I don’t have to ask twice. In one swift motion, he raises me higher, and then pulls me down onto him. The feeling of fullness and of completeness overwhelms me, and I thrust my head back against the wall. I throw my arms around his neck and arch my back as he plunges inside me again, filling me to the hilt.
I tighten my legs around his waist as he continues to slam into me. Our chests rise and fall together with every shallow breath we take. He turns to look at me, locking his bright blue eyes with mine before he claims my mouth again. My tongue joins his in a slow, erotic dance that’s all about touch and sensation. He pulls back, and then moves into me again, slowly this time. I close my eyes and groan, relishing the feel of him inside me.
“You’re never leaving again,” he murmurs against my throat.
“Never,” I pant, surrendering myself to his relentless rhythm, savoring each push and pull, his ragged breathing, his need for me.
I feel powerful, strong, desired, and loved – loved by this amazing man, whom I love with all my heart. He pushes harder and faster, his breathing ragged, losing himself in me as I lose myself in him.
“Oh, baby,” Evan moans, his teeth grazing my jaw, and I come hard around him. He stills, clutches me, and follows suit, whispering my name.
As ripples of pleasure continue to flow through my body, Evan scoops me up and carries me curled against his chest to our room down the hall, where I haven’t slept in nearly two weeks. My head drops against his chest. I am mentally and physically exhausted. I don’t remember ever being this tired. Pulling back the duvet, he lays me down, climbs in beside me, and holds me close. “Sleep now,” he whispers and kisses my hair. “You’re home.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Moment of Truth
When I wake before the alarm the following morning, Evan is wrapped around me like ivy, his head on my chest, his arm around my waist, and his leg between mine. Gently, I stroke the few hairs on his firm chest. He stirs and his sleepy eyes meet mine. He blinks a couple of times as he wakes.
“Hi,” he murmurs, and smiles.
“Hi.” I love waking to that smile.
He nuzzles my neck and hums appreciatively deep in his throat. His hand travels under the cotton sheets and skims along the curve of my hip.
“I would love to stay and play,” he mutters. “But as tempting as you are,” he glances at the alarm, “I have to get up.” He stretches out, untangles himself from me, and rises.
I lie back, put my hands behind my head, and enjoy the show. Evan stands at the foot of the bed, stark naked. He is perfect. I wouldn’t change a hair on his head.
“Admiring the view, Miss Fletcher?” Evan arches a sarcastic brow at me.
“It’s a mighty fine view, Mr. McGuire.”
After a quick hot breakfast of oatmeal and fresh fruit, Evan’s off to the stadium for practice. Derek and I are opening together in a few hours, so I’ll wait until a respectable hour to call him and ask for a ride.
It doesn’t take me long to move my things from the spare room back into the closet and dresser. Everything is exactly as I left it. I occasionally peek out the window to check on Derek’s house, looking for signs of life. By eight o’clock, it remains dark and quiet.
I take Maddy outside for her morning constitutional and find the weather to be quite mild for January, so I decide to take advantage and head out for a beach run. I check the tide reports, and right about now it’s low tide, so the sand near the surf should be hard and firm.
On a day like today, not many layers are necessary, so I dress quickly and get Maddy’s leash. The moment she spots me with a leash in hand, she hurries to the door and sits excitedly, tail wagging furiously, waiting for me to take her out.
The beach is peppered with occasional fisherman, eager, like me, to spend some welcome time outdoors on an unseasonably warm winter morning. I recognize a few and greet each with an enthusiastic, “Good morning.” There are no other runners on the beach today, so I get to enjoy the relative peace and solitude.
Running affords me an opportunity to be alone with my thoughts or to unplug entirely. The choice is mine. I have had to make so many decisions lately, I feel as if my mind has been in overdrive, most likely because it has been. Revisiting every decision I’ve made and analyzing every move I make forging ahead has exhausted me more than any amount of physical activity ever could.
Today I will unplug.
I select a playlist I know by heart that lasts about thirty minutes and contains exactly eight songs. I plug in my earbuds, strap on my iPod, and head out. I have an eclectic mix of all kinds of music, with selections from some of my favs – a reggae hit from the Canadian band Magic, a platinum single from Norwegian duo Nico & Vinz, and a little county music from Lady Antebellum.
My mind is clear and easy as I enjoy my beach run. As I jog along a bed of crushed seashells, the tide ebbs and flows carelessly while the light wind carries a mist through the air. The sand beneath my feet glitters brightly in the early morning sunlight.
Gone are the brilliant specks of umbrellas that dot the seashore during the summertime. Gone are the sand castles and buckets and children playing happily along the shore. This wintertime beach is mine and mine alone.
But also mine is Rush Dessert Bar and Restaurant, and duty calls. It’s time to return home, shower, and call my neighbor for a ride.
I enter the house through the sliding glass door and immediately I’m startled by an incessant banging on the front door. Keeping Maddy at my side, I walk through the house to the door and peek out the window. There’s a police cruiser in my driveway. “Point Pleasant Police,” they bark through the door.
Panic takes over and I can feel my pulse racing. This can’t be good. My first instinct is to call Evan, but more importantly, I have to call Gavin. The police continue to pound on the door and call me by name. My hands are shaking, but somehow I manage to find Gavin’s number. “Hello, Juliette. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today.”
“Well, I wasn’t expecting to have the police banging on my front door. What do I do?” I ask nervously.
“Answer the door. If they want to come in to speak with you, don’t invite them. If they ask you to come down to the station, tell them to call me. If they tell you that you’re under arrest, cooperate. If I don’t hear back from you in exactly five minutes, I’ll meet you at the station. Do you understand?”
“Under arrest?” I ask. The words frighten me beyond explanation.
“Hang up and go see what they want. I’ll be there if you need me. Remember, you tell them nothing. You say nothing. You agree to nothing. Got it?”
“Um, okay.” I hang up and walk to the door, full of trepidation.
The knocking and pounding hasn’t stopped, so I have no choice but to open the door. My friend Detective Harper is standing there with a scowl on his face. “Miss Fletcher, I’m sorry to have to inform you of this, but you’re under arrest. I’m going to have to ask you to come with me, please.”
I can feel all the blood drain from my face. I didn’t even notice Detective Guardino standing to the side, smirking. It’s he who approaches with a pair of handcuffs in his hand. “I need you to turn around, ma’am, and place your hands behind your back, please.”
“Tom, seriously? I don’t think that’s necessary,” Harper tells his partner. Then he turns to me. “You’re going to cooperate, right?”
All I can do is numbly nod.
“See, she’s cooperating,” Harper points out. Detective Guardino puts the handcuffs back into his pocket, but he’s still smirking. He’s made his point.
“Can I get my purse?” I squeak.
“Yes, you’ll need to bring your ID down to the station. Make sure you have it with you,” Harper responds. I turn to retrieve my things, and as I shut the door, Harper grabs it and takes a step inside the threshold. “I’ll just wait right here, if you don’t mind.”
Maddy must sense their less than honorable intentions, and she remains watchful and v
igilant, ready to pounce in an instant. I try to calm her and remove her leash, but she doesn’t take her eyes away from the unwelcome intruder. She’s a good guard dog.
I know Gavin told me not to worry or panic, but I can’t help it. I’m absolutely terrified. My house keys jingle in my shaky hand as I struggle to get them into my purse.
I warily walk back to the front door and follow the detectives to their car. Just as I’m about to be placed in the back of the cruiser, Derek comes out to see what’s going on. “Jette? What’s happening?” he shouts from his driveway.
“Derek, I’m being arrested. Call Evan. Now!” I holler as the door shuts, closing me away from the safety and security of my home and friend. I just returned home, and now I’m being taken away from it again. Who knows for how long this time.
It’s a short drive to the police station and I know I’m not supposed to answer any of their questions, but Gavin didn’t say anything about asking a few questions myself. “Um, excuse me, detective, can you tell me what this is all about?”
“We’ll fill you in on all the details when we get there,” Guardino curtly replies.
We pull in to the front of the police station, and parked right in the front of the building is an all-white police cruiser with a gold badge on the door that reads, “Indianapolis Police”. Thoughts swirl around in my head. Are they here to transport me back to Indiana?
I’m escorted from the car into the building. The detectives greet the dispatcher at the window and she buzzes us through the door into the back.
No one tells me anything. I’m ushered from room to room. In the first room, my ID is taken, the contents of my purse are searched, itemized, and I’m asked to sign an inventory. Just as I think I’m about to get it back, the officer places it in a locked closet at the back of the room.
My next stop is to get fingerprinted. It’s surreal. I’m transported back in time to when I was a Girl Scout, standing in this very spot, taking a tour of the police station and learning how the police take fingerprints. This experience is very different from that of my childhood.
After I clean off my hands, they deliver me to be photographed. I can’t help but wonder how long it will be before my mug shot is leaked to the press and becomes the breaking story on Celebrity News Network.
I’m then taken into a small room with a table and a few chairs. The officer leaves the room and I find myself sitting there alone in silence. No one comes to check on me and no one offers any explanation as to why I’ve been brought here. I have no idea how long I sit there. There is no clock on the wall, and my watch was removed when I arrived. It might have been five minutes, but then again it might have been twenty.
Finally the door opens and in walks my attorney, Gavin Wolff. There’s something about him that makes people immediately sit up a little straighter when he walks into the room. Based on the way he’s dressed, I’d say he came to play hardball today. He’s wearing a perfectly tailored black suit, a white dress shirt, and a smart blue tie. His gray hair is receding at the temples, and is long enough in the back that it sweeps the collar of his suit. But what really completes his take-charge look is the low-rimmed glasses sitting on the tip of his nose, tethered by a cord dangling from the arm.
He takes a seat directly across from me and removes a yellow notepad from his briefcase. “Okay, here’s what we know. You have been arrested, which simply means you’ve been taken into custody. They haven’t charged you with anything, which is good. That means they can only hold you here temporarily.” He flips through the pages of his pad looking for something.
“Why am I here if they’re not charging me with anything?” I ask.
“I said they haven’t charged you; that doesn’t mean that they won’t. But that’s why I’m here. I won’t allow you to say anything that will incriminate you.” He finally finds what he’s looking for and looks up at me. “They’re going to send in two detectives from Indianapolis who have a few questions for you. I suggest you answer their questions as best you can. Use one-word answers if possible, and do not give them any more information than they ask for. If they ask you something that I feel you shouldn’t answer, I’ll step in.”
“So you want me to tell them what I know?” I ask. He nods. “But won’t that make me look guilty?”
He looks up at me over the rim of his glasses. “They have the pictures and a few of the videos. There’s no point lying to them about any of it, Juliette. It’s best to be honest. Stick to the facts as you know them. Do not embellish. Do not discuss your feelings, your fears, or your attitude toward the victim. In fact, use his first name as often as you can. Did you have any nicknames or pet names for him while you were dating?”
Reese and I had our share of nicknames for David, that’s for sure. But I don’t think Dickhead or Dumbfuck will go over very well right now. “No,” I tell him. “Just David.”
“Okay, then. Are you ready?”
I nod and swallow hard. “I guess.”
“Let’s get this show on the road.” He gets up and raps forcefully on the door three times. When he returns to the table, he sits beside me. I feel better having him close by. I just know he won’t let things get too far.
Two sharply dressed men enter the room. Both appear to be in their forties or fifties. A third officer joins them, a woman in her thirties, wearing a pantsuit and toting a laptop. It’s she who speaks first. “Miss Fletcher, I’m Detective Muller and I’m going to be recording today’s interview. Before we begin, I just want to make sure you understand your rights and that they have been properly explained to you. Did one of the arresting officers discuss your Miranda rights with you today?” She’s clicking away on her laptop as she speaks, not once looking up at me.
“Yes, when I first got here one of the officers read me my rights.”
“Okay then.” She looks over at the other two, nodding. “Go ahead.”
“Miss Fletcher, I’m Detective Hodan from the Indianapolis P.D., and we’d like to ask you some questions today.”
The second detective introduces himself. “And I’m Detective Hayes, also with the Indianapolis P.D. We found quite a few pictures of you and Mr. Jorgenson in his hotel room. What can you tell us about them?”
I tell him what little I know about their genesis. They seem to believe me when I tell them I had no idea I was being filmed. I fidget with my fingers as I talk, and look over at Gavin to make sure that I’m sticking to the plan. He occasionally gives me a slight nod, barely perceivable, and writes down everything that is said.
“And when did you first find out about the photographs and videos?” Detective Hayes asks.
This is something I can recall vividly. “It was the night of the Unicef Snowflake Ball,” I tell him. “The picture arrived in a large envelope addressed to me. When I opened it, I was ... ”
Gavin cuts me off. “Next question.”
Crap. I almost broke one of Gavin’s rules about giving them too much information or talking about my perceptions.
The interview goes on for what feels like an hour. They ask me the same questions over and over again in different ways, most likely trying to see if I give the same answer to each. The questions get very personal too. They want to know intimate details about my sex life with David and if I’ve ever willingly participated in filming sex acts. I don’t even blink when I tell them with absolute honesty that the answer is a solid no. They don’t seem to believe me when I tell them that I never even took nude selfies of myself and sent them to David, or anyone else for that matter. They probably believe that everyone under the age of thirty has done it at some point.
I then have to recount the contents of every letter I received from David and every discussion and phone call we’ve exchanged relating to the pictures.
“Where are the letters he sent you?” Detective Hodan asks. “I see here in the report from your house search that they weren’t located. Why is that?”
Aha. That’s what they were looking for. I’m glad I no longer
have them. “I burned them.”
“Burned? As in set on fire?” he asks.
“Yes. I didn’t want Evan to find them. I burned the pictures too. I never wanted him to see those either.” Detective Muller looks at me, and for a moment I think I see a slight trace of empathy in her eyes.
The next part of the interview is about the blackmail and exchange. I hate bringing Adam and Derek into it, but I can’t lie. Besides, their only role was to support me. Neither of them had any direct interaction with David. They never spoke to him or actually met him. Yes, Adam was in the same room with him, but David didn’t know that.
The detectives employ the same techniques as before, asking the same question multiple times in multiple ways. Eventually Gavin steps in to move things along. “We’ve been over this. Let’s move on,” he tells them. And I’m grateful that he does.
“We have videotape from your hotel hallway that shows a man entering your room. We don’t see him leave until an hour or so later. Would that be Mr. Jorgenson?” Hodan asks.
“Yes, David came to my room for the exchange. I was afraid ... ”
Gavin interrupts me with a squeeze on my thigh. Stick to the facts, don’t embellish. Got it.
“And then shortly afterward, is that Mr. McGuire we see entering your room?”
“Yes,” I answer simply.
“It appears you two had an argument in the hallway. Would I be correct in assuming that he discovered your tryst with Mr. Jorgenson?”
“I wouldn’t categorize it as a tryst,” I correct him, “but yes, he knew I had invited someone into my room and he didn’t like it.”
“Then how would you categorize it?” Hayes presses.
“David intimidated me. He threatened to release the pictures to the public. He tried to force me into having sex with him. He said that if I slept with him, he would leave me alone. I almost believed him.” All the men in the room look at me, judging me. I can read their minds. They all think I had a choice. Perhaps I did, but it didn’t feel that way at the time.
Running Away With You (Running #3) Page 36
