by Naomi Niles
Being with Rachelle made me feel truly happy. She was so easy to talk to, so fun to be with, and such a good person in every way. I loved the way she was with Halle, nurturing and encouraging, yet firm. Rachelle had heart and persistence, doing whatever it took to care for her sick mother. She had courage and integrity, refusing to let Emma bully her and forcing me to do what was right in the face of my fears. Rachelle made me a better man, and I wanted more than anything to be the man she deserved.
I wanted to provide for her, protect her, and love her. I wanted her to feel safe, happy, and loved. I wanted her to be free from fear and pain. I wanted her to feel proud of me and to love me, too.
"Good morning," I said softly as her eyes fluttered open.
She focused her bleary vision on my face and smiled. "Good morning."
Her arms curled around my neck as we kissed. The soft curves of her naked body pressed against mine, and her thighs spread, inviting me to make love to her once more.
Although it took every ounce of willpower that I had, I rolled gently away from her.
"Don't go," she teased, playfully. "Want to take a shower together?"
"In a minute. First, I have a phone call to make."
I found my cell sitting on the nightstand by my bed and dialed the number pre-programmed into my phone.
"Thomas Tandy here, go," the defense attorney answered with an abrupt greeting.
"It's me, Tate Holland. I need you to come over right away. It's urgent," I said and hung up the line.
Tom's black BMW pulled into the drive just eighteen minutes later, and he burst into the house still looking as distinguished as ever. Nothing ever seemed to ruffle his suave demeanor of professionalism.
Rachelle was just finishing getting dressed, and I hadn't even put my tie on when Emma announced his arrival. I tied it quickly as I walked down the stairs to meet him, not even noticing that it was horribly uneven. There were butterflies in my stomach, like some damn schoolboy being called to the principal's office. I hated feeling so vulnerable and weak and straightened my spine to put on a fake air of confidence, hoping I could fool him.
"You caught me on my way to work, so I just had to change freeways, and here I am," Tom explained as he took in my disheveled appearance with a glance and we shook hands. "You did say it was urgent.”
"It is. I'm glad you came so fast. I need to show you something upstairs in my bedroom." He followed me up the stairs and down the hall to my bedroom suite. I was about to knock on the door to make sure Rachelle was finished dressing when suddenly she opened it wide and waved us in with a welcoming smile.
She looked ravishing in a simple white dress with blue trim that brought out the color of her eyes. Her blonde hair was done up today in a pretty bun with a pale blue ribbon wrapped around the base. She hardly wore any make-up, but she didn't need to. She had a fresh beauty that required no enhancement, and I felt a twinge of pride as I saw the subtle dilation of Tom's eyes that let me know he was attracted to her. I had won the prize that another man desired, and it felt good. Still, I was humble enough to know that Rachelle was a better woman than I deserved and not to feel cocky.
"You know Rachelle," I said to Tom as we entered the room; she shook his hand politely. I shut and locked the door and then turned to face him, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep them from shaking. "Rachelle's the one who encouraged me to do this, so I asked her to be here for moral support.
"So what's this all about?" Tom was a busy man with no patience for beating around the bush.
"This." I touched the fake book on my bookshelf that activated the secret door, and the giant case split in two and swung open wide like a giant set of doors.
Tom stepped forward to peer inside, and for the first time ever, I heard him gasp.
"Why didn't you reveal this to me before?" he demanded, sounding half angry and half shocked.
"I think you know why."
"Well, a jury isn't going to feel sympathetic about this." He looked around the room at the shelves lined with whips, chains, dildos, vibrators, ropes, and gags. "Why are you showing this to me now?"
"Because of this." I pointed to the specks of blood on the floor beneath the sex swing. The frown lines on Tom's forehead deepened as he peered at them. He pulled a pen from his jacket pocket and used it to poke the sex swing, causing it to rotate slightly.
Then he looked at me and said gravely, "Be honest with me, Tate. Did you do it?"
"No. I would never hurt Rose. I didn't kill her. In fact, I never brought her into this room. We only had sex in the linen closet, my office, and a few times in the pool. Not once did I bring her in here, or even in my bedroom, for that matter.
"So why did you keep it a secret?" he asked harshly.
"Because I didn't want the scandal." I felt ashamed of my cowardice, but I refused to look down. I met his gaze with my head held high like I had nothing to hide. "The paparazzi would go crazy if they knew about this room and the public would crucify me for it. My finances couldn't handle the strain of any more bad publicity, not on top of the murder investigation."
"So why reveal it to me now?"
"Because I finally know who did it," I stated strongly. Tom's expression of doubt turned to one of intrigue.
"Who?" he asked with interest.
"Stuart Haynes, my chef and personal trainer."
"What makes you so sure?"
I filled Tom in on everything, without leaving out a single detail. When I was done, he looked stoic. With a heavy sigh, he said, "It's going to make things difficult that you kept this secret for so long."
"I know," I stated without shirking. "I just hope Miller doesn't press charges against me for it."
"Leave that to me." Tom grinned with confidence, and I was reminded why he was worth the huge checks I kept writing him.
We practiced just what to say to Miller until Rachelle and I sounded natural. Then there was only one thing left to do.
I picked up my cell phone and dialed the number on Detective Miller's business card.
"It's Tate Holland. I found evidence of the murder of Rose Landon I need to show you." From that moment, there was no going back.
Chapter Forty-Five: Rachelle
I'd never seen so many police officers in one place in my entire life. Tate's bedroom was packed with forensic investigators as they scoured the secret room hidden behind his bookcase for evidence. A police photographer took pictures of everything, while men in plastic gloves dusted for prints and others placed items in carefully-labeled plastic bags.
I felt incredibly proud of Tate as he calmly allowed it all to happen. When the Detective had first arrived at the mansion, he'd looked annoyed, but as Tate and I kept telling our story, his expression changed to one of skeptical curiosity. When we took him up the stairs and showed him the secret room, he immediately called in a full team of officers and forensic investigators. In a matter of minutes, the mansion turned from a peaceful oasis into a madhouse.
Detective Miller pulled me and Tate aside and placed us in separate rooms of the house so he could interview us individually. Tate was first, and I sat for what felt like hours on a loveseat in the library waiting for my turn.
I was glad Missy was available to watch over Halle. As much as I didn't like Missy, I had to admit she'd been a big help lately. Despite her troubled past, she really did seem to be trying to change and build a relationship with the daughter she'd neglected in the past. At a time like this, when Tate and I were both preoccupied, it was nice to know Halle was being cared for by her mother. It was a relief to have one of the many stresses taken off our plates.
I couldn't help from feeling stressed about Tate's interview with Detective Miller, or mine either. We both knew what we had to say to keep Tate out of trouble and I just hoped I didn't do anything to screw it up. We'd talked in depth with Tom Tandy while we were waiting for Detective Miller to arrive, practicing what we'd say. He liked my idea about saying Tate had forgotten about the room, but after a
few practice questions, he quickly got me to confess that I'd had sex with Tate in the swing.
"Shit. I'm sorry. I ruined everything."
"You didn't ruin it," Tate comforted me with a kiss, then rubbed my shoulders soothingly. "We're just practicing; we just need to figure out what to say before Detective Miller shows up."
"Whatever you do, don't lie," Tandy warned us. "I can't protect a client who gets caught up in a lie. The trick is to put the best spin on the truth – but it has to be one they can't refute, or you come across looking dishonest."
Tom paced the room for a moment or two, deep in thought; Tate and I wracked our brains from where we sat at the foot of his bed, but I for one came up blank. Suddenly, Tom stopped at looked at us, with his eyes bright.
Focusing his keen gaze on me, he said, "When did you and Mr. Holland have sex in the swing?"
"At night, after Halle had gone to bed," I said, not yet understanding where he was going with this.
"No, I mean how long ago? If it was just a day or two ago, it doesn't conflict with Tate's statement about forgetting about the room. If it was weeks ago, then he was conspiring with a murderer by hiding the fact, and impeding an investigation – two very serious crimes."
"Oh, just a few days ago," I stated. "I saw the blood and pointed it out to Tate right away. We stopped what we were doing, both very upset. He didn't know where the blood came from but he was certain it wasn't there months ago the last time he’d used the room. The next morning he tried calling his lawyer to report the evidence, but you were out of town. That day I discovered the shoes in Tate's closet, and he remembered that only one other person had those shoes – the same person who used to have a relationship with Rose, had a key to the house, and knew when Tate would be gone: Stuart Haynes."
"Very good." Tom grinned at me. "But wait for questions to be asked. Don't jump ahead and say too much or it sounds rehearsed, and you don't have anything new to say as you’re asked other questions. Let the information be revealed naturally."
"Okay, I'll try," I tried to sound confident, but the tremor in my voice gave my fears away.
"Don't worry; you'll be great." Tate gave me a hug and a kiss. But when he held me tight, I could feel his heart pounding, too.
When Detective Miller arrived, things happened fast. He whisked Tate away for questioning with Tom by his side, while the forensics team and other officers searched for evidence.
I felt like a child in trouble as I sat sequestered in the library with a uniformed officer standing guard outside the door. I tried reading one of the many books on the shelves to pass the time, but all the words just blurred together.
I couldn't stop thinking about Tate. How was he doing in his interview? Was he okay? Was he sticking to the story we had come with or had Miller forced him to improvise? Our stories needed to match identically, or Tate could wind up in prison.
What would my life be like without him? The mansion would be so empty. Halle would have no father, and she'd be forced to be raised by Missy. The staff would all lose their jobs, including me. The income I was counting on to care for my mother would suddenly to cut off. But that wasn't what brought tears to my eyes. Mama and I would find a way to manage. We always did. But what would I do without Tate?
In the short time that we'd known each other, I'd come to rely on him in so many ways. Sure, he was my employer, and he'd given me that huge bonus to help pay for Mama's treatments; but that wasn't the kind of support I would miss.
When I woke up in the morning, he was the first person I wanted to see. I loved having breakfast with him down in the dining room and discussing our individual plans for the day. More often than not, if I told him I was taking Halle out to the garden in the afternoon to look for ladybugs, he'd just so happen to be taking his daily walk at that same time.
I loved the way we kept finding excuses to "accidentally" run into each other, but I loved it even more when our meetings were planned. The nights Tate called me to come have sex with him were the best physical experiences of my life. No one knew how to bring such profound pleasure out of me other than him.
I wondered what it would be like to be in a real relationship with him. To be invited to share his bed as his lover and to wake up every morning knowing I was his girlfriend.
I knew it was foolish of me to fall in love with him. Tate Holland was a billionaire – rich and handsome, and way above my league. He was my employer and I was nothing more than his employee, paid to care for his child and fuck him on the side like a prostitute. I liked to imagine that we shared a deep emotional connection as well a physical one, but he'd never said anything to me to make me think that. It was all just a fantasy in my head that I wished as a reality. When this was over, he would probably toss me aside and move on to someone more interesting. Someone beautiful and sophisticated, not just a boring nanny from the slums.
Even so, I wanted to help him. I wanted to do everything I could to make him happy. Even lie to the police if necessary.
"Miss Clare." A young policewoman stuck her head in the door of the library, startling me from my thoughts. "Please come with me; the detective is ready to talk to you now."
I followed the officer from the library to Tate's office, where Detective Miller sat behind Tate's desk, and Thomas Tandy stood in the corner, looking dapper as always.
"Miss Clare, welcome. Please have a seat," Detective Miller welcomed me into the room. He was a heavy-set man in his mid-forties, with a rough jaw and thinning brown hair. He'd interviewed me the night I'd been assaulted, and I thought he looked even more exhausted now than he had then. In an odd way, it was comforting to know that this case was taking a toll on him, too. It let me know he cared about getting justice for Rose. Unfortunately, he thought that meant arresting Tate, so I had to be wary of him.
I sat down in one of chairs across from the desk, and Tom took the other. I was disappointed to see Tate wasn't there. I was tempted to ask where he was, but I didn't want to appear nervous, so I kept my mouth shut.
"I just have a few questions to ask you," Miller began with a rough smile, but it wasn't as easy as he hoped. While I sat and smiled demurely, the detective and Tom performed an intricate dance together. Miller would speak, Tom would cut him off. Miller would imply, Tom would confound. Miller would ask, Tom would object. It would have been very fascinating to watch if I hadn't been caught in the middle of it all.
In the end, Miller found ways to ask his questions that Tom found acceptable, and he would nod his head at me, giving me permission to answer. I would speak calmly with cool confidence, giving the impression that I had nothing to hide. Things got particularly sticky when it came to the sex swing, but as Tom forced Miller to keep the conversation focused on the blood stains and not what we were doing in there, I was very grateful to have an experienced lawyer on my side.
"And, you had not seen the blood stains the last time you were in there?" Miller asked me.
"Objection.," Tom interjected. "You know my client was never in the room before the night in question. We've been over this. Quit rehashing old details and trying to harass my client."
"I thought Tate Holland was your client," Miller pouted gruffly, rubbing the scar above his left brow.
"I am representing them both. Now, if there are no more questions for Miss Clare…"
"I think that about wraps it up." Miller sighed, and we all stood up. I was so relieved. I couldn't wait to get out of there. As I reached for the door handle, Miller called out casually, "Thanks for your time, Rachelle. You did a great job. How long did it take to practice your answers?"
"Not long," I said, proudly – then suddenly realized my mistake. I started to gasp, then turned it into a light-hearted laugh. Tom laughed, too, and we turned the slip into a joke as if I'd just been kidding.
Turning serious, I looked at Miller and said, "I hope you're able to catch the real killer now. I still have nightmares about the night I could have been killed. Thank God I was only knocked unconscious and c
aught a glimpse of those shoes or Stuart would have gotten away with everything. Promise me you'll get him for me so my nightmares can finally stop."
"We'll get him." Miller gave my hand a firm handshake to seal the vow. He snatched up his notepad and strode purposefully from the room. I followed him down the hallway into Tate's bedroom where the forensic team had finished their investigation and were packing up all their equipment.
"Come on, men. Get this back to the lab and let me know the minute you've finished your tests," Miller barked. "Give me something that proves Stuart Haynes was in that fucking room. I want to know that his prints were on the swing and that the DNA samples found on the body of Rose Landon are a perfect match for him.”
"We need samples of his hair, blood, and prints before we can begin," one the techs said.
"Don't worry; you'll have them. I've got Stuart’s address. I'm going to get him right now. With any luck, he'll be wearing those damn shoes, and if not, we'll search his home until we find them. If they have one thread of carpet that matches the fibers from the body or one speck of blood, he's going to prison for a long time. Now let's get to work."
Miller stormed from the room with determination blazing in his eyes. I'd thought he was a jerk when he was unfairly questioning me and Tate in the past, but for the first time, I was able to see him as a dedicated cop passionate about justice.
As the rest of the officers and forensics techs slowly emptied from the room, Tate appeared from down the hall. He put his arms around me and held me close.
"How did it go?" he asked me with a worried frown.
"Good, thanks to Tom." I smiled. "Miller is going to pick up Stuart right now."
"You mean, this could all be over soon?" Tate's eyes glistened with emotion. "This whole nightmare of wondering if I'll be arrested for murder, of worrying for your safety and Halle's, of feeling guilty that Rose died because I failed to protect her? Oh thank God, it will finally be done, and life can go back to normal."
"Don't start popping champagne corks yet," Tom warned. "They have to get Stuart into custody, question him again, compare the new evidence to the old. Stuart will have a lawyer, and there will be a trial. This whole thing is a long way from being over."
