Dark Valentine

by Jennifer Fulton

  “You think I should have gone to prison, don’t you?” he said.

  “What I think is irrelevant. You are a client.” Jules lowered her gaze to the roses and said pointedly, “Chasing her would be unwise. And besides, she’s living out of state as far as I know. Maybe even in another country.”

  Brigham bounced the roses in his arms. His eyes were flat and rainy gray. “I’m going to have her,” he said blandly. “And this time I won’t be made a fool of.”

  Rhianna’s words came back to her. The people who send me flowers usually want something. Jules had known the barb was also directed at her, and it had hurt. She hadn’t sent the peonies to awe or coerce; she had wanted to touch Rhianna and she knew she’d succeeded.

  Her hand tightened around the torn envelope and she felt angry with herself for her clumsy attempt to hand over the money. She should have waited. Nothing had gone according to plan and, when it became obvious that she couldn’t engineer the sensible discussion she had hoped for, she had panicked and added insult to injury. What a pitiable move. Something had gone badly wrong with her suave and her instincts. Ever since the first time she saw Rhianna, her circuits had been jammed.

  Jules was transported back in time to junior high, where she had first discovered she could get really wet just staring at a girl. The object of her inarticulate yearnings was Serena Anderson, five feet nothing of overdeveloped pubescence. Serena, whose long looks and breathy requests for spare ballpoints were invitations to daydream. The sight of her slowly sucking a lollipop had forced Jules to get better acquainted with her clit for relief. Serena’s vague hints about sleepovers had tortured her night and day. For months, she could think of nothing but Serena naked in her bed, offering her body for limitless exploration.

  Her desires had driven her to her parents’ bedroom to unearth the cache of instructional materials other kids claimed they found under mattresses and in bottom drawers. All she’d discovered was her mother’s contraceptive pills and several Playboy magazines with the centerfolds torn out.

  Jules had spent six months in crush-hell until one day Serena offered her lips for a kiss good-bye because her father had been transferred and she was moving to another city. Her brave disappointment had communicated itself to Jules as an indictment. Many years later, she realized that Serena had expected more of her. But Jules had been so preoccupied with her own passion, and so convinced of its hopelessness, she had not noticed that it was shared. Serena had been waiting for her to prove herself. She needed to know that Jules valued her enough to take a risk.

  Have I learned nothing? Jules understood exactly why she had failed to pass her first romantic test. She had invented a goddess where there was just a girl, and had then deemed herself unworthy. She thought she was less than Serena deserved. Twenty years has passed since that fraught good-bye kiss. But she still took very few risks with women. Puzzled by that realization, Jules forced her attention back to Brigham. While she had been engaging in self-recrimination, he had pulled out his cell phone and was staring quizzically at the tiny screen.

  “Excuse me,” he said when he realized Jules was watching him. “I need to make a call.”

  He waved toward his car, and the driver managed to draw closer without running them over. The man got out and, without expression, held the door open for his employer. Brigham tossed the costly roses onto the seat ahead of him and paused, leaning against the car with a self-impressed air. His pants seemed a whisker too short, Jules noticed for the first time. He wore them too high on his belly flab, and slouched like a tall girl who would never get a prom date. Now that his hands were free, he reached for his toothpick case and set about probing his teeth. Between delicate swiveling motions, he said, “I assume you’ll be returning to Los Angeles very soon.”

  “Yes.”

  “I have a hypothetical question for you.”

  “I’m listening.” If she knew what Brigham was planning, she could take the appropriate countermeasures.

  “Let us say a woman disappears and a man is suspected of kidnapping her because of previous mistakes. Would he be arrested immediately, or would the police have to build a case first?”

  Jules was not going to be drawn into his game. Warning herself to remain calm, she changed the subject without responding to him. “Does your mother know you’re here?”

  Brigham’s color rose and his pupils dilated. “My mother has absolute confidence in me.”

  “That wasn’t what I asked. You dragged the Brigham name through the mud. Do you think your mother wants you to pick up where you left off with Rhianna Lamb?”

  He stuffed the toothpick back in its receptacle and climbed into the car. After the driver closed the door, the window slid down and Brigham said, “You are an excellent attorney, Ms. Valiant. But you’ve done your job. Don’t cause me any trouble, and I won’t cause you any.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Don’t be melodramatic, Counselor.”

  “I’ll only say this once,” Jules warned coldly. “I promise you, if you go near Rhianna Lamb—if you touch a hair on her head—you’ll wish you had never been born.”

  *

  The dining options were limited at two a.m. in Grand Junction. After checking in to a dreary Holiday Inn, Rhianna found the nearest Denny’s and ordered a meal certain to give her indigestion.

  A few booths away from her, a noisy domestic dispute was in progress. The couple insulting each other sounded drunk. At another table a man was complaining about his prime-rib dinner in a slurred monologue. A child sat opposite him, transfixed by a Game Boy. Not far from them sat the only other sober diner in the place. A trucker, Rhianna surmised from the rig at the far end of the parking lot. While she was waiting for her salad and chicken wings, he got irritated with the arguing couple and complained to the waitress. She offered him a complimentary stuffed waffle, which he accepted.

  About ten minutes later, Rhianna’s chicken wings showed up without the salad. She ate several in quick succession and washed them down with weak coffee. Someone turned up the music, probably to drown out the customers. The arguing couple decided to sing along to “My Heart Will Go On”—Celine Dion fans, obviously.

  Rhianna wondered if it was worth enduring the impromptu karaoke in order to eat limp lettuce, or whether she should ask for the check before someone remembered her meal. Naturally, the waitress had vanished. Rhianna poured some more lukewarm coffee and stared out the window, thinking, My life is over.

  Which was exactly the right moment for a robbery to take place, and the likely target had just stepped in the door. He looked around like he’d stumbled into a horror movie. The waitress wandered through the diner, slapped Rhianna’s salad down in front of the kid with the Game Boy, and stared at the new arrival like she’d never seen a six-foot-five African-American man in a primrose yellow suit, an orange fedora with a zebra-striped band, cornrows, and bling.

  She asked the obvious question, “Are you lost, sir?”

  He said, “I can’t have no Celine Dion. Not while I eat.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” she said and showed him toward a booth.

  He didn’t get that far across the room. Stopping at Rhianna’s table, he flashed a diamond-studded smile. “Damn, you slammin’. What’s up, baby?”

  Despite herself, Rhianna found the smile infectious. Returning it, she said, “What can I tell you? Denny’s at two a.m. on a slow night. It’s not pretty.”

  He seemed to read this as an invitation. Extending his hand, he announced, “You looking at the real deal, baby. They jocking my style cos I just can’t help myself. I’m Mr. Notorious Hard.”

  Her day couldn’t get any worse. Why not complete it with a man who was probably a rap star being chased by a carload of gangbangers with a grudge? Tomorrow, this Denny’s would no doubt be on the news as the scene of a bloody shootout. She would be one of the shaken survivors, explaining how she hid under a table and pretended to be dead.

  Rhianna shook his hu
ge paw. Remembering her rule to use her new identity at all times once she was out of Denver, she said, “I’m Kate Lambert. Feel free to join me.”

  Mr. Notorious Hard sat down and examined the menu as if he expected to find something delicious on it. When his coffee arrived, he handed the waitress a hundred-dollar note and said, “Let me break it down. I know you got some fine breakfast back there.” To Rhianna, he said, “You hungry, baby?”

  She said, “Well, my salad never came. I could eat some waffles, maybe.”

  “You take that down?” he asked the waitress, adding, “Don’t make me look like a fool with no soggy, nasty breakfast.”

  She tucked the hundred away and managed a big smile. “Coming right up.”

  Someone changed the music, tactfully rolling with Puff Daddy’s version of “I’ll Be Missing You.” Mr. Notorious Hard appeared to find this song poignant. Soberly, he shook his head and lamented, “Biggie, he the man. He just trying to do his thing. That was cold.”

  Rhianna had no idea what he was talking about, but said for good measure, “It’s hard when bad things happen to good people.”

  Her sympathy appeared to strike a chord. “You sensitive,” he said. “I like that. I wanna get with you, baby.”

  Rhianna poured more coffee in both their mugs. “Are you hitting on me, Notorious?”

  He laughed. “You so fine, you got me hooked.”

  The waffles arrived, crispy and golden, and the waitress returned a moment later with a huge plate of steak and eggs. “That’s the chef’s personal tenderloin,” she said.

  They thanked her and Rhianna returned her attention to Notorious, saying, “You’re very charming and you smell good, but I have a confession.”

  Notorious anticipated the issue. “Damn. Who’s your daddy?”

  It did not seem wise to answer honestly, so Rhianna cut into her waffle and replied, “Let’s just say, I don’t want to create a problem.”

  He took time out from carving up his steak. “Here’s my scandal. I don’t cuss. I don’t hit my ladies. But I gotta be straight. Itty-bitty white girls, I just wanna get you home.”

  “That’s very candid.” Rhianna bathed a piece of waffle in syrup. “I’m sure you must be popular.”

  Her dinner companion chewed efficiently. Between forkfuls of egg, he said, “You ever been with a brother?”

  “No.” Rhianna didn’t care that this was not the kind of conversation she would normally have. Her life was a disaster and all bets were off.

  “Any time you looking for a man to give you that special feeling.” Notorious took a card from his top pocket and slid it across the table.

  Rhianna thanked him and put the card in her purse. They ate in silence for a few minutes, the focus of every other diner. Even the kid with the Game Boy had stopped playing to turn around and stare.

  “You going to California?” Notorious asked.

  “Arizona,” Rhianna said, pushing her plate to the side.

  “I got business there,” he said. “You wanna roll in my Mercedes?”

  Rhianna laughed. “You don’t give up easily.” She picked up her purse and fished around for her wallet.

  “It’s on my tab,” he insisted, waving her money away.

  “That’s very kind of you.” Rhianna stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m tired and it’s time I got some sleep.”

  Notorious reached for her hand and lifted it to his lips. After planting a courtly kiss, he said, “It’s not my intention to hurt you, baby.”

  Rhianna was not sure how to respond to such a strange farewell, but she supposed he was worried he might have offended her. To reassure him that she had taken his flirtation in good humor, she said, “I had a terrible day before I came here, Notorious. Eating dinner with you was the only good part of it.”

  He grinned. “Keep my number.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  You had dinner with her?” Werner almost swallowed his toothpick. He could not believe the story he’d just heard.

  “You asked me for her name,” Mr. Hard pointed out, sounding affronted. “How you suppose I discover that if I can’t get close to her?”

  Werner didn’t want to think about an enormous black man “getting close” to Rhianna. “The name, do you have it?”

  After a long pause, Hard said, “Kate Lambert.”

  Werner had to stand up. He couldn’t sit still. Lately he had contemplated speaking to his doctor about restless legs syndrome. It appeared he might be afflicted.

  “Kate Lambert,” he gloated softly. Twenty thousand dollars wisely invested.

  “What you want with her?” The gangster actually had the effrontery to sound mistrustful.

  Resenting the tone of his question, Werner replied, “As I said, I’m going to marry her.”

  “Damn. I thought you was a dreamer. You her daddy?”

  Werner was familiar with this euphemism from eating in the kitchen with the cook and her grown-up sons occasionally. Mr. Notorious Hard was not referring to a parent. “Rhianna is my wife-to-be,” he confirmed impatiently.

  “How long you been with her?”

  Werner remembered not to sound disrespectful, but this was a business conversation. “Mr. Hard, I’m not sure why this information is relevant to your assignment?”

  “I’ve been thinking.” The tone was reflective. “I told my momma I would be something. So I made my life all about the Benjamins. But what she think about this shit? That’s got me stressing.”

  Belated scruples from a man who was probably a pimp. Werner rolled his eyes. “Where are you now?”

  “Arizona. I gotta roll out, man. I see her.”

  “Make sure she doesn’t see you,” Werner instructed. “Just follow her to her house, then drive away. All I need is an address and your job is done.”

  “You need to make something right with this girl? You fucked up? That what this about?”

  “You might say that,” Werner replied cagily.

  “Sometimes, you gotta cut your losses.”

  “Thank you for the advice.” Werner sniffed. “Call me when you have that address.”

  He dropped the receiver back in its cradle and paced around the library for a few minutes, pondering his next move. Werner prided himself on being a patient man. He’d waited a long time for Rhianna to come to her senses and appreciate all she was being offered. But she had put him through hell, and it was time for her to see the error of her ways.

  He had tried the romantic approach, but look where that got him. His mother was still infuriated and Werner could understand why. She had endured public humiliation and Rhianna’s behavior had cost her a fortune. Werner could put up with a lot on his own account. He could forgive Rhianna for her foolishness toward him. But if there was one thing that made him really angry, that was having his mother upset. In that regard, his policy was zero tolerance. Rhianna would have one more chance to do the right thing, and if she decided to be difficult, the consequences would be upon her head.

  Werner had hoped he would not have to resort to Plan B, but he no longer had any choice. A curious thrill made his pulse jump. The hour was upon him, and his reward was well-deserved. He felt a pang of regret that he would have to lock her away from the world until she understood her role. He had wanted her on his arm at the events he usually attended as Mommy’s escort. He could almost feel the envious stares of other men. But he could wait a few more months.

  Images crowded his mind, each one featuring Rhianna. He pictured her in the courtroom, taking the stand. How modest and frail she had looked, and how confused she was. He could tell from the way the prosecutor browbeat her that she had been coached in her testimony. They had used her. They had turned her against him. It would take time to win her over, he thought, but the task would be very stimulating.

  He had created a comfortable prison for his reticent bride and had given serious thought to her re-education. She would have to earn her privileges. At first she would be in the basement room; then, when she sh
owed sufficient gratitude and compliance, she would occupy the luxurious suite he had prepared. It had taken four months to complete the renovations on the home he’d purchased for this purpose. He had started the project the moment he discovered Rhianna had left Denver.

  Werner stopped pacing and leaned against the edge of his desk, gratified by his foresight. The timing could not be better. Rhianna had been forced to confront the truth in the courtroom; he had Julia Valiant to thank for that. He disliked the woman intensely, and he could tell the acrimony was mutual. But he owed her a debt of gratitude all the same, and he was big enough to admit it.

  One day, if he showed enough strength of purpose to bring his plan to fruition, Rhianna would be able to look back upon the trial as the most important turning point in her life. She would understand why Werner had to take the steps he was taking, and recognize that he had to be strong because she was weak. Finally she would grasp that he knew her better than she knew herself. He alone saw her potential. For that, she would love him.

  *

  At the sound of a knock, Rhianna wiped her face on her pillow and got up off the bed to open her door.

  Bonnie stood in the hallway with two cups of herb tea, her customary recourse when her nerves were shattered. “It’s been three hours,” she said. “I can’t listen to you crying anymore.”

  “I’m sorry.” Rhianna let her in. “With all the soundproofing, I didn’t think anyone could hear.”

  “Okay, so I had my ear to the door.”

  She followed Rhianna into the small living room and they both sat on the sofa. For a few minutes they sipped their tea.

  “I’m not stupid,” Bonnie said, “You walk in the door looking like someone died, then you hide in your room as soon as Alice is asleep. Talk to me.”

  Rhianna had already decided to come clean with her good-natured employer. She had never felt okay living under the Mosses’ roof without telling them her name. “Well, let me see. For starters, I’m not Kate Lambert. My real name is Rhianna Lamb.”