corner office to work as a public defender.

  “I had someone keeping an eye on what was happening last night.”

  “What? Why?”

  He looked away from me, towards the window, and sighed. “Because I wanted to make sure Landon Bishop didn’t slip through the cops’ fingers again.”

  “You knew? You knew he was dealing drugs and you didn’t tell me?”

  “I recognised him on Wednesday.” Oliver met my gaze, his eyes steady. “You weren’t supposed to be there. Imogen said you were ill.”

  Well, I certainly felt that way at the moment. “That’s why I got offered the shift at Rhodium?”

  “Yes, Stefanie. Only you lied.”

  “It was just a little fib.”

  “Do you know how Bishop got away last time?”

  “How?”

  “He got his girlfriend
to carry the drugs for him. She’s serving eleven years for her own stupidity.”

  I thought back to the conversation we’d had when Landon picked me up.

  “He asked me to carry his wallet,” I whispered.

  Oliver just nodded.

  That could have been me. Eleven years locked away in an eight-by-ten concrete box.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” I screeched. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Would you have listened? I saw the way you looked at him.”

  Oliver’s eyes flashed, a rare show of emotion from him and a hint as to what he was thinking.

  “You were jealous? So you thought you’d send us both to prison?”

  “As I said, you weren’t supposed to be there.”

  Right. I was on a roll now, and the words kept flowing. All the pent-up frustration from the way Oliver treated me at Riverley Hall and Rhodium came tumbling out.

  “You didn’t want me, but you didn’t want anyone else to have me either? You fucked me, then you left me, and now you think you’ve got some say in my life?” I pointed down at the bruises on my wrists—a reminder of the chaos last night. “You’d rather this happen than let me go?”

  “That’s not true.”

  I stormed past him, out of the bedroom. Which way led to freedom? I guessed left, beyond relieved when I found myself in the entrance hall. The front door, or rather doors, were huge wooden affairs more suited to a French chateau. I fumbled with the lock, cursing as Oliver’s footsteps sounded on the tiled floor behind me.

  “Stefanie, can we talk about this?”

  “No.

  “Please?”

  I turned to face him, tears dripping as I fought to maintain a shred of dignity. “For once in your life, do the right thing and let me leave.”

  He came closer, reached past me, and opened the door.

  “My elevator code is zero two zero seven.”

  I ran past him, feeling his eyes on my back as I waited for the elevator doors to open. The second they slid back, I dashed inside and hit the buttons to take me to the first floor.

  It was only as I stepped out into the lobby and forced my breathing to slow that I truly processed his parting words.