Dangerous Alliance

by Kyra Davis

  When I get to the front of the building, sweat is trickling from my hairline, my breathing is rapid, my pulse even faster. I fish in my bag for the key and let myself in. I take the stairs up to the fourth floor two at a time and I almost jam my key into the door to the apartment before my brain kicks in. I step back while I attempt to steady myself and then, as quietly as possible, I put my ear to the door. I wait, five seconds, ten, twenty. I don’t hear anything. I have to take this chance. I press my key inside the lock and carefully, slowly, open the door. Once it’s open a crack I wait again, listening.

  Nothing.

  “Thank God,” I whisper. It’s only then that I realize how close I am to tears.

  When I step inside, the cobwebs are gone. The thick layers of dust have been wiped away and there are a few things that have clearly been handled and left out of place. Jessica’s right, this apartment is getting used. How often is anyone’s guess.

  And again, I don’t care.

  I manage to move stealthily through the apartment until I get to the safe. In less than thirty seconds I have it open.

  Inside is a digital voice recorder that looks like it’s about seven or eight years old.

  I retrieve a tissue from my purse, planning on using it as a barrier between the device and my skin. I don’t know what’s on this thing and until I do I can’t risk having my fingerprints on it. But my hand is shaking so hard even unfolding a Kleenex proves difficult. I want to listen to it now. Right now.

  But what if Travis shows up? Or Cathy? I can’t risk it. I can’t do anything that might screw this up.

  Somehow I manage to get the recorder out of the safe without dropping it. I use another Kleenex to wipe my prints off the safe after I close it, and then, on unsteady feet, I make my retreat. I’m holding the recorder in my hand, and as I flag down a taxi on the street I’m struck by what that may mean.

  My future, my past, my pain, and my justice . . . it all may now be in my hands.

  I don’t dare listen to the recording device while in the cab, but waiting is sheer torture. As soon as I get home I race to my apartment and find a spot on the living room floor, right beneath the torn Bellona poster. I put the recorder in front of me and stare at it, my finger hovering over the play button.

  What truths will I discover? What lies? Was it all a trick? The very idea that I should trust Jessica about anything seems ludicrous. Am I being set up?

  I put a hand to my hairline, pressing the base of my palm hard into my forehead. I’m so tired of constantly second-guessing everything. It’s like I’m living inside the twilight zone, never knowing what reality is true and what is deception, always trying to find the implication of every gesture, always looking for the angle. Then again, maybe that’s just normal, everyday life. All any of us can do is get as much information as we can and then make decisions about who and what to trust based on that. Now all I need is the courage to get the information.

  I close my eyes, silently count to ten, and press the play button.

  “I lied for you, Travis! You asked me to lie under oath and I did it, for you!”

  It’s Jessica’s voice. She sounds younger, but the lilt and tone are an exact match. There’s no mistaking it.

  “You did. And now you’re guilty of perjury in a homicide case. What do you think will happen to you if you come forward with that information?”

  And that’s definitely Travis. No one else has the ability to sound so sophisticated while simultaneously coming across as a complete asshole.

  “I felt like I had to! I was scared, and I was young . . . besides, you told me this Julieta woman was guilty!”

  “I never said that,” Travis says mildly. “I told you what kind of woman she was, about her affair with Nick, and you jumped to your own conclusions.”

  “No, no, no, you may not have said the words Julieta Jiménez is guilty, but you definitely led me to believe that! If I had known the truth I never would have lied under oath! Not even for . . . for . . .”

  “For the promise of becoming a Gable?” Travis’s voice is icy. “That’s why you lied, not because you thought she was guilty or because you were afraid. You lied because you wanted to be Mrs. Travis Gable. And now you are. I don’t see the problem.”

  “You said you loved me!” Jessica cries.

  “Yes, I did lie about that.”

  “Who pulled the trigger, Travis? Was it you? Was it that sleazy Romenov person? Was it that disgusting little cop you paid off . . . What was his name, Whitman? Williams? No, White, was it White?”

  “I doubt it, but you’d have to ask my father for confirmation on that. If it was up to me, Nick never would have died. There are neater and easier ways to keep people quiet. Ways that don’t lead to spending a lifetime in hell with you.”

  “You said you loved me,” she says again, softer this time.

  “We’ve been over this.”

  “Do you still love her? Are you in love with Cathy, Travis?”

  “This conversation has become dull.”

  “Julieta had a little girl . . . We took a mother away from her little girl!”

  “I did no such thing. I did not testify in that trial. You did. If you want someone to blame, look in the mirror. Here.” There’s a pause, some rustling in the background. “Take one of these.”

  “What is it?” she asks weakly.

  “Something to calm you. And by the way, Jessica? If you ever say a word about this to anyone you will live to regret it. I’ll make sure that you’re the one who goes to prison . . . that is, unless my father decides to deal with you first, his way.”

  Footsteps, someone leaving the room, Jessica’s quiet sobs, and then . . . nothing.

  Slowly, I reach for the recorder, pick it up, and press it against my heart. “Mamá.” It’s the only word I can manage to say.

  How many years have I been looking for ways to get justice? How many devious plans have I come up with?

  And now all of a sudden, I don’t need a devious plan.

  I have the truth.

  And this time the truth is going to fucking work for me. The Feds don’t want to put the Gables away? Fine. Let New York’s DA do it.

  I get up and walk over to my phone and then stop. Lander told me about how the cops might try to cover for White. I don’t know if I believe that or not, but perhaps this should go straight to the DA.

  I pick up the phone and instead of dialing 911, I call Lander.

  “Adoncia,” he says, picking up on the first ring, not bothering with hello.

  “I have it,” I say quietly.

  “Have it? Have what?”

  “Everything.”

  He pauses, unsure of what I mean.

  “I mean . . . I have my . . . my mother’s justice. There’s a . . . a recording and . . . Lander, it’s all here. I can make them all pay: Travis, White, Edmund, Jessica . . .” My voice trails off.

  “Adoncia, what are you talking about?”

  But I barely hear him. Once again I’m staring at the recorder.

  Why would Jessica give this to me? She knows what will happen to her. This was only supposed to come out in the event of her death and she hasn’t died yet . . .

  Make sure he is charged with both murders.

  Oh no.

  “Adoncia, are you still there?”

  Tell my children that I made a mistake but that I wasn’t evil. Please tell them that.

  “Lander, we have to find Jessica.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to the penthouse. We have to get to Jessica right now.”

  chapter thirty-five

  * * *

  I give the cab driver an extra fifty dollars to get me to Travis and Jessica’s building as quickly as possible. But it doesn’t seem to help much. He stops at each stop sign and red light even as I scream at him to run them.

  “You gonna pay me three hundred dollars on top of the fifty?” the driver asks. “Because that’s the cost of running a red. How about my me
dallion? You gonna cover the cost of losing that? Or my medical bills if we get in an accident? This is my life we’re talking about here!”

  Yes, I want to scream. That’s exactly it! We’re talking about the value of a life! But I hold my tongue. The cabbie won’t understand what I’m talking about and even if he does, he might not care. I shouldn’t care!

  But I do. Perhaps, as Lander once suggested, it’s because I understand that all life has value. Or maybe it’s something else, some deeply buried feeling or compulsion I don’t understand. All I know is that I have to get to Jessica, now. So I keep egging on the driver until he’s so sick of me he speeds up just so he can get rid of me faster. I clutch the door handle while he takes the fast turns and I try to will all the traffic lights away.

  But when the cab finally comes screeching to a stop I can see that Lander has beaten me here. He’s standing on the sidewalk across the street from the building.

  In fact, there’s a large crowd across the street from Travis’s building, all staring at the police cars and ambulance that have assembled on the street.

  The adrenaline that has been coursing through me slips away, just like that. Slowly opening the cab door, making my way to Lander’s side through a crowd of whispering voyeurs, every move seems clumsy and futile.

  “Lander,” I whisper as I grab his arm. I don’t know what else to say.

  “She went through the window,” Lander says dully. “Fell to her death.”

  I open my mouth but no sound comes out. I stare at the ambulance, stare at the yellow police tape blocking off a segment of the sidewalk.

  Lander takes a deep breath. “Neighbors say they heard her screaming. Travis was there. From the little information I’m getting he’s saying that she went crazy. That she lunged toward the window with that metal stepladder of theirs. He’s claiming she broke the window with it, that she jumped before he had time to react to any of it.”

  “And the police?”

  “I don’t think they’re buying it.”

  “Lander, where are the kids?”

  “They’ve been out all day, school, then off with the nanny as usual. She has them at her place now. I don’t think anyone’s told them yet.”

  I sink down onto the pavement, pulling my knees to my chest. I’m surrounded by strangers, people who barely notice the woman who sits at their feet. My eyes follow the ambulance as it slowly pulls away. It’s in no hurry at all. Not anymore.

  Jessica lied about my mother under oath. She helped take my mother away from me. When I worked for her she never missed an opportunity to demean me.

  She was not a good person.

  But she gave me my justice.

  Two police officers come out of the front entrance of the building. They’re escorting a man in handcuffs. They’re escorting the devil.

  Slowly I rise again as Travis is brought toward a police car. He pauses a moment as they open the back door. His icy blue eyes look past the cops, past the car, all the way to the other side of the street.

  And his eyes meet mine.

  We just stand there, staring at each other, the hate, the anger, and the understanding that exist between us so strong they’re almost tangible.

  The moment lasts for five seconds. Five seconds that last forever.

  And then the police help him in, pushing his head down so he doesn’t accidentally bang it against the patrol car.

  Lander puts his hand on my back, between my shoulder blades.

  It’s a horrible day.

  But it’s also the day that I am given my version of everything.

  chapter thirty-six

  * * *

  Seventy-two hours passed before Lander called and requested to meet me. He didn’t say why, and I didn’t ask. He wants to see me and for the moment that feels like enough of a reason to oblige.

  We agreed to meet at a café, but I’m fifteen minutes late. I was with a client at Callow’s and I couldn’t afford to pass him off to Mandy, not after missing so much work during the HGVB trials. But secretly I’m glad I’m late; it gives me a chance to observe him through the window as he sits at a table and meditatively stirs his coffee. It’s an odd gesture because Lander takes his coffee black.

  I step inside and as the door closes behind me he shifts his position. I think he senses me, but he doesn’t look up until I’m at the table, until he’s rising from his seat and pulling out my chair with the solicitude of a nineteenth-century gentleman.

  “Thank you,” he says as I sit. He doesn’t say what he’s thanking me for but I get the distinct feeling that he’s simply thanking me for showing up. It’s all very humble, and not like Lander at all.

  I nod toward his cup as he takes his place across from me. “Is the coffee any good here?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, his lips curving into a self-deprecating smile. “I haven’t tasted it. I felt I should order something so . . .” He gestures to the cup before pushing it to me. “Take it if you like. It’s not what I came for.”

  “And what did you come for, Lander?”

  “I came for you, Adoncia.”

  Around us there is the sound of cups clicking against saucers, of the chatter and quiet laughter of other patrons, just the sounds of normal life.

  Normality isn’t something I’ve ever been comfortable with. I know Lander isn’t either. It’s why we fit . . . or at least, it’s why I thought we fit.

  “Braden and Mercedes?” I ask as I raise the coffee to my lips.

  “They’re in shock,” he says quietly. He leans back in his chair, a subtle look of confusion crossing his features. “I’m a little shocked myself. The police told me they talked to you yesterday. That you told them that Travis had an apartment that no one knew about.”

  “Well, obviously I knew about it.”

  “And I didn’t. Was that what the keys were for? The ones we found in his closet?”

  I smile in acknowledgment of both the correct assessment and my decision to keep him in the dark about Travis’s hideaway. I reach for a packet of sugar placed in a small container in the middle of the table and dump the contents into my cup.

  “I thought you took your coffee black, like me,” Lander notes.

  “I’m trying something new,” I say smoothly. “I don’t seem to have the same craving for bitterness that I did before.”

  Lander observes me for a moment, his expression completely unreadable. “Why didn’t you tell me about the apartment?”

  “Because I’m a secretive person,” I answer simply before looking up, locking him in my gaze. “So are you. You’ve always said we are alike.”

  He gives me an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. I can see from his face that he’s accepted this simple truth, and his thoughts are now taking him in a different direction. “Jessica is dead,” he finally states.

  “She is.”

  “She was my sister-in-law, Doncia.”

  “You hated her. Anyway, I would have saved her if I could. I did try.” The women at the table next to us break into giggles as they lean into the table, undoubtedly sharing some mundane secret that they think is scandalous.

  “It’s why you called me, right?” he asks. “You knew something was going to happen.”

  “She came by to see me earlier that day. She told me she was afraid of Travis. Afraid for her life. She indicated as much at the fund-raising dinner—you remember that, don’t you?”

  “But why would she come to see you?” Lander asks, ignoring my rhetorical question.

  “Well, you know,” I reply, “I worked for Jessica for a while. We bonded.” There’s not a hint of jest in my voice. If you didn’t know the real history, you might believe me. The police certainly seemed to. Only Lander sees the obvious humor in it.

  Only Lander. It’s frightening to think of how many things those two words could be applied to. When things were at their darkest, Only Lander was able to make me think about something other than revenge when he took me in his arms. Only Lander mad
e my heart race with something other than anger. Only Lander made me feel like I wasn’t alone in the world.

  There are so many ways in which this man is disastrously wrong for me . . . except in all the ways he’s so incredibly right. Is love always like that? If so it’s no wonder so many people are addicted to Xanax.

  Lander leans forward, putting his forearms on the table. “The police say they found some kind of recording in that apartment. They didn’t give me details. Do you know anything about that?”

  I raise my eyebrows in mock surprise. “A recording? No. I don’t know anything about it at all. At least not officially.”

  The truth is, the police didn’t come to talk to me; I went to talk to them. But only after I had returned the recorder to the apartment. I put it back in the safe but I also left the safe exposed to ensure that the police would find it.

  I told the police that I knew about the apartment because Travis had taken me there before, when I worked for him. I said that once I understood that he had brought me there to seduce me, I had rejected him and quit shortly thereafter. If the police dust the place for prints they’ll have an explanation for why mine are there. Travis, of course, will give them a different story, but he’s not considered to be the most reliable source these days.

  Lander is still holding my gaze; the intensity of his stare is a little unnerving but I don’t offer up any more information as I once again raise the cup to my lips.

  “Will you ever tell me all you know, Adoncia?” he asks softly. “Will you ever tell me the truth about what’s going on?”

  “In regards to Jessica and Travis?” I say. I put the cup back down and place my hands flat on the table. “No . . . no, I won’t do that. I . . .” I falter for the first time before taking a deep breath to collect myself. “I will tell you this: Jessica did come to see me. And as you know, I did hate her. God, that woman gave me every reason to hate her,” I add, shaking my head. My cool demeanor is slipping away as the memory of my last conversation with her comes back to me. “The thing is, she also gave me the most amazing gift anyone has ever given me. She gave me the truth and she gave me justice, or at least some version of it. So while she deserves my hate, she’s also earned my loyalty. And Jessica wouldn’t want me to talk to you about what we spoke of. She wouldn’t want me to tell you more than I’m telling you and for that reason . . . and for so many others, I won’t.”