The Blue Link

by Carol Caiton

  She had no answer for that.

  "But you and Simon might work things out by then," he all but snarled. "Maybe you'll be able to overlook the redhead you found him fucking on the guest room floor of your new house."

  He was lashing out. She understood that and appealed to the man beneath. "Ethan, he's your business partner. Your friend. I don't want to be the reason for ruining that."

  For a long minute he stared back at her. Then gradually some of the resentment faded from his eyes. "It was only a matter of time," he said wearily. "Calling him back won't change anything. Moving out of my house won't change it either. Nothing will."

  She wished she could walk across the room and slide her arms around him, offer comfort. But she couldn't. He wouldn't accept it. And none of this would have happened if not for her.

  "Ethan, I don't think there are any words to tell you how sorry I am."

  He gave her a flat, uninterested look. "I know you are. But I'm not feeling very charitable tonight."

  He turned away and left her there, as though he could no longer bear to occupy the same room.

  * * *

  He stood in the dark and stared out the French doors at the equally dark swimming pool. Soft pale moonlight glowed over his private oasis but he felt no appreciation for its beauty tonight.

  It was well into the middle of the night. He should be in bed. But he knew better than to think he'd fall asleep. He'd made a choice tonight, a choice that rasped like sandpaper across a raw wound. And to top it all, he still didn't know if Nina had withdrawn from the link she shared with Simon. Two weeks from now she might move her things over to Simon's house after all. So he'd terminated a friendship—killed it—with no guarantees for the future.

  How the hell was he supposed to compete with a blue link? Would he have urged her to agree to Simon's suggestion if his own emotions hadn't been involved? Yes. Absolutely. Because he knew she'd have a rich, long-lasting relationship if she'd allow herself to look toward the future instead of the past.

  He'd been hard on her. He knew that. It was exactly as he'd told Michael. She was just trying to live her life but RUSH and its men kept interfering. He knew perfectly well why she'd barricaded herself inside the Moon Orchid Spa courtyard. He might not know the details, but he'd been watching from the moment Simon intercepted her. And if that hadn't been enough, Jeremiah had validated his suspicions. Nina's stress levels had peaked near the red zone. Something had been said in that lockdown room, something that had frightened her, and Nina had perceived herself to be in danger.

  That was the bottom line, regardless of what came after. A woman in fear would be thinking about her safety, not the reputation of her assailant.

  Unfortunately the situation had escalated, spiraling into something none of them had anticipated. How much had Kathy Springer overheard? How much had Nina overheard? What kind of damage control was he looking at? At the top of the list though . . . how the hell were he and Simon going to work together after this?

  Nina may have been nothing more than a catalyst, but disaster had once again followed in her wake. The minute Simon stood up and walked out of the house, it had taken all Ethan's self-control not to lash out at her, to verbally attack her with all the fury and, yes, malice, pulsing through him. Even now he didn't want to talk to her, didn't want to listen to anything she had to say. He wanted no more apologies, no explanations, and he didn't want to see her tears. Right now, he didn't even want to look at her.

  CHAPTER 41

  "Legal." Malcolm looked down the table toward Mason. "What have you got for us?"

  "Nothing we didn't anticipate. Lonnie Steuben waived speedy trial. Serena's parents were told to expect it but that didn't make it any easier for them."

  Malcolm offered a sober nod. "No, I don't imagine it did."

  Ethan sank back in his seat. It had been a long week and it was still only Thursday.

  "So what does that mean?" Michael asked. "How long will we have to wait before he goes to trial?"

  "That depends," Mason said. "Months . . . a year . . . ."

  "A fucking year?"

  "It could be longer. Sometimes it's advantageous to delay for as long as possible. Evidence goes stale—"

  "What's to go stale?" Michael broke in. "Everything's cut and dry."

  On the other side of the table Oliver agreed. Ethan did as well, but he didn't voice his opinion, choosing instead to let Michael do the talking. As well as being tired, his attention was divided this morning. He'd neither seen nor spoken with Simon since the night they followed Nina's car home from RUSH. Avoiding one another hadn't been intentional. Not on his part. During the past several days he'd been out of the building, working on the security system at the Moon Orchid Spa. Still, neither of them had dropped by after hours and that was unusual.

  "It's a strategic move," Mason told Michael. "Time passes, other headlines drive the news, and once the media pressure subsides, public outcry dies down. People become focused on other issues. After a few months most of them won't even remember Lonnie Steuben's name."

  "Or Serena's."

  Mason nodded. "Or Serena's."

  "Well that just sucks."

  Ethan took that moment to look at Simon. He was seated in his usual place near the door.

  Black eyes met his. Chilly. Impersonal. As though the easy friendship they'd shared over the years never existed.

  Then Simon withdrew his gaze, turned his attention back to Mason, and it was one of the few times in Ethan's adult life that regret pummeled him.

  "You're right, it does suck," Mason agreed. "But we have a trump card—something the opposition won't expect. And if we time it right the trial will jump back into the headlines."

  At the head of the table Malcolm's eyes narrowed with calculating comprehension. "RUSH," he said.

  Mason nodded. "Yes. RUSH. Anything we reveal to the media makes headline news. We've used it to our advantage before . . . . It'll come down to whether or not it's in the corporation's best interests to play that card though."

  "For example?" Elliott asked.

  Mason thought for a moment then said, "How do you think the public would respond to the violent death of a gay man—or woman—mutilated and murdered just because he or she worked as a teacher in the public school system or one of the family oriented theme parks?"

  "I see where you're going with this."

  Mason sat back in his chair. "It'll depend on public opinion at the time. Ultimately the ASA prosecuting the case will know what's best. When the time comes, we'll vote on it. If the environment is still hostile, we may want to remain in the background."

  "That sounds reasonable."

  Mason smiled. "I'm a reasonable man."

  "Compassionate as well," Malcolm inserted, "according to Serena Mandek's parents." He slid a folded card from behind his legal pad. "This arrived with yesterday's mail," he said, and began reading out loud.

  Dear Mr. Speeridge,

  Thank you for your phone call this afternoon. Your kind words and thoughtfulness are appreciated, as are those of Mr. Pace and Mr. Yetzer.

  I'd also like to take this opportunity to mention RUSH's attorney, Mason Ingersol. During a time when my husband and I are overwhelmed with shock and grief, Mr. Ingersol has made himself available to answer the many questions we've had. He remains in touch even now, and though it may be a small matter to most people, our phone calls to him are never forwarded to voicemail. Instead, he patiently tolerates our distress and his compassion has been a comfort.

  Neither my husband nor I were aware of Serena's involvement with RUSH until she was killed. But her death has shown us an aspect of your organization that is sorely missing from the media.

  I wish you well in the future.

  Yours,

  Barbara Mandek

  He refolded the note and slid it back underneath his legal pad. "A gracious thank you, I'd say."

  Michael cleared his throat. "Yeah, it is. They sound like good people."

&nb
sp; "They are," Mason agreed. "Both of them."

  "And you have a way of helping people see RUSH in a better light," Elliott said.

  "You're right, he does," Michael agreed. "We even have a cop on the client list now. What's his name . . . Brosig. Something Brosig.

  "Nathan."

  "Yeah, that's it."

  "A cop? You're right—it must be that reasonable personality."

  Malcolm rotated his silver pen over and between his fingers and said, "Well, the reasonable man in us all will be glad to hear that Wardrobe has arrived at a date for the springtime show."

  Michael slapped a palm on the table. "All right!" Then he flipped through the pages of his ridiculously small spiral notepad.

  "How do you keep track of anything with that?" Ethan asked.

  "It's convenient. And I've never forgotten anything important." He picked up his pencil. "Okay, I'm ready. All those R-links on parade . . . I swear we've got the best designers on the planet."

  Elliott chuckled. "Don't let Hannah hear you say that."

  "Yeah, yeah, I know who her mother is. And don't get me wrong, Hannah is one very hot babe. But there's fashion," he waggled his eyebrows, "and then there's sex disguised as fabric. And I'll be the first to say it's a damn good afternoon when a man can sit back and watch all those D-D-D-Ds jiggle down the catwalk in stuff that's specifically designed to give me a hard-on."

  "Jesus, Michael."

  But Michael hadn't said anything the rest of them didn't agree with.

  "So when's the date?" he asked, pencil poised above the paper.

  "March fifteenth. One o'clock."

  Everyone at the table made note of it.

  "Elliott," Malcolm said, "how are things progressing at the Moon Orchid Spa?"

  "Right on schedule. When Ethan finishes installing the security we'll be on the homestretch."

  "Good to hear. Any problems Ethan?"

  "Not a one."

  "Excellent." His eyes traveled around the table. "Anything else before we're joined by the others?"

  Ethan placed his pen down on the table. "Yes. Nina has a request."

  All eyes turned in his direction.

  "She'd like to know if she can have temporary clearance to access the R-link complex so she and Libby can visit. Apparently they've become good friends."

  Elliott frowned. "What do you mean by temporary? Three months? Six months?"

  "No. More like a visitor's pass. Periodic access when the two want to relax and talk in Libby's apartment."

  No one spoke for several seconds. Then Malcolm said, "As chief of security what's your position on this?"

  Ethan cleared his throat. "I'm inclined to refuse."

  "Why?"

  "Two reasons. First, since she's no longer an R-link, we can't give her unqualified access. So that means either Jeremiah or I would have to stop what we're doing and reprogram her chip every time she wants to visit, then go back into the system a second time after she leaves. And second, what happens when Libby leaves and wants to come back and visit Geneva? Then Geneva leaves and all three of them want to visit Geri? Before you know it, the R-link complex is swarming with women who don't belong there and I can't get a damn thing done."

  Beside him Michael nodded. "I see your point. Much as I'd like to give Nina whatever she wants, I have to agree with you."

  Malcolm looked at Mason for a legal opinion. "What's your take on it?"

  Mason finished scribbling a quick note and looked up. "All of us, I think, would like to give Nina whatever she wants, but I agree with Ethan and Michael. And, from a legal standpoint, the R-link membership contract provides for exclusive admittance to the complex and its amenities." He looked at Michael. "And all those D-D-D-Ds live with the assurance they can jiggle through the halls whenever they want, completely naked if the occasion calls for it, without concern over an outsider's presence no matter who it is."

  "Ah, geez, Mason. What a vision." Michael peered around at Ethan. "So tell us the truth. You ever see any of those naked Ds jiggling through the halls?"

  Ethan grinned. "You know better. R-link video is only reviewed if something unusual is reported. And then it's reviewed by a female guard."

  "Yeah, yeah . . . ."

  "Anyone have an opposing opinion on the matter?" Malcolm asked.

  Silence.

  "All right then." Malcolm turned to Ethan and smiled. "We'll leave it to you to explain our refusal."

  "Gee, thanks."

  "And before we leave the topic of Nina . . . ." He slid a second card from behind his legal pad, this one a pale peach color. "We have yet another gracious note, this one thanking us for the complimentary membership we've given her."

  Michael snorted. "Like she had to thank us."

  Malcolm took a minute to read the note out loud then looked over at Simon. "I look forward to getting to know her, Simon."

  Resentment flared in Ethan's chest. He shot a glance diagonally across the table.

  To his annoyance, Simon had been watching him. Coolly remote, he held Ethan's gaze then looked away, nodding toward the head of the table. "Thank you, Malcolm."

  CHAPTER 42

  Nina no longer ate breakfast with Ethan. They no longer chatted while she packed her lunch for the day, and they no longer divvied up the last of the coffee before rinsing their cups and leaving for work.

  Instead, she'd been setting her alarm to go off an hour earlier than usual. Groggily she climbed out of bed, got ready for work, and left the house before Ethan left the master suite. At the end of the day, she came home, went directly to her room to change clothes, then made certain he wasn't in the kitchen when she came out to put dinner together.

  It was part of her normal routine now to pick up the landline and call his cell phone when everything was ready. It was part of his routine to accept the call, listen, then disconnect without a word. He hadn't yelled at her since the night she caused so much trouble. He'd hardly said more than a few words and a dull ache weighed on her heart.

  She went through each day with the guilt of knowing she'd driven a canyon of resentment between him and Simon and she prayed for a phone call that would tell her she could move out and rent the room she'd gone to see.

  Unfortunately that call didn't come and she had to accept that someone else—one of the hundred other people Ethan said would call about it—probably occupied that perfect little room with its mini kitchenette.

  Closing the dishwasher, she straightened, made sure she hadn't left anything out, then looked over at the telephone. It was time.

  She reached inside her purse for the miniature Slinky-type toy she'd bought that afternoon. It cost all of fifty cents, but the bright orange plastic spring had a cheerful appearance that oddly saddened her now as she set it beside his plate. Maybe her strategy was working. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe he simply ate dinner every night because he was hungry. And maybe she shouldn't put anything beside his plate at all. But she continued to leave something—a newspaper clipping, a refrigerator magnet, a pack of gum—anything that might stir his curiosity enough to lure him away from his glass of whiskey.

  Gathering up her jacket, she walked over to the telephone and braced herself.

  He took the call, but he didn't say hello.

  "Dinner's ready," she told him, knowing he heard. Then she listened to the dead space of nothingness when he silently disconnected. It was always the same. Always. So why did it keep hurting when she knew what to expect?

  She walked out to the driveway in the crisp night air and got into her car. Each night she drove to RUSH and stayed late. When she came home again, she parked in the driveway, even though Ethan would disapprove. She now knew the garage was located close to the master suite and was pretty certain the gliding door would wake him when it opened and closed. As an unwanted guest she preferred to be as unobtrusive as possible, so she counted on Isleworth being the safe, gated community it was purported to be and used the front door to let herself in. Besides, she'd be gone again in the
morning before he realized her car wasn't parked where it was supposed to be.

  At RUSH she met with Libby after class and that brought a welcome respite from her own sorry problems. Chattering between sips of a double chocolate espresso, Libby shared the latest gossip, news of the other R-links, and anything else that came to mind while Nina ate dinner. But Libby wasn't blind so it was difficult to pretend nothing was wrong. To make matters worse, it was now common knowledge that she'd locked herself inside the Moon Orchid Spa courtyard. The rumor going around was that she and Simon had had a horrendous falling out, exactly as predicted. She wondered how he and Ethan and the others managed to live every single day in a fishbowl.

  "It's because you and Simon have a blue link," Libby said. "Everyone's watching because blue links aren't supposed to happen here and because Simon's one of the owners. And then you two turned the whole thing into a daytime drama . . . on-again, off-again . . . all lovey-dovey, then nothing but cool glances and that cold shoulder bit." She fluttered her bubblegum-pink manicured hand. "Of course everyone's watching. Including me. I just happen to have the inside track."

  "Thanks a lot."

  "Oh, you know I love you. And you know I'd never say a word to anyone." She took another sip of her espresso, ran her tongue along the rim of her cup where a bit of chocolate remained, then patted her lips with her napkin. "I haven't even told Geneva. But Geneva's a classy lady. She doesn't even ask. She knows you and I talk every day but all she does is raise an eyebrow to ask if you're all right. Then I nod and she nods and everyone's happy." She frowned. "Except for Patty. God, that girl! I swear she looks like she's going to have a nervous breakdown if she doesn't know everything about everyone every single minute of the day. How can she keep all that stuff in her brain with so many people in the world?"

  Nina couldn't help laughing.

  "Well it's true. But your Moon Orchid Spa episode topped the charts."

  Nina looked up from patting her own mouth.