Murmur (Pierce Securities Book 5)

by Anne Conley

  Valerie cleared her throat. “Your lunch smells good.”

  She had to be lying because he couldn’t cook to save his life, but it was a friendly overture he leapt on. “Thanks. I’m eating clean this week, but I usually just go for frozen pizzas. Do you want some?” It was grilled salmon, a baked sweet potato, and a salad with avocado. He was prepping for his final fight later this week and was trying to be careful about what he put into his body. No ramen noodles for him today.

  “No, thank you.” Valerie stuttered a little and swallowed, but went on. “I wanted to tell you my therapist is coming in today. Just so you would know to expect her.”

  He nodded, unable to take his eyes off hers. The mask she wore today was blue, studded with rhinestones, and complimented her sweater thing. It made her green eyes look like lagoons of color, and Quinten was swimming.

  Snapping himself back to reality and the job he had to do, he murmured, “Sure. I think I’ve got her on a list somewhere.” He pulled the ever-present notebook out of his back pocket and started flipping pages, more for something to do with his hands and eyes than anything else. He was well aware her therapist, Jenene Arthur, her housekeeper, Imogene Hathaway, and her “driver” Rudy Gomez, were the only visitors she had, with the intermittent exception of her lawyer, Brandon. Quinten already had their schedules and was expecting the therapist today. But he was glad she’d found the comfort level to come talk to him about it, even if it was really awkward.

  Or maybe that was just him.

  “Uh, I had a visit with your ex-husband yesterday.” Quinten looked up at Valerie and her hand clenched the doorframe next to her, her knuckles whitening with the tension.

  “What did he have to say?” Her voice was tight, even with the feigned nonchalance.

  “He’s hiding something, but I don’t know what, yet. He was all about his work with the soup kitchen and stuff, all while wiping up his snotty coke nose, and then his whore came in and sort of ruined the moment we had going on.” He was trying to go for levity, even going so far as to smile at her to lighten the news, but he regretted the harshness of his words immediately. Quinten wished he was a better speaker. Sometimes, he had no business opening his mouth, and he usually knew it.

  She reacted with a wan smile of her own, and even as weak as it was, she still stunned him. “Well, some things never change. He always did try to make himself seem better than he actually was.” She ignored the whore part of the comment.

  “I did want to ask you, though, when was the rose bush planted?” Quinten turned to a fresh page of his notebook, already knowing the answer to the question, but just verifying.

  Valerie leaned against the doorframe, apparently getting more comfortable. “Last Wednesday night.” There was no hesitation. “Why? Did he say something that made you ask?”

  He wasn’t willing to point fingers at Argyle just yet. He was a Grade-A douche bag for sure, and whatever he’d done to Valerie deserved a beating, certainly. But he wasn’t willing to go so far as to accuse him of being her stalker just because he had a pair of muddy shoes in his foyer. Besides, it was Tuesday. Wednesday was almost a week ago. If it was Argyle, would he have left something messy in that pristine house for an entire week?

  “No, he didn’t say anything.”

  She looked a little deflated, but they both knew it would be too easy to just waltz into Argyle’s house and have him admit to stalking her.

  “Let me ask you this…” Quinten softened his voice. “Who do you think is doing this? Do you have any suspects?”

  Valerie leaned her head back against the doorframe and closed her eyes, in what Quinten thought was the sexiest pose he’d ever seen. The arch of her back, the curve of her neck, even the tiny scar tracking down to her collar bone… Quinten inhaled deeply and held it. He needed to focus on the job and keeping things professional. He couldn’t go there. This woman was too important. Keeping her safe was too important. Thinking about making love to her constantly was counter-productive.

  That thought caught him up short. Why was she more important than the Saudi Princess he’d watched for her daddy and just billed an exorbitant amount of money? Or those women in the freaky-ass town in the woods with something seriously sinister going on? He wasn’t sure, but something that tugged inside him while he watched her leaning against the door jamb told him she was.

  “I don’t really know. My inner circle is so small since the incident. I honestly can’t imagine who would do this. I’ve wracked my brain since it started. Out of everyone I know, it would have to be Argyle, but I just can’t imagine why. Revenge? It seems like he got his revenge when he ruined my face and my livelihood.”

  Quinten tried to digest her words. The why of it all had him flummoxed as well. Clearly, whoever was doing this now was off his rocker and thought he was in love with her.

  “Why did you marry Argyle in the first place?” He was fishing for information here, and he knew it. Sure, background for the case, but he knew this wasn’t germane to what was going on. He regretted asking almost as soon as the words came out of his mouth.

  Valerie lost her relaxed pose and stiffened in the doorframe, taking a step backward. Jesus. She wasn’t even in the kitchen anymore. He had to step closer to hear her.

  “The marriage strengthened the family empire. It wasn’t arranged per se, but it was certainly expected.” Her lush lips twisted into a cruel sneer. Maybe that was why she didn’t have contact with her parents anymore. A bit of resentment for pushing her into a marriage that had ended so disastrously.

  Wasn’t that where his law degree had come from? Familial expectations? He nodded, hoping to encourage her to speak more, come back inside the room, loosen up again. But she didn’t. Valerie stayed just out of the kitchen but remained still. Quinten swallowed. He was losing her. He needed to get that connection back so he could get more information. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

  He noticed her hand against the wall, her fingers pressed against it. Was she trying to keep herself in the present so she didn’t have another anxiety attack? He filed that away for future reference, even as he watched her carefully.

  “I understand. That’s exactly the same reason I got my law degree.” He forced a grin on his face, not really wanting to talk about himself but understanding she needed a little quid pro quo to continue the conversation. “If my parents had lived longer, they probably would have seen me married to a fellow lawyer from an upstanding family that would look great as a partner in Dad’s firm.”

  Valerie gave him a begrudging smile and took a few steps back into the kitchen. Quinten felt his chest loosen at the gesture. She was back inside the kitchen with him.

  Baby steps.

  “Do you practice law at all?”

  He shook his head. “Not in any official capacity. I never really wanted to be a lawyer.” Quinten perched his butt on a stool at the kitchen island and propped his chin in his hands. “I liked the idealistic aspects of law and learning how the government worked with the courts in the checks and balances system. But the more cases I read, loopholes and precedents and stuff, the less enamored I became. I do some odd jobs for people here and there, mostly friends. I’ll look over paperwork. I did a quickie divorce for our office manager, stuff like that. But I don’t charge. In fact, while you’re in your therapy session, I was going to look over your court transcripts to see if I can see anything glaring.” He was ignoring his food but didn’t really care. It probably tasted like shit, anyway. He’d cooked it.

  Valerie bit on her top lip, clearly thinking about something. Drumming her fingertips on the countertop, she finally asked, “Would you look over something else for me? I had my lawyer set up a trust, and some of it looks sort of odd.”

  “Absolutely. I’d be happy to.”

  “I’ll pay you for it.”

  “No need. Like I said, I don’t charge. It doesn’t feel right, since I’m not really a lawyer.” He punctuated it with a smile, and her eyes dropped.

&n
bsp; “Good. Thank you. I’ll… uh… let you eat and bring it by in a little while.”

  “Sure.” He slid his plate toward him, not caring the food was probably cold. “Um, Ms. Dunaway?”

  She had turned but stopped when he said her name. “Valerie, please.”

  He reminded himself this was his job to ask these questions, no matter how uncomfortable they made him. “What sort of relationship do you and Brandon Fuller have?”

  Valerie sagged at the question, and Quinten could tell he’d hurt her. Her eyes drooped, and her mouth tightened into a line across her face, but the rest of her just wilted.

  “I’ll tell you later. After my therapist appointment.” He nodded, thankful for the capitulation. It clearly wasn’t an easy topic.

  “Valerie, it was nice to talk face-to-face,” he offered to her back. With a nod, she was gone.

  Quinten scarfed his lunch, ignoring the fact his fish was rubbery and the sweet potato was hard as a rock, as his mind was on her. Anxious to get started looking at her transcripts and whatever else she was bringing him, he hoped he could find something to talk to her about. He wasn’t much of a talker, but he liked talking to Valerie. She’d opened up to him a little today, and he looked forward to more.

  And he wasn’t going to think about what that implied.

  Valerie was ready for her appointment a little early, but that was okay. She needed to compose herself from her encounter with Quinten. She didn’t venture out of her wing often, and being in the other part of the house had taken a toll on her, even if it was her own house. But being around him had been difficult. She was proud of herself for managing it without hyperventilating.

  As physically imposing as Quinten was, he was remarkably easy to talk to. Maybe it was the fact he was helpless in the kitchen. Valerie smiled to herself as she remembered his lunch. It looked like a healthy attempt, but he’d overcooked the perfect piece of fish and undercooked the potato, and she longed to introduce him to the joys of salt and pepper.

  But that would require the intimation of a relationship they didn’t have. He was here for a job, nothing more. She wasn’t his friend, no matter how friendly he was.

  He was being nice to her because she was paying him a hefty sum of money to protect her. And he did a good job. Granted, nothing had happened since he and the other guys had shown up, but she felt safe around him. And she couldn’t say that about the other guys.

  Not that she had anything against the men who alternated shifts with him, but she didn’t feel as safe with them in the house as she did with Quinten.

  But she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have Quinten want her as much as she wanted him.

  Jenene arrived on time and was met by Quinten in the garage, where he checked her ID against his ever-present notebook. Valerie smiled at the interaction as she watched through her video monitors. When Jenene made it to her den, she was, as usual, a breathless flurry of happiness.

  Valerie loved Jenene.

  When she had first started with her therapy, Valerie had wanted someone young, fresh, and idealistic. She found exactly that with Jenene, a woman in her late twenties with caramel skin and a beautiful attitude toward life in general.

  Jenene had helped her get beyond her fear of living life and helped her to see she could still do her charitable works from behind closed doors. She had helped Valerie find her “new” normal when her life had fallen apart. She’d taught Valerie that life was fluid, and normals changed every day. She just needed to find her comfort in them.

  Jenene floated into the room, bringing the breath of fresh air to which Valerie was accustomed. She sat in her usual spot on the sofa, crossing her legs under her, and leaned back, studying Valerie, pursing her lips in a familiar gesture of thought.

  “What?” Valerie asked, fiddling with the sash of her wrap sweater.

  “Nothing. I just noticed some new security measures when I came in and was wondering how you felt about them?” A smirk lifted the corner of Jenene’s mouth as she folded her hands in her lap. Valerie had spoken with her therapist on the phone yesterday and warned her about the new bodies in the house.

  “Do you want some water? Tea? Wine?” Valerie asked, moving to get up before she was stopped with a hand gesture from her therapist.

  “No. I want you to spill. Pretend I’m your girlfriend, and let’s dish. Who was that guy?”

  Valerie sighed, knowing she wasn’t getting out of this. Truth was, besides Imogene, Jenene was the only other woman Valerie spoke with. So yeah… they were girlfriends by that definition.

  “Quinten.” That was all she said. She couldn’t “dish” like a high school girl—like she used to. She wasn’t sure what exactly had happened to every ounce of her self-esteem, but it was gone. Part of her brain saw herself opening up to others and telling them she liked Quinten. For the first time in years, she was imagining a romantic relationship with someone. That same primitive part of her brain also saw the laughter of others, the snide comments made, the people wondering what the hell she was thinking that she could be with a man like that.

  Mouth dry, she simply shook her head, unable to speak about him with Jenene. In the primitive part of Valerie’s brain, where self-confidence went to die a horrid death, even Jenene was judgmental.

  She tried, instead, to talk about things Quinten talked about. Maybe that would be easier. “He asked me about Brandon.” Valerie had called her therapist almost every day this week, and she was updated on everything that had happened, but Brandon wasn’t a subject they’d talked about in a while. Not since Argyle.

  “What are you going to tell him?”

  “The truth, even though it makes me look awful, and for some reason, I care about what he thinks of me.”

  “Ah.” Jenene looked like she’d found a particularly meaty bone to chew on.

  “Yeah. So do with that what you want.”

  “You care what this guy thinks about you.”

  “Yes, I do.” Valerie sighed. “And even I know the fact I still use Brandon for a lawyer after the way he and Argyle treated me is stupid.”

  “Then why do you still use him?”

  Valerie thought about that. Initially, it was because he was a family friend, and she was trying help out an upstart. Then he’d become friends with Argyle, and they’d gotten drunk and used her a few times too many. She’d continued using him because he’d taken her side and remained loyal to her, tossing Argyle’s friendship to the curb, and that meant more to her at the time than it should have.

  But now, she suspected he was using her lack of knowledge about legalese to take advantage of her kindness, and she was angry about that.

  Valerie noticed Jenene’s posture mirrored her own, a tactic her therapist used when Valerie withdrew inside herself. Both of them were sitting on the sofa, cups of tea cradled in their hands, their feet tucked underneath them. She sighed and stretched out.

  Jenene broke the silence. “Maybe the better question is, why are you embarrassed about your past with him? Is he using it against you?”

  “I don’t think so. At least, he never brings it up, but I know he thinks about it. He’s seen me at some vulnerable times, where Argyle had drugged me and stuff, and I know he thinks about it. I also know Brandon wants more from me than just a professional relationship.”

  “Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” Jenene pointed out. Valerie only sighed in response because it was true.

  Jenene shifted position, no longer mirroring Valerie. “Okay. We won’t talk about him, then. Let’s talk about you and something we haven’t touched on in a while. What do you see when you look in the mirror?” Her voice had taken on the quality of her therapist, not the girlfriend. Jenene was all business now.

  “I still don’t have mirrors,” Valerie reminded her quietly.

  “If you had one, what do you think you’d see?” Patient, ever patient.

  Valerie shrugged, even though she knew the answer to this. This she was comfortable talki
ng about. Lord knows, she’d thought about it often enough.

  “Same thing everyone else does. A former beauty queen who’s scarred beyond all recognition. My reclusive nature makes me a weirdo.” Her voice cracked, but she kept the tears at bay. “I can’t go back to what I used to be.”

  “And what do you perceive you used to be?”

  Valerie swallowed, knowing where Jenene was going with this. “I used to be beautiful.”

  “Do you truly believe that is gone now?”

  “Outwardly, yes. And I know you’re going to give me the lecture about beauty being only skin deep. But who is going to want to look at this long enough to get to see my insides?” In a fit, Valerie ripped off her mask, exposing herself to Jenene. Of course, Jenene had seen her before and didn’t visibly react, but Valerie knew. With an ingrained sense of others’ thoughts, she knew that inside, Jenene was recoiling.

  She had to be. Valerie was a monster now. Argyle had seen to that. She would never be beautiful again.

  Jenene broke the sudden silence. “Okay, let’s go back a little bit. When this happened, you were in a loveless marriage with a psychologically abusive asshole. Can we agree on that?” Valerie nodded, silent. “Look at where you are now. You are locked away from the public eye, but you still do so many good things. What has his abuse stopped you from?”

  Valerie answered the question inside her head, as she usually did when Jenene asked the hard questions. Argyle had stopped her from going out in public, just like he’d initially wanted. His abuse stopped her from being the woman she longed to be—free.

  Free.

  That’s what she wanted more than her beauty back. She wanted her freedom.

  Jenene was studying her intently, and once Valerie had answered the question to herself, she looked her friend in the eyes. They were unremorseful as she asked her final question.