by Helena Maeve
The penny took a while to drop, but when it did, when I understood what she wanted from me, it all suddenly became clear. I glanced out of the window, to the stretch of yellowed lawn outside the hospital, to the squat buildings beyond. Kansas City had never been my home. It was high time I stopped pretending I belonged here.
“Supposing I have a few more names…”
“I can keep yours out of the press. I hear you have it taken care of back home.” Valenzuela scratched at the side of her nose. “Do you have something for me?”
My options were limited. My faith in law enforcement was a goddamn farce, steeped in resentment and betrayal, in their failure to bring me the peace I deserved. But I’d earned myself that peace and if I had the chance to secure it, should I not seize the opportunity?
“This doesn’t get back to me.”
“Not a word,” Valenzuela promised, tipping up the corners of her lips into a smile.
I made the only choice I could.
* * * *
The last time we overnighted in the heartland, we’d left in great hurry, the weight of police shackles still etched into my skin. It was a little better this time around, despite the bruising on my face. I stirred milk and sugar into my tea with a sigh. Coffee had been proscribed until I went off prescription painkillers. I didn’t understand the logic, but questioning doctors was a step beyond even my particular brand of stubbornness.
Ashley side-eyed me from the passenger seat of the rental Toyota. “You sure you want to do this?”
If he hadn’t asked five times already and if we weren’t already waiting in line to get into the grounds, perhaps I would’ve dithered. As it stood, I had to remain committed to my course—out of spite if nothing else.
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“You look like you got the short end in a bar fight,” Ashley sighed. “That’s not fine.”
“Yeah, but you should see the other guy…” Or maybe not, considering that Pruitt had been cremated yesterday. We’d left Lawrence with his aunts. It was for the best. I couldn’t seem to feign the appropriate amount of grief this time around.
The truth was that I felt better knowing Pruitt was gone. I tried not to examine the sentiment too closely, afraid of what I’d find if I started digging.
“Mind if I turn that up?” I asked, before Ashley could question my resolve again. The fact that he did it out of love was the only thing that kept me from biting his head off. Apparently patience could be cultivated.
He shook his head and I turned up the volume on the car radio. We’d rented another Land Cruiser—at my request—and the attendant at the dealership had been kind enough to dig up the Laura Nyro cassette out of their Lost and Found bin.
Wedding Bell Blues filled the car with the hum of harmonicas and the clacking of the tambourine.
“This is nice,” Ashley opined. “Bit old-fashioned, though…”
I sank back into the upholstery and shrugged. “I like it.”
We made it halfway through the tape by the time I finally cut off the engine. USP Leavenworth rose outside the windshield, pale and forbidding. I smothered a flicker of trepidation. It was just brick and mortar, barbed wire and electric fences. Inanimate objects didn’t scare me.
“Maybe you should wait in the car,” I reasoned when Ashley unlatched his seat belt.
He quirked an eyebrow, clearly dubious.
“I’ll be okay. It’s not as intimidating the second time around.” I pecked him on the cheek. “And I swear I won’t be long.”
“If you’re sure…” He didn’t seem convinced, but to his credit, he didn’t press the point. He wasn’t all that steady on his feet yet.
We kissed gingerly around his split lip and my bruises and bandages. Convalescence couldn’t stand in our way.
Bag slung over my shoulder, I stalked out of the car all by my lonesome. The routine of pat-downs, metal detectors and sign-ins did nothing to push me off-course. I ignored the looks my black-and-blue face incurred.
Mattie gave me the once-over as I entered the grim, cement-and-cinder block visitation room and asked how I was doing. Neither of us mentioned Barnes. I was relieved.
“You remember the rules? No touching, no shouting—”
“One hug at the beginning and one when I leave,” I finished for her with a tepid smile. “I remember.”
Mattie didn’t smile. I don’t think she still had the use of those muscles after however many years she’d worked in a federal prison. On the way out, she pressed my elbow with her hand. “You need help, I got some pamphlets in my office. Stop by once you’re done.”
She was gone before I could tell her it wasn’t necessary, that she had the wrong idea. I swallowed back the awkward explanation, my face hot. Did I look like a battered woman?
The grille at the other end of the room buzzed open and two guards stepped through, my father between them. He scanned the tables already crowding with inmates and their loved ones in various states of merry reunion. He didn’t recognize me at first. I liked that.
I liked that for a few seconds, I could watch him to my heart’s content and he didn’t even know it. Then our eyes met. He smiled. I gestured to the seat across from me, my face impassive.
“No hug?” He pouted.
“Maybe at the end, if you’re very, very good.” I steamrolled his bemusement, careful not to give into the timid flicker of satisfaction I could feel prickling in my chest. “How do you like my new look?”
Kane narrowed his silver eyes at me. “Boyfriend?”
“Not by a long shot.”
My belongings had been scanned on the way in, but I was still slow and careful unpacking my handbag lest the guards get jumpy. I’d had enough of being threatened at gunpoint to last me a lifetime.
“Grandma passed this on. I thought you might be interested… Does it ring any bells?” I held up the journal with both hands, resting the bottom edge against the table.
Kane’s expression shuttered, but he didn’t say a word.
“Aw, don’t be like that, Daddy… This thing nearly got me killed. I’m guessing it must be important.” I turned the notebook in my hands and thumbed open the cover. “I thought about handing it over to the police…”
“Pruitt’s a fucking idiot.”
I glanced up. Kane was still staring at the diary, mask momentarily torn from his aged features.
“Harry Pruitt is dead.” When I was a little girl, my father and I used to laugh together all the time. We were in cahoots. I loved him so much that when he was charged with seven counts of murder, I felt more betrayed than disbelieving. I cared more about losing him than I cared about what he’d done.
This was the first time we’d shared a smile in almost twenty years.
And I felt nothing.
“Do you remember that game we used to play?” I asked. “When you’d get the dictionary or the encyclopedia off the shelf and make me collect things by threes and fives and sevens?”
Kane nodded.
“I still play that sometimes. You know who else does? Mom. Or she did, I guess… Do you want to see?”
Kane tipped forward and grabbed my wrist. “Whatever you think you know—”
“Hands off,” I murmured. One glance at the guards and Kane would be right back in his cell, alone with his thoughts. Part of me wanted to make a scene just to bring forth that flicker of distress. But why stop at a pinprick when I could deliver a knockout?
I waited until Kane had folded his hands together over the table before I went on.
“I know everything. Mom told me… And now the police know it, too.”
“Is that why you came?”
As tempting as it was to let him believe I was as venal as him, I didn’t want to give him the illusion of power over me. “I want your side of the story. Start with how you met. No bullshit.”
“I’m serving a life sentence, Laura… You think you can force my hand?”
“Yes. I can print the truth.” I held up the
notebook. “And I have proof.”
I watched the calculation in his eyes. Name seven ways to unravel a man who’s already lost everything… Or, better yet, name one that finishes him off.
Kane pressed his face into his palms. “Your mother must be turning in her grave. God rest her soul…” He sighed, a defeated, capitulating noise half muffled by leathery hands.
Then he started talking.
Epilogue
“Did you get the new Cavalli? I don’t know what to think. I’m sure it looked wonderful on the runway, but in the flesh…”
I made an acquiescing noise. “A little too fashionable?” I separated my lashes carefully, blinking a few times to scatter the sticky mascara.
“I don’t like to use gaudy, but…yes.” Yvonne tittered. A beat passed, silence interspersed with the dull click of my heels on the hardwood floors. “We miss you here, you know. Is there nothing we can say to make you change your mind?”
“Not right now.”
“How is—Ashley?” She had picked up the name from the papers, something that both annoyed and relieved me of the obligation to come clean. Yvonne and I had reached a truce in the months since I’d left Le Bon Marché, but we would never be friends.
“He’s better, thank you. Recovering, you know…”
“I read his profile on the new Foreign Minister,” Yvonne said, catching me short partway through dabbing lipstick onto my lips.
“Really?” I winced. “And what did you think?” Why did I care?
Yvonne was quiet for a moment. “I think it’s our loss and America’s gain.”
Laughter tangled in my throat. “I’ll be sure to let his editor know.” Ashley had gotten better at sharing his professional upheavals with me since I’d told him about my hang-ups. We were by no means well adjusted, but as far as relationships, we were a work in progress—good and getting better.
“I really wish you’d reconsider,” Yvonne sighed into my ear. “You can’t tell me you feel at home over there…”
“I am American.”
“Half,” she insisted. “Oh, damn. I have to go. The new girl just knocked into a mannequin. There are feathers everywhere.”
“Don’t be too harsh,” I cautioned, although I knew I was wasting my breath. For all her faults, Yvonne was a good people manager. That our relationship had been strained at all was not entirely her cross to bear. It had taken me time and distance to recognize that I was as much to blame, just as it took me time with Carmen and Marissa to understand that they didn’t wish me ill.
I let Yvonne go with a promise to talk again soon and jettisoned my cell to the vanity.
I thought about putting it on silent, but there was always a small chance that Melanie or Lawrence would need me and I didn’t want to be unavailable to either of them—least of all when Mel was due any day now.
I glanced at my watch. Six-fifteen. From the other room, the click-clack of keys had yet to desist. Ashley had worked the whole night through again. At this rate, we wouldn’t see each other for the rest of the week.
Something had to give—and lately, I was happy for that something to be me. I took one last look at myself in the mirror and slipped my Louboutins on with a deft hand. I looked good. The sheer, black lace baby-doll clung to my breasts and hips, hanging a little loosely around the waist. I wished I had a bit more cleavage to fill it, but I wasn’t aspiring to be a pin-up and I had yet to hear Ashley complain.
The heels gave me height I didn’t need but appreciated all the same. I scrubbed a hand through my hair, disheveling the already disheveled ‘do.
A splash of J’adore and I felt ready—or ready enough. My pulse still sped up as I approached Ashley’s closed office door. It wasn’t anxiety as such, but I knew he appreciated peace and quiet when he worked. I aimed to disturb both.
I didn’t stoop to knocking.
The scent of caffeine hit me first. When Ashley had said he wanted to move the espresso machine into the office two weeks after we’d finished unpacking all the boxes, I hadn’t objected. It hadn’t occurred to me, at the time, that it would become his new mistress.
“I know it’s late,” Ashley confessed without looking up from the screen. “I’ll be along shortly…”
“That’d be a shame, especially after I went to all this effort.” I leaned against the door frame as I scraped a heel along the floor. We had no carpets in our new loft. Ashley had suggested we buy some, make the place look and feel cozy, but I liked the austere, industrial look. It reminded me of Melanie’s apartment and the sanctuary we’d found there in our hour of need.
As with most things, we’d struck a compromise. We’d bought a plush rug for the living room and left the rest of the loft bare and grunge-chic. Bare steel beams crisscrossed the ceiling of what had once been an old warehouse. Even the bedroom was all metal and exposed brick. In one particular aspect of our lives, the industrial décor worked perfectly.
No one thought twice about the conspicuous ceiling hooks…
Ashley looked up from the laptop screen and instantly did a double take. My pride simmered when he sat back to watch me properly. “You look great.”
“I’m meeting my other lover in a couple of minutes,” I quipped. “Thought I’d get gussied up.”
“Lucky guy,” Ashley noted, smirking.
“He is. Unfortunately he works so much that sometimes I have to make do all by myself.” I circled the big, ugly mahogany desk he’d bought against my wishes and rested my hands against the edge. “Whenever I catch him, though…he’s all mine.”
Ashley chuckled indulgently, as though he could see right through my game, but his gaze predictably dipped down the V-neck of the negligee to the tops of my breasts. I fervently hoped I wasn’t all red spots, which sometimes happened when I got aroused.
“Close the laptop,” he told me, and I did.
I let my fingers rest on the closed lid as if to prevent him ever opening it again. Jealousy was too tempting, so I schooled my thoughts into a different direction—Ashley’s dark eyes were distraction enough.
“Have you been feeling neglected?”
I couldn’t tell if he was asking honestly or playing along. I shook my head. “I know you have to work.” For us, for our family… It wasn’t as simple as his career and my career anymore. Ever since we’d signed both our names to the lease and decided to make New York our new home, we’d become a unit. I straightened and slowly completed the circuit around the desk. “Consider this a reward rather than a remonstration.”
“I think I will,” Ashley agreed. He left just enough room between his knees and the edge of the desk for me to slither in, my stomach doing backflips as he cast his fingertips along my bare thighs. “How much time do we have?”
“I work at nine.” But the subway in New York was as prompt as in Paris. I needed only half an hour to get to the store.
“Oh,” he scoffed. “Then we have plenty of time.”
‘Plenty’ might have been putting it a little strongly, especially if he intended to caress me at such a glacial pace, but who was I to complain? The partnership we’d forged was never stronger than in our moments of intimacy. I surrendered to the sweet agony of waiting for him to push up the scrap of silk I’d worn solely to turn him on, gratified when he slid his warm hands over my belly.
I might have moaned. I definitely threw my head back and gripped the edge of the desk. Ashley laughed as he tipped forward. The flutter of lips against my navel made my breaths quicken—as did the scrape of his teeth before he pulled away.
Before Ashley, I had no idea that I liked my pleasure with a little pain. Now I knew. I’d grown insatiable since we met. I wanted him constantly, but particularly when I couldn’t have him.
“You’ve missed this,” Ashley rasped, his warm breath stirring the flames inside my belly. My acquiescence was unnecessary. He knew me too well to doubt it. “I think you should go ahead and show me just how much.”
I nearly keened in protest when he withdrew
. I had to bite my lip to quench a protest. I didn’t get all dressed up for nothing.
“You want proof?” It was my turn to let my gaze slide down his body. Ashley spread his thighs a little wider in invitation. I smirked. Message received. I pinned a foot on the edge of his seat and pushed, sliding the chair back until it hit the wall.
Ashley’s breath caught with an audible hitch. I knew the limits of my power in the bedroom. I had no desire to push them. But it did feel kind of nice to see him slightly disconcerted as I sank slowly to my knees before him. “Like this?” I teased, knowing that if I delayed long enough, he would take what he wanted and used me however he pleased.
I had been counting on our long period of abstinence to make it even harder for him to resist—I’d simply misjudged my own hunger for him.
Fuck it. I grabbed at his belt with unsteady hands, sliding the buckle free and pulling his zipper down in one smooth, gliding stroke. I wanted his cock in my mouth and his hands in my hair. Waiting him out was not an option.
Ashley palmed my chin just as I made to mouth at him through the fabric of his boxers. A fleeting thought flashed through my mind—I’d misjudged his intentions, or he wasn’t really up for indulging me—but he silenced them with a soft, chaste kiss. He tasted of espresso, but I didn’t mind. I licked into his mouth, our tongues dueling. He held me still for a long moment, heedless of his arousal or my quivering breaths.
“I love that lipstick,” he murmured. “Tastes like cherries.”
“Honeysuckle,” I contradicted. At least that was what I’d read. I sucked my lips into my mouth experimentally, but all I could taste now was Ashley. Fair trade.
He smirked and pulled out his cock. “You know what to do.” Gone was the man who grilled me homemade burgers when I was having a bad day, replaced by a darker version, who thought nothing of fisting a hand in my hair and guiding me down. I went without resisting, pleasure sparking along every vein as I caressed his length with my lips. “That’s it,” Ashley breathed, flexing his fingers to draw my mouth where he needed it most.
