Of Demons & Stones: A Tri-Stone Trilogy

by Anne L. Parks

  On the surface, it's no big deal. It's the lie that is shredding my heart to pieces.

  Alex gets in and closes the door. I turn away and look out my window. Harold is standing at the entrance of the restaurant, looking at us. He offers a smile and waves. I try to smile back and place my hand on the window. We pull away, and I feel sick to my stomach.

  What the hell just happened?

  I'm numb. I feel betrayed and incredibly stupid. How could I have possibly believed that I was his first serious relationship? This is Alex Stone.

  Alex holds my hand, but I leave it limp. "Kylie, I'm really sorry about my family and how they treated you. I had no idea they would act that way."

  I give him a pointed stare. "Did you sleep with her?"

  "What? Who?" Alex's eyebrows knit together, and his eyes search mine.

  He looks confused. Then again, he's been covering up his relationship with this woman, all the while making a big deal about me being his first. I don't answer him, resentful that he's trying to maintain the charade.

  "Who? Rebekah? God, no! She's just a friend."

  I roll my eyes and stare out the window again.

  "Kylie, look at me."

  His voice is pleading, but I'm unaffected. None of this night makes any sense, and I feel my head spinning again.

  "Kylie?" He tugs at my arm.

  I yank it out of his grasp.

  He swerves into an empty parking lot and comes to an abrupt stop.

  "Kylie, look at me!"

  Fuck you!

  "Fine, then at least listen. Rebekah is a friend and barely that. She attended social functions with me. That's all. I didn't sleep with her. You are the only woman I have ever slept with. You know that."

  "But you fucked her." Tears fill my eyes, which infuriates me.

  "No! Damn it, Kylie. No, I never have, and never will, have sex with her. She is a friend only—no benefits, other than nice dinners and some dresses to wear to the events. She's the only woman I've ever taken out on more than one occasion, but it was a business arrangement—no dating, no sex. She made herself available to me when I needed her for various social functions. She fit in well with the crowd I typically associate with, so it was easy to go out with her. But that's where it ends. I promise."

  "She was important enough to meet your family. They all think she was your girlfriend."

  Alex sighs heavily. "Kylie, please look at me."

  I finally acquiesce and cut my eyes over at him.

  He takes my hand in his and inhales deeply. "I made the mistake of taking her to a family dinner night once. It was stupid and impulsive, and I regret it. I was tired of the constant nagging about finding someone. So I decided to stop them, and I showed up with Rebekah. I told you she was good in these circles, and she performed very well. They all bought it, and I didn't correct their assumptions."

  "So they like Rebekah, and I look like the gold-digging whore who broke the two of you up. That's great, Alex."

  "I'll fix this. I'll tell them the truth. I'll make them understand that Rebekah was a fraud and that you're the one, the only one, I have ever cared this deeply for and the only one I want to have a relationship with. They like you, Kylie. Patty and Harold already love you. Francine—she's a mom. She's overprotective. You know how it is."

  "No, actually, I don't. I've never experienced it personally," I say, and squirm in my seat. I hate talking about that particular subject. People love to make assumptions about women, as if giving birth awakens a nurturing gene that makes them caring mothers. It may be true for many women, but not my mother. She is about as warm and fuzzy as a porcupine. Her mothering skills include running off to be arm candy for some rich guy and remembering about once a decade to send a birthday postcard from whatever beach she's sitting on.

  "I'm sorry, baby. I never thought Rebekah would come up tonight. I would've talked to you about it to avoid the blindside. I just never think about her in those terms. Since I met you, I never think about her at all. It wasn't intentional, I promise. And I'm so very sorry that you are hurt."

  The tears I've been holding back finally break free and fall down my cheeks. "Worse, Alex. I feel betrayed. I thought everything I knew about us was a lie."

  "God, Kylie, no. I would never—I could never—betray you. I care about you so much. You mean everything to me. I hate that you've been hurt and that I caused this." He pulls me toward him, guiding me over the gearshift and onto his lap.

  I bury my face in his neck and cry. All of the contention between us today, the assault by his mother, and the growing stress of the upcoming trial pour out of me. He wraps his arms around me and holds me while I let it all go.

  "I hate fighting with you, Alex. It hurts too much and takes so much out of me. I feel so drained," I whisper, unable to raise my voice any louder.

  "Me too, baby. Me too." He places his hands on either side of my face, lifts it, and looks into my eyes. "I'm yours, Kylie. You're mine. We belong to each other and only each other. If you believe one thing, believe that, no matter what anyone else says. There never has, and never will be, anyone but you."

  He draws me into him, his lips forceful against mine. I return with equal ferocity. The need to feel his desperation to alleviate my fears is intense. His tongue darts into my mouth. It's brutish, but also heals my wounds.

  He breaks the connection between us, and rests his head against mine. "Let's go home, baby. You have a big day tomorrow and need to get some rest."

  The remainder of the drive home is in silence, but Alex has a death grip on my hand, and I can't help but think he fears I might disappear if he lets go.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  I gaze at the twelve people sitting in the jury box. How in the hell am I going to make this work?

  Tony leans over and whispers, "This is a jury of my peers?"

  "It would appear so," I answer, not looking at him.

  It's not the jury I want, but then I have never met an attorney who's gotten the jury of his dreams. This jury, however, is almost the exact jury I have nightmares about.

  There are eight women and four men. All eight women have children, and six of them have kids under the age of ten, so they're young mothers who can relate to the victim. The men are older and married with grown children, making them fathers with daughters the same age as the victim.

  The entire jury looks at my client with disdain, and I fear they've already convicted Tony before any evidence has been presented.

  Court breaks for lunch. Alex and I planned on an intimate lunch at a French restaurant around the corner from the courthouse during the noon break, but I need to rework my opening statement to conform to the lopsided jury. Alex makes arrangements to bring the French delicacies to the office.

  "I didn't realize that restaurant had carryout," Lisa says.

  Alex smiles. "You'd be amazed at what people will do to accommodate Alex Stone."

  He spends the rest of the hour sitting quietly as I furiously write on my legal pad, going over the new soliloquy in my head and trying to commit it to memory.

  We walk back to the courthouse together, and Alex finds a seat in the gallery toward the back. The cameras are all up in the courtroom, and I am suddenly thrust this into a legal soap opera.

  The prosecutor takes his seat at the conclusion of his lengthy opening. I grab my legal pad and look it over one last time.

  Judge Riley glances at me over the top of his glasses. "Is the defense counsel prepared to give an opening statement at this time?"

  I rise. "We are, Your Honor."

  I make my way to the podium and face the jury, taking in a deep breath. Steady the nerves. You've got this.

  "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. On behalf of my client, I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for your time, attention, and your sacrifice in support of this process. I understand it's probably not the way you envisioned spending this week. With that in mind, I will endeavor to keep my remarks brief, so we can get out of he
re sooner rather than later. I will remind you, however, that I'm a lawyer, and we are not often known for brevity, so I should probably apologize for that up-front, as well."

  The jury lets out a small laugh, and I relax a bit.

  Ah, the art of self-deprecating humor. Works almost every time.

  High-strung juries who are all business and unable to accept levity from the defense can sometimes indicate a willingness to convict before any evidence is presented. Laid-back juries will oftentimes allow for the benefit of the doubt, which may work in our favor.

  I thought the cameras in the courtroom would be distracting, but halfway through my opening statement, I've forgotten about them and have fallen into my orchestrated performance for the jury.

  The opening statement is so important. It's the first chance the jury gets to hear the general case from the defense point of view. It's imperative not to overstep in the opening and promise things that can't be delivered. If I tell the jury they will hear from a certain witness who will state that my client was nowhere near his home on the day in question, and that person never actually testifies, it will be the one thing the jury remembers and takes back into deliberations. They'll ask themselves why I didn't produce that person—and there will be no way for me to tell them the testimony wasn't necessary, after all. They'll think I lied to them. Period. End of story.

  I'm in the home stretch of my opening, rounding third and wrapping up. I need to make this point and make it stick. "This is a horrible case."

  The jurors are attentive and make eye contact with me as I address them. Definitely a positive sign.

  "This case demands justice. The State demands justice. The victim's family demands justice. And Anthony Trevalis and his two young children—they also demand justice. But a rush to judgment is not justice. Sure, convicting my client might make it easier for the State to put this to bed. It might help the Onstads to move on and find some sense of closure. It cannot be done, however, on a fabricated timeline. Conviction for conviction's sake—that's not how it works.

  I step to the side of the podium so I look less rehearsed and more like I actually believe what I'm saying, which I do.

  "The State is charged with investigating the crime, gathering evidence, and seeing where the evidence leads. This is a case of old grudges impacting better judgment—of one family's grief being played out through a travesty of justice, right here in this courtroom. Convicting a man without any evidence simply to draw this to a close is not the way the justice system works.

  I step toward the jury and make eye contact with each of the jurors.

  "My client would like nothing more than to have closure—for the community, for the Onstads, for himself, but mostly, for his children. Your job is to look at the evidence, see that the State has failed to meet their obligation—their burden of proving beyond a reasonable doubt—and find my client, Anthony Trevalis, not guilty."

  I take my seat. The courtroom is silent.

  Let the fun begin...

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Court is dismissed for the day, and I gather up the notes I will need to work on tonight. The lead prosecutor, Matt Gaines, makes his way over to me and lowers his voice. "So, Kylie, your boyfriend seems to be stealing our thunder. The press is more interested in him than us, and we're actually the stars of this show." He laughs and nods toward the back of the gallery where reporters are interviewing Alex.

  I look back at Matt and shrug. "Hopefully, they'll be so enthralled with him that they won't care how we're dressed or who is doing our hair."

  Matt nods. "True, although I have been considering a new hairdo." He runs his hand through his nearly nonexistent short hair. Matt hasn't changed his hairstyle in the fifteen years I've known him.

  "Right, something long and flowing...and possibly blond."

  "Yeah, right." Matt turns back to his table.

  I walk toward the court bailiff, an older man, overweight with a fierce dislike for criminal defense attorneys, except for one—me.

  "Carl, can I ask for a big favor?"

  "What do you need, Kylie?" He beams at me.

  I flash my best smile. "A way out."

  I point to the press, and Carl laughs.

  "Sure, Kylie. I'll take you out through the garage in the basement."

  "You're the best, Carl. They really should give you a raise."

  I catch Alex's eye and motion him over. Carl opens the low gate and allows Alex access to the inner attorney sanctum of the courtroom.

  Shooing the remaining press out, Carl locks the door and turns back to me. "All set, Kylie?"

  "Yep." I gather my things.

  I follow Carl to the door next to the judge's bench and into the hallway that runs behind the courtrooms. At the end is an elevator, accessible by the bailiffs only, used to take alleged criminals who are in custody back and forth from the holding cells in the basement to the courtrooms. As we descend, I introduce Alex and Carl. Alex is amazingly adept at conversing with anyone. He has the unique ability to ascertain a common interest and exploit it in conversation. The two men have a fascinating yet brief conversation on the type of gun Carl uses, and I discover Alex is fairly knowledgeable about firearms.

  Jake is waiting in the garage, and Carl ambles over to the driver's side as the window goes down.

  Carl reaches his hand through the window. "Jake, how the hell are you?"

  "Good, Carl. How long have you been working here?" Jake asks, and shakes Carl's hand.

  "Too long. Need to retire from this shit."

  "I hear ya, man. Time to turn in the badge and enjoy life," Jake offers.

  Carl looks at the Mercedes SUV and then back at Jake. "Yeah, unfortunately, I doubt I could sail under the same lucky star you did when you left the force."

  Jake chuckles. "Give Lucille my love, and we'll catch up later."

  Alex and I climb into the backseat.

  Jake puts the window up and glances back at Alex. "Where to, Mr. Stone?"

  "Where would you like to eat tonight, Kylie?" Alex asks, taking hold of my hand.

  "Sorry, babe, but I have to get back to the office and do some more prep for tomorrow. Lisa is bringing Chinese back for us, so I'll just have that."

  "You can't take an hour to have dinner with me?" Alex is almost whining with an edge of irritation.

  I lean over and kiss his cheek. "Not tonight, Alex. I need to go over my notes and my cross-questions for tomorrow. If I go now, I'll get done sooner. Then, maybe we can have dessert later."

  He softens a little bit, but he is still tense.

  I offer a further concession. "Tomorrow night will be better for me, babe. Can we do it then?"

  He sighs. "Sure." Then, he kisses me as Jake pulls up in front of the office. "Thomas will be here shortly, and he'll stick around until you're ready to come home."

  "Thanks, babe." I kiss him and then add quietly, "You know, I really liked having you there today."

  He smiles. "I really liked being there. You're the only attorney I want getting me out of a first degree murder charge."

  I chuckle. "How about you endeavor not to get yourself into that situation?" I give him another quick peck on the lips, and head into the building.

  At eleven forty-five, I enter the bedroom closet and quietly change into my pajamas without waking Alex, who is fast asleep in bed. I crawl in, snuggle against his back, and kiss his back.

  He stirs and halfheartedly looks at me over his shoulder. "What time is it?"

  "It's late, babe. Go back to sleep."

  He sighs heavily but grabs my hand and pulls me closer as he drifts off to sleep again.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I take a deep breath and exhale. Court sucked today, and I am not looking forward to all the work I still have to do tonight. My desk is a mass of files, notes, and depositions. I'm struggling with the need to get it organized before court tomorrow and my need to see Alex.

  My cell phone rings, and I answer it quickly. "Hey, babe."
<
br />   "How was court today? Did you kick ass and take names?"

  Alex sounds happy, which makes me feel even guiltier about postponing our dinner date tonight. He didn't hassle me this morning after my excessively late night at the office, which made it a lot easier to get out the door in the right frame of mind this morning.

  "You know it. It went pretty well. I think I made some good points. No Perry Mason moment, but what are you gonna do?"

  "Where shall I pick you up for dinner?"

  "I'm at the office, but I need about an hour to get organized for tomorrow. Where are you thinking for dinner?"

  Alex sighs. "Fed House?"

  "Perfect. It's just down the street. Give me the hour, and I'll meet you there. Sound good?"

  "An hour, Kylie. Get your work done, and I'll see you there."

  I don't check the time again until seven forty-five. I'm forty-five minutes late meeting Alex for dinner.

  Fuck!

  I grab my cell phone to call Alex and apologize profusely when a text message from him comes in. I cringe opening it.

  * * *

  Have better offer. See you when you finally decide to come home.

  * * *

  I hit the speed dial for his cell and wait for him to answer. What the hell does that mean? What better offer?

  "Kylie," he draws out my name.

  He's been drinking. My chest tightens, and I slip into the familiarity of being around a drunk that defined my childhood and early adult years.

  "Hey, are you still at the restaurant?" I ask, calm and upbeat but nausea hits me.

  The music in the background is loud, and I recognize the song from his playlist. Alex is in the Maserati.

  Great. Drinking and driving. That's lovely.

  "No, I'm out with my friend."

  Every nerve in my body is on high alert. "Who?"

  "My friend. You haven't officially met her, but you heard about her the other night."