I take a deep breath, and smile. "I think I'll take a bath and turn my brain off for a while, if that's okay with you?"
"Of course, it is." He raises my hands to his lips and kisses them. "You take as long as you need. I'm going to finish up some work, then we can have a nice quiet dinner and talk all about Paul and Ryan's wedding."
I snort. "You want to talk wedding plans with me?"
"Absolutely." His grin lights up his entire face, and there's a glint in his eyes that ignites a flame in me. "I'll do anything you need me to, if it helps you relax and enjoy dinner –" He kisses the fingers on my right hand. "And the night –" His lips glide to my left hand, mirroring the action. "With me." His lips press hard against my ring finger, a jolt of electricity runs through my veins, strikes my heart, and shocks my core.
"I'm going to make love to you all night long, make you forget about everything but you and me and how perfectly our bodies fit together." His voice lowers to whisper. "I promise."
I know he'll keep his promise, and I've half a mind to skip my bath and let him take control of my body, but he stands and pulls me up.
"Enjoy your bath, beautiful. I'll get you when dinner's ready."
I smile but can't pull my eyes from his. There's so much I want to say to him – the one thing I never considered until his lips caressed my ring finger. But the words are too jumbled in my head. I need time to examine what this new feeling is that's bouncing around in my heart and soul. I'm too exhausted, overwhelmed, and confusion has a tight grip on my brain. Alex is right, I need to relax and let go of everything.
"I love you, Alex."
His fingers glide over my cheek and he gives me a soft, chaste kiss. "I love you, too, Kylie. Always and forever."
19
Reyes enters my office, a manila envelope in his hand. "Stopped by to check in with Matt, and he asked me to deliver this to you." He places the envelope on my desk and drops into the chair across from me, nods his head towards Lisa, who's sitting next to him, and peers expectantly at me.
"And what is this?" I ask and lift the clasps on the envelope.
"Psychologist’s report."
I peruse the document, skim the bullet points to get a general idea of the report, and hand it over to Lisa. "Can you make some copies of this? One for each of us and a spare?"
"Sure. Want me to schedule a deposition of –" she flips to the back of the document, "Dr. Mason?"
"You read my mind."
"I'm on it."
I miss working with Lisa. She's here when her law school schedule permits, but we have a symbiotic cohesiveness when we work up a case. She's the best of both worlds—smart and organized. She'll be an amazing attorney.
She drops my copy of the psychologist’s report on the desk.
I glance up at her. "Thanks." I pick it up, ready to dive into it, and find a way to discredit this asshat.
"Dr. Mason is available at the end of the week," she adds. "I put it on your calendar for ten o'clock on Friday morning."
"Perfect."
"I need to take off a little early – I have a couple of cases to read before my Con law class this afternoon."
"Ugh," I moan, and an overly dramatic shiver runs through me. "I think I'm experiencing law school PTSD being around you."
"Yeah, well, you could've warned me about the Socratic method of humiliation."
I shake my head. "No way – misery loves company. It's a rite of passage you have to endure to be a part of the club."
"Awesome," she says, flatly. "Any other joys I can expect?"
"Bar exam study – where you relearn your entire first year of law school in six weeks. Then there's the bar exam –"
Lisa covers her ears and closes her eyes. "Stop, you fiend."
"You asked." I shrug my shoulders.
She shoots me the bird, turns on her heel, and leaves.
20
"Good morning, gentlemen." I stand behind my chair in the conference room, directly across from Dr. Gabriel Mason.
Beside him is Geoffrey Hamilton. Late fifty-something, good-looking silver fox, impeccably dressed. He pulls on his shirt cuffs, exposing gold and diamond cufflinks. Slowly, deliberately, his eyes take a demeaning journey up and down my body. I want to vomit, but plaster on the sweetest smile I can muster. I'm used to misogynists eye-fucking me, and assuming my only value resides between my legs.
You go right ahead and underestimate me, prick.
"Gentlemen, this is District Attorney, Matt Gaines."
Matt stands next to me and tosses his legal pad on the table. Until now, his only involvement in this case consists of daily phone calls to me for updates, and random office visits. We decided I'd take the lead on this case since my caseload is – well – this case.
But Matt is even more hands-off than I expected him to be. This is a big case, for him to be staying in the background like this is highly unusual. He's typically a media hound, and loves being in the center of it all. Lisa and I joke he is vying for "soundbite of the day" on all the local news programs. Something must be up with him. I can ask, but if he wants to talk to me, he will. I have enough on my plate at the moment.
"Matt, this is Dr. Mason. I assume you already know Mr. Hamilton?"
Matt nods, gives Hamilton a tight smile, and takes the seat next to me.
"Oh, yes," Hamilton says, and leans back casually in his chair. "Matt and I go way back. I see you still have your trainee program – but letting one of them talk and run a deposition – this is the first. She must be very good at other things, too." He's addressing Matt but winks at me.
Asshole.
Matt blanches and fidgets with his tie. "Uh, Kylie isn't a trainee. She’s an experienced criminal defense attorney. She worked at Jack Daniel's firm before going solo."
"Oh, my apologies, Ms. Tate. I didn't realize."
Bullshit. You’d have to be buried six feet under not to know who I am. I've been in the news nearly as much as he has lately.
Hamilton is very adept at knocking young lawyers off their game. Unfortunately for him, I'm not some young lawyer, and I won't be intimidated.
I glance at the court reporter who will be taking the testimony. "If you're all set, I think we can get started."
I open my file and pull out the legal pad with my questions on it. When I look up, Dr. Mason—who I'm guessing is in his seventies, judging by the deep wrinkles covering his face—is stroking his white goatee, and staring out the window.
"Dr. Mason, your report clearly points to Alex Stone as the person responsible in the death of Ellen Stone Wells. Is that a fair assertion?"
"I believe, based on the information, that is the most likely scenario.”
“Why didn’t Mr. Wells bring up his theory Mr. Stone was responsible for the death of Ellen Wells.”
“The severe emotional distress of losing his wife – potentially at the hands of his son – clouded Mr. Wells’ judgment making it impossible for him to clearly understand the full implications of his actions in providing his defense the information which may have cleared him." He pours himself a glass of water and slowly takes a sip, and if I didn't know better, I'd say he's bored.
"Additionally," he continues, "Mr. Wells experienced severe insecurity in facing a jury with a defense that ultimately would convict his son of killing his mother. He had acute anxiety that people sitting on a jury would have a hard time believing a child could commit such a heinous act. The truth is – they would have. The prospect of his son's testimony and the fear the jury would convict based solely on emotion, and not fact, caused Mr. Wells to experience intense panic attacks."
"How is that different from any other person on trial for murder?" I ask.
"In Mr. Wells’ case, the anxiety was so extreme it impaired him mentally and led him to conclude he had no other choice but to keeps quiet about the potential that Alex was the true killer."
"Is that supposition?"
"It's my medical opinion."
"Based on what?"
&nbs
p; A smug smile slides across his face." Thirty-six years of experience."
I glance at my next set of questions. Wow, Dr. Mason has a God complex like I've never really seen before. "If, as you contend, Alex Stone is the individual prone to violent outbursts, why did his siblings – Patricia and William – state their father was often the one drunk and violent?"
Mason squints his eyes, a hard smile on his face, and leans across the conference table. "What you have to understand is the constant fear and threat of violence against them from Alex. Their youth and inexperience did not allow them to understand that, by informing the authorities of their brother’s true nature, they could escape any further violence at his hands."
"Okay," I respond.
"Additionally, they were about to finally have a normal family life, residing with their aunt and uncle, and would've done whatever necessary to protect that new lifestyle."
"Even if it meant residing with their violent, murdering brother, as you allege, and sending their father to prison?"
"Yes… and there are three siblings."
"Excuse me?"
"You only stated two siblings – Patricia and William. There is a third sibling, Ellie."
I nod slowly and tilt my head to the side. "Yes, but Ellie was just a baby at the time, so I'm assuming she would have been unable to verbally substantiate anything."
Mason shifts in his seat, and quickly averts his eyes away. "Yes, that's true."
He didn't know Ellie's age at the time of her mother's death?
"Do you have any other questions, Ms. Tate?" Hamilton asks, and checks his watch.
I glance at my questions. Why didn't I take notes? The need to make Mason feel as if there was no value in his words worth noting is now kicking me in the ass. Why am I struggling to organize my thoughts, and reevaluate the doctor's answers?
"Ms. Tate?" Hamilton's nose flares, and he looks perturbed.
"Dr. Mason when did you meet with Mr. Wells?" I ask.
"I'm sorry?"
"The date you met to evaluate Mr. Wells for this report?"
Dr. Mason cocks his head to the side. "My conclusions are based on information provided by the defense."
"So you haven't actually discussed any of the events with Mr. Wells?"
"No, it wasn't necessary."
I glance over at Matt, his arms across his chest, apparently enjoying the show. "Okay, well, I think that about does it. Thank you for coming out on short notice Dr. Mason." I walk around the conference table and shake hands with Mason and Hamilton before I pass them off to Lisa to show them out. Rude? Yes, but that's what I'm going for. Mason and Hamilton can kiss my ass.
Matt picks up his legal pad and tucks it under his arm. "I trust you got what you need to discredit the doctor?"
"Oh, yeah," I smile, a giggle building in my chest. "I don't know who I'll feel sorrier for after I decimate Mason on the stand – him or Hamilton?"
* * *
* * *
"So, the deposition went well?"
I look over my shoulder to find Reyes standing behind me as I refill my coffee mug. Right behind me. Intimately close.
Uncomfortably close.
"Yeah, I think so."
I step to the side, regain my personal space, and walk back to my office.
Reyes follows me, and leans against the doorframe, his arms across his chest. "Are you sticking around this afternoon?"
"At least another hour or so. The coroner is going to be calling me in the next few minutes. I'll probably take off after that."
"All right, well, if you don't need me, I think I'll call it a day."
"Sure, there's no reason to stick around here. Take off, have a good weekend, and I'll see you on Monday."
He turns to leave and stops. "You, too – have a good weekend, I mean."
I smile and nod. The horrible awkwardness I expected after our kiss has been manageable, but there's been enough tension Lisa asked me what's up. I didn't go into specifics, in case she decides to tell her boyfriend, Jake. I'm not sure what to do with that information, and I need time to figure out how to explain what happened to Alex.
The phone rings, and I pick it up as Reyes waves goodbye and heads for the stairs. I grab a legal pad from my desk drawer. "Dr. Loftus, thanks so much for calling."
* * *
* * *
The call with the coroner takes longer than I anticipated, but I now have a very clear understanding of death by strangulation. My phone beeps with a text message from Alex, and I hit the hands-free button to call him.
"Where are you?" he asks.
"In the car heading home. You?"
"Already home. Did you get my text?"
"Yeah, but I didn't read it. I'm driving, Mr. Overly Protective."
"Good girl. Safety first. I was just checking to see what you want to do tonight. Stay in? Go out?"
"Hmm, stay in, order pizza, and watch a movie. And drink a bottle of wine – or two."
Alex laughs, and it warms my heart. I just wish I could see his face right now. He's adorably sexy when he laughs, and lately, there hasn't been a great many things for him to laugh about.
"Okay, I'll see you when you get here, and we can discuss who picks the movie."
"Arm wrestle?" I ask.
"I'm thinking the kind of wrestling that requires us to be in bed." There's something about the way his voice drops when he's being seductive that nearly makes me moan.
"Intriguing suggestion, but how do we determine a winner?"
"Who cares? If we do it right, we'll both be winners."
"I'll care, but if the standard is satisfaction, I'll do my best to make sure you are blissfully happy while I watch a chick flick."
21
I end the call and step on the accelerator, anxious to get home. Alex is in a playful mood and I want to enjoy it. So many obstacles have been in the way of our happiness lately, and we need some time to kick back and shut out the world. A little time to reconnect and rediscover each other.
Alex's house sits in the middle of twenty acres, where land meets the ocean, and the triangular compound is secluded from the world. Passing through the gates and onto the property at the end of a long day is tantamount to stepping through a portal and into another world. It's my sanctuary and I'm in desperate need of that at the moment.
I crank up the music and dance in my seat and sing about summertime with Kid Rock at the top of my lungs. A black car pulls up beside me, so I take my foot off the gas to slow down and let them pass. It's a two-lane road, and the other car is in the oncoming traffic lane. It shoots ahead of me, pulls back into the lane, and immediately slows down—nearly coming to a stop. I slam on my brakes, the nose of my car dips down, and I narrowly avoid a collision.
"What the hell is this jackass doing?" I take note of the car, in case I need to report the driver to the police. Black BMW, vanity plates.
JAS.
My heart beats wildly in my chest. John. My hands shake. I grasp the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turn white. Air bursts out of my lungs, and I’m desperate to drag in another breath.
What do I do? The white noise in my head blocks my ability to see options with any clarity. Call 911. But it will take them forever to get here. Too much can happen in that amount of time.
I glance around. I'm not far from the gate – maybe two miles. If I can just get to that point, I'll be okay. I can get down the driveway, and into the safety of the house.
Then Alex and Jake can deal with John.
I almost smile at the thought of the justified revenge the two will mete out on John.
John's BMW slows to a crawl. I'm pretty sure my Porsche can blow the paint off his car. I pull to the left, and stomp on the gas. The BMW swings in front of me. I swerve to the right, speed up, and shift into a higher gear.
John's car lurches to the right and forces me onto the shoulder. My tires hit the gravel, kicking little rocks up in the dusty wake. The back end of the Porsche fishtails. I yank the steer
ing wheel to the left, narrowly avoiding the trees lining the road. I veer back onto the lane and miss taking John's back bumper off by mere inches.
A thin layer of perspiration covers my skin. The break in the trees, where the driveway begins, is just ahead. I have to make it that far. Stopping now is not an option. If John has gone so far as to break out of custody, he will make good on the pain he threatens to inflict on me. Even if Alex realizes something is wrong when I don't get home within the next few minutes and checks the tracking device on my phone – there's little to no chance of finding me before John kills me.
The BMW lazily glides between the lanes in front of me, mocking me, aware I can't get around him. Dragging in large gulps of air, I try to avoid a full-blown anxiety attack.
Suddenly, the BMW bolts way ahead of me. I exhale. My shoulder muscles relax, and I massage the back of my neck, the tension slowly dissipates. The road dead-ends about two miles past the gate to Alex's property. By the time John gets to the end, and is forced to turn around, I'll be halfway down the driveway.
Safe.
Tires squeal. The BMW spins around, and races toward me. I stomp on the gas pedal. Please, God, get me to the gate before John. The distance between us is dwindling. The front end of his car is lined up perfectly with mine. At this speed, a head-to-head collision would be fatal for both of us.
Fuck him. He can kill himself—I hope he does—but he's not going to decide my fate. I press the remote, the gate slowly opens. John is closing in fast, and it doesn't look as if he's veering from his course and will hit me head-on.
I clutch tightly to the steering wheel. Tremors ravage my body. My heart beats loudly in my ears, nearly drowning out my pleading cries.
The gate is nearly open. I drift to the center of the road and straddle the double yellow line. The BMW mimics the move. He's only a few hundred feet away.
Jesus, he's going to kill us!
I wrench the steering wheel to the left. The car skids across the road, slides, and nearly slams into the metal gate post.
Revenge Page 14
