by Shelly Bell
She wrote him back and told him not only did she expect him to come in for graduation, but she wanted him to consider moving down and staying with her permanently. She had no intention of ever going back home.
Ten pointless e-mails later, she opened one from Facebook that indicated she had a message waiting for her. She clicked on the link to take her directly to the message.
A moment later, her stomach cramped, and her breakfast threatened to reappear.
It was a picture of a naked blond woman bound on the St. Andrew’s cross, red welts from a whip visible on her breasts and legs. Her head hung to the side, her long hair blocking the view of her face. Underneath the photo the message read, “Isn’t Katerina Martini beautiful? You can look, but you can’t touch. She belongs to me.”
She covered her mouth and swallowed back the bile.
Her pills. She needed her pills.
Her hands shaking uncontrollably, she managed to dump a handful in her palm and, using her long nails, pinched two between her fingers and dropped them on her tongue.
The girl’s hair and body were similar enough that anyone else might think it was Kate.
Who sent this and why? To scare her off Jaxon’s case?
The message was private. What purpose did it serve?
Following her intuition, she checked her home page. There on her timeline was that same picture, but the message was different. “Hit me with your best shot.”
There were more pictures. A deer lying on a field of tall yellow grass, its glassy eyes frozen in death. A familiar brand of rifle. Her graduation photo from her senior yearbook. And from an old newspaper, her father, dressed in his Sunday best, in front of the town hall.
He’d gotten an award for saving the life of the mayor’s prized hunting dog, which had fallen through the ice of the lake. Later he’d told her he didn’t deserve an award for doing what was right. Even at that young age, she’d understood her father was special. That most people wouldn’t have risked their own life for a dog.
Someone had hacked into her account, making it appear as if she had posted the pictures.
Was the e-mail from her mystery caller?
Whoever it was knew more than just her former name. While her juvenile file was sealed, the story had run in the newspaper. The media kept her name out of it, but it didn’t take a genius to infer who had made the fatal shot that day.
“Whoa, is that you?” a male voice asked from behind her.
Her heart leapt to her throat.
She minimized the screen and twisted around in her chair.
Logan stood over her, dressed in sweats. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.” He grabbed a chair from another desk, dragged it over, and plopped down. “What the hell were you looking at?”
She tried playing it casual, forcing a smile and waving her hand. “Someone hacked my Facebook account. I’ll just delete it. No big deal. I’ve got only fifty Facebook friends anyway.”
With a narrowed gaze and seriousness she’d never seen in him, he leaned forward. “That wasn’t the typical ‘click here to see who’s spreading rumors about you’ virus. Can I see it?”
What did she know about this man? “Logan, really. I doubt . . .”
“I promise you can trust me, Kate. My undergraduate was in computer science, and I’ve been running my own software company since I was sixteen.”
“You’re not a typical computer geek.”
He rested back in his chair and folded his arms. “And what is the typical computer geek in your book?”
“You know. Introverted, playing video games, glasses.” In other words, the opposite of the hot military man sitting in front of her.
He smiled, showing off the slight gap between his two front teeth, which somehow made him more adorable. “You just described me as a teenager. The only thing that’s changed is now I wear contact lenses, and rather than play video games, I design military strategy games to teach survival and combat skills to our armed forces.”
He must earn good money selling his programs to the military. The criminal law intern was attractive, intelligent, and wealthy. And more importantly, he wasn’t her boss or her client. Why couldn’t she have fallen for him?
“Why did you decide to go to law school? It sounds like you’re already doing well for yourself.”
He shrugged. “I figured, what the hell. I didn’t have anything better to do, and I’ve always wanted to stand up in a courtroom and yell, ‘Objection! It’s hearsay, Your Honor.’ Once I accomplish that, I’ll think about doing something else with my days.” He purposely bumped his knee into hers. “Now show me your page.”
If she got Logan involved, maybe she could keep Nick and Jaxon from finding out about the message. They’d only worry, which would culminate in them overreacting. Not to mention she didn’t want to have to explain the significance of the pictures.
She brought up her Facebook page and waited for his uncomfortable questions.
He scrolled up and down the page, stopping on the picture of her look-alike on the St. Andrew’s cross. “I assume you didn’t post these.”
Even after a night at Benediction, she flushed from the embarrassment. She touched the bruise left by Jax’s bite that was hidden by her hair. “No. And that’s not me. I know it looks like it—”
“Nah. Now that I look closer, I see the differences.” He turned away from the screen. “Your hair is a shade lighter and your breasts . . .” Red streaked his cheeks. “I mean, it’s obviously not you. But someone went through the trouble of finding a picture of someone who looked like you.” He peered over his shoulder at the door and lowered his voice. “Does this have something to do with the Deveroux case? Kate, is someone threatening you?”
She battled with an urge to confide in him. Without Hannah, she didn’t have anyone to share her feelings and her confusion over Jax. She couldn’t tell Caden because of the attorney-client privilege. As part of the firm, anything she told Logan would be protected. But would Nick mind? “It’s probably my ex-boyfriend. He was upset when we broke up.”
He clicked to some page in settings she hadn’t known existed. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
“What do you mean? You can find out who hacked me?”
“Depends.” He accessed her account information, bringing up a list of cities and numbers. “These are the locations based on the IP addresses.”
“What does that mean?”
“Every computer device gets assigned a unique numerical label.” He tapped the screen. “See here where it says active session? That’s this computer. The last log-on was in Madison Heights at six o’clock. Did you access your account this morning? Maybe from your phone?”
“No. I checked now only because I got this message from Facebook.” She maximized the e-mail, trembling when she reread it. “Can you find out whose IP hacked into my account?”
“Let’s see.” He scooted closer to the computer and typed a series of numbers into the search engine. “It’s associated with an AT&T account. We can subpoena them for the record. I just need to order a couple of reports off your account and show proof of your IP. I’d also like to file this with Facebook. It takes a couple of months, and we have to hire an attorney out in California to issue the subpoena.”
“I don’t have the money for an attorney.” Or two months.
“I’ve got a friend out there. He owes me a favor. Don’t worry about money.”
She nibbled on her lip. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”
“I’ll tell you what. Have dinner with me and we’ll call it even.” He spoke in a friendly tone, but the sparkle in his blue eyes was anything but casual.
Hoping he wouldn’t change his mind about helping, she said, “I’d like that, but I have to be honest—I’m seeing someone.”
His smile faded a little, but he snapped his fingers lightheartedly. “Wow, I already missed the window of opportunity, huh? Friends it is.” He stood and offered his hand.
She ignored the hand and instead hugged him. “Thank you. I could use a friend right now.”
Hannah strolled in and stopped cold when she spotted Kate and Logan. As if stealing Kate’s boyfriend wasn’t enough, Hannah was dressed in the same clearance-rack black suit and white blouse as her. Making a big production, she sniffed and sighed as she settled at her desk.
Kate whispered to Logan. “If I forwarded you another e-mail, could you figure out who it came from?”
“Sure.” He jotted down his e-mail address on a piece of firm letterhead.
Kate took a peak at Hannah to make sure she wasn’t listening. “Logan, don’t say anything to anyone about this, okay?”
He squeezed her shoulder. “This is just between us.” He crossed the bat cave, nodding a greeting to Hannah on his way out the door.
The moment both of Logan’s feet entered the hallway, Hannah was up and at Kate’s desk. She raised a brow, her sorrow miraculously gone. “What did he want?
Kate clenched her teeth and gathered her things. “None of your business.”
“Don’t trust him.”
Hannah had nerve, telling her who to trust. “Why would you say that?”
“He works for Reaver. The man is pissed at Trenton for getting the Deveroux case.”
It sounded like spiteful office gossip to Kate. Reaver had enough high-profile cases to keep him busy for the next five years. She doubted he gave it more than a passing thought. “What does that have to do with me?”
Hannah removed a piece of lint from Kate’s black suit jacket. “Maybe Logan was pumping you for information to take back to Reaver.”
Kate zipped her briefcase. “He didn’t. We didn’t discuss anything about the case.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened, and she plastered a huge smile on her face. “Are you two . . .?”
She put up her hands. “No. Not that it’s any of your business. I thought I made it clear on the phone the other night. Our friendship is over. I will never forgive you.”
Tears spilled from Hannah’s eyes and her lips quivered. “But I told you I was sorry.”
She hadn’t thought Hannah’s tears would affect her, but a lump lodged in her throat. “You think an apology will make up for the fact that you slept with my boyfriend and called me frigid?”
Hannah sobbed. “You’re right. I was a bitch, and you have every right to hate me. But I didn’t do it to hurt you. It started—”
Nick and Jaxon strolled in the office, concern in both of their eyes as they took in the scene.
Jaxon’s lips smashed together in a grim line, and his hands clenched at his sides. He’d obviously pieced it together and realized this was Hannah, the friend and co-worker who’d hurt her. Kate begged him with her eyes not to do or say anything that would give away their personal relationship.
Nick stalked up to them. “Is there a problem?”
Kate shook her head. “No. Everything is fine. Are you ready to go?”
He didn’t believe her. She knew he didn’t. But, thankfully, he didn’t press the issue.
He ignored the still-crying Hannah, placed his arm around Kate’s waist, and led her out of the bat cave. “Better bring your top hat and whip. Because we’re about to enter the center ring of the circus.”
Chapter Ten
KATE HAD NEVER gone to a circus, but she couldn’t imagine it was any more of a spectacle than Alyssa Deveroux’s funeral.
Cars not only packed every spot in the Gothic church’s lot, they were lined up and down both sides of the main road. The upper echelon of society had come out to mourn one of their own, and they did so in style. The women in their floor-length fur coats and pearls carefully wiped invisible tears with their embroidered hankies, all without smudging their makeup. And men in their two-thousand-dollar designer suits appeared somber while most likely murmuring to each other about the local college football game.
Spread throughout the parking lot were vans equipped with satellite dishes so large they looked like they’d tip the vehicles over, and reporters holding microphones covered the expansive, rolling hills of the perfect lawn. Kate recognized Detroit’s local television personalities as well as famous journalists from CNBC, CNN, and Fox News.
In anticipation of the mayhem, Nick had smartly arranged for a private driver to transport them to and from the church. They departed the limo and stepped on the path leading up to the church, keeping Jaxon between her and Nick for added protection. The media photographed and filmed their short walk inside but stayed on the lawn, honoring the private property restrictions set by the church at Nick’s urging.
The stone church spanned the length of a football field in a cruciform layout, complete with stained-glass windows and gargoyles. Kate had never seen such opulence in a religious institution. Growing up Catholic in the U.P. of Michigan, her family had attended services in their local veterans’ hall.
As they proceeded through the crowded lobby, the guests stared at them, whispering and nudging one another, announcing Jaxon’s arrival. Some of the men inclined their heads to Jaxon, but not one of them dared approach him.
She shivered, the memory of returning to school after her father’s shooting—walking the halls as the students pointed and gossiped in front of her face, branding her a murderer—vivid in her mind. Her friends had turned their backs on her, her teachers had feared her, and her own mother had wanted her dead.
The hole in her heart left by her father’s absence had grown and grown and grown until it completely consumed the beating organ. Until the only way to feel anything at all was through sex, drugs, and alcohol. She hadn’t cared what emotion she’d felt as long as she felt something. Humiliation. Shame. Anger. They’d all registered as pain in her heart, and if she felt the pain, it meant she’d survive another day.
If it weren’t for Caden carrying her out of the woods on her sixteenth birthday, cleaning the dried blood from her bruised limbs, and staying with her through her withdrawal from the substances wreaking havoc on her young body, she would’ve died there on the dirty ground. He’d reminded her that there was goodness left in the world and, piece by piece, had helped rebuild her heart.
With Kate by his side, Jaxon wouldn’t suffer as she had.
The crowd parted, allowing them to enter the sanctuary. A quiet hush fell upon the mourners as Jaxon walked down the long aisle to sit in his rightful place in the front row with the Merriweathers.
Jaxon stopped directly in front of them. “Frederick. Barbara.”
Mr. Merriweather glared at Jaxon with deadly rage while his wife wept. “Jaxon. I’m not sure how you can stand to show your face here.”
“Alyssa was my wife. I loved her,” Jaxon said calmly.
“Love?” Mr. Merriweather stood, a sneer on his face. “My daughter would never have willingly subjected herself to physical harm. Before she met you, she was a sweet, quiet girl who always wore a smile. We were close until she married you, and then she no longer wanted anything to do with her family. Now I know why.”
Jaxon’s body stiffened, but his voice remained controlled. “You’ll have to pardon me, but you didn’t know the first thing about Alyssa. That smile she walked around with all those years? Fake. She hated the dinner parties. Hated the pretentiousness and the secrets of the people you forced her to rub shoulders with. She put up with you and then turned around and asked me to take away the pain of pretending to be someone she wasn’t.”
Mr. Merriweather grabbed Jaxon by his white shirt collar, his hand fisted. “I told Alyssa years ago you were trash, but I loved her. I kept my mouth shut and my checkbook open because I didn’t want to drive her away. But look at what it got me. A disgrace of a dead daughter. There’s a special place in hell reserved for deviants like you.”
Nick placed a gentle hand on both of the men. “Alyssa wouldn’t have wanted you two fighting. For her sake, put your differences aside today.” When Mr. Merriweather released Jaxon, Nick pulled him away, leading him to the empty row in the back. �
�It doesn’t matter where you sit. You can grieve for her anywhere.”
As they took their seats, Kate noticed a conservatively dressed, familiar television reporter two rows down from them. “Isn’t that Rachel Dawson? Did she know Alyssa?”
Jaxon frowned. “I don’t think so.”
The woman had no scruples. She’d snuck into a funeral to get the inside scoop.
Kate rose to give the reporter a piece of her mind when the reverend took the stage and the organ dirge played. Literally biting her tongue, she took her seat between both men.
“Damn it to hell,” Jaxon muttered loud enough for others to hear. “He wasn’t supposed to be here.”
She wagered the man on the pulpit was Reverend Pierce.
Why did Jaxon hate the man? His hands curled into fists, his rage palpable. Bad enough the congregants had witnessed the little exchange between him and Mr. Merriweather, but if Jaxon made a scene, he would be digging his own grave. Right now they didn’t need to give the media or the police any more ammunition.
Nick leaned over and whispered into Jaxon’s ear. Whatever he said must have helped because Jaxon’s body relaxed, and he nodded his head.
“Good morning,” the reverend said into the microphone. “It’s never easy to lose a loved one, but it’s even harder when they’re lost to violence. I remember Alyssa as a child, playing hide and seek with the other kids before services. With the voice of an angel, she sang in the choir and played Mary in our Christmas pageant for three years straight. She was one of the purest souls I’d ever met, spending time preparing dinners at the soup kitchens down in Detroit and visiting the homebound elderly.”
As the reverend spoke, Kate formed a picture in her mind of how the outside world saw Alyssa. Poised and confident. Cheerful and innocent. A cherished member of high society.
She took Jaxon’s hand in hers and squeezed, letting him know he could count on her for support. He gave her a sad smile and squeezed her hand in return before releasing it. He absently played with his wedding band.
