Collusion

by De'nesha Diamond

  Lautner’s smile returned. “Let me first start off by saying that it’s nice to see you looking so well. I can’t tell you how much your parents worried about you over the years.”

  “I bet.”

  “No. I mean it. Cargill, particularly, took it hard. He looked everywhere for you. Broke his heart.”

  Abrianna said nothing.

  “You don’t have to believe me. You should hear it from Cargill.”

  He turned, and Abrianna noticed the screen over his left shoulder for the first time. Lautner powered it on, and Cargill’s smiling face came onto the screen.

  Abrianna tensed while her heart rate sped up.

  “At last,” Cargill said, eyes sparkling. “There’s my little girl. All grown up.”

  Against her will, Abrianna’s confidence weakened. Too many emotions flooded her all at once, and she couldn’t process them.

  Concerned, Cargill asked, “What’s the matter? Don’t you have anything to say to your dear old dad?”

  Lautner offered his commentary. “I think she’s overwhelmed.”

  Her father laughed. “I bet you’re right.”

  Abrianna took a deep breath. “What do you want?”

  Cargill’s grin expanded. “Actually, I’d love for my favorite girl to pay her dear dad a visit. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you. At one point I was convinced that you were dead. I’m so happy to have been wrong about something.”

  “Go to hell.”

  He chuckled, but anger sparked in his eyes. “So it’s true. You’re still angry at me.” He sighed. “That’s unfortunate. Still, you should know that family affairs should remain within the family. This news I hear about you working with the U.S. attorney’s office, I got to tell you, it troubles me.”

  “Good.”

  Cargill’s brows lifted with surprise.

  Even Lautner’s smug smile shaved off a few inches.

  “You do not want to mess with me on this, little girl,” Cargill threatened. “You are in way over your head. You will tell those nosy feds that you had a change of heart, and you will shut up about all the things that you think you know—or you’ll deal with me. Cross me and I’ll come after you with everything I got. You’re not invisible anymore.”

  She nodded as her heart pounded in a normal rhythm. “Do you know what else I’m not?” she asked coolly. “I’m not a little girl. I’m not afraid of you or your little Dragons. You want to dance, daddy dearest? Then we can dance.” With the clench of her fist, the computer screen exploded as if it had been shot.

  Lautner launched out of his seat. “What the fuck?”

  Bowen rushed for the emergency fire extinguisher in the corner of the room. By the time the minor chaos subsided, Abrianna had stormed out.

  53

  On Face the Press, Peter Lautner sat next to the equally arrogant pundit James Crystal. The fever pitch for Cargill Parker’s arrest and conviction now required a public defense to combat, the growing whispers of Abrianna Parker being a witness for the prosecution. Had Cargill not been such a public political donor who bought politicians to pass legislation that angered the activist left, Lautner’s press offensive wouldn’t have been necessary.

  Chuck Horton greeted the audience, “Joining us today on the show is Peter Lautner, personal attorney for the now embroiled multibillionaire Cargill Parker. Parker is currently charged with operating a sex-trafficking ring with minor children out of his private and exclusive Lynnwood Club. Welcome to the show.”

  Lautner flashed his bright veneers. “Thank you for extending the invitation.”

  “Well, we’re going to open the floor to you, Mr. Lautner. There is already a lot in the stew on this. The charges leveled at your client are quite serious.”

  “Yes, they are. And we have every confidence that our client will be exonerated on every count.”

  Horton looked incredulous. “That’s quite a prediction, given the amount of evidence the prosecution has amassed.”

  “I know that the prosecution claims to have a lot of evidence, but they have yet to produce any of it.”

  “They’re not in court yet.”

  “Exactly, which means that they can say anything they want to until the rubber meets the road.”

  “What about the children that were removed from the property?”

  “We plan to argue that those children were not on the property prior to the unlawful invasion of the federal government. We plan to prove that this witch hunt was launched by the former president as a desperate attempt to lash back at Mr. Parker’s estranged daughter.”

  “So you guys are going full conspiracy with this?”

  “No. We’re going with the truth.”

  “Then what do you say to the growing speculation that Mr. Parker’s estranged daughter will be a top witness for the prosecution?”

  “I guess that it makes sense if they’re going to claim that Abrianna was there that night, too. One lie usually follows another.”

  “Whoa.” Horton reeled back with an impressive smile. “I doubt they’re claiming that Ms. Parker was there that night, but more likely she’s being called to testify about her past experience in living with Cargill Parker. She pretty much alluded on a competing network that something nefarious went on in her home.”

  Lautner’s smile turned oily. “Now we’ve come to an uncomfortable and unfortunate topic. It is well known Mr. Parker’s daughter had gone through something very traumatic at the hands of serial killer Craig Avery. I doubt many of us could even imagine the horrors she went through. But Mr. and Mrs. Parker fear that whatever happened to Abrianna in that madman’s basement might have affected her memory. The Parkers are a very loving couple who opened their home to a child who was in desperate need of a family who could love her and provide a privileged life where she wanted for nothing.”

  Intrigued, Horton leaned forward. “If that’s the case, why did Ms. Parker run away from home at fourteen?”

  “Teenage rebellion.” Lautner laughed. “Hell. I ran away from home when I was eight because my father took away my bike for a month. It’s unfortunate that a small, normal childish action landed her in the hands of a madman.”

  “And that’s really your client’s position?”

  “It’s the truth. You know, Chuck, as parents you can do everything right and still end up with a willful child.”

  “So you’re saying that Ms. Parker was a troubled child?”

  Lautner shook his head as if he hated to be the bearer of such news. “Unfortunately, yes. When Abrianna was nine, she was involved in an incident that, uh, unfortunately led to the death of Mr. and Mrs. Parker’s biological son, Samuel.”

  * * *

  “That lowdown, dirty muthafucka,” Abrianna swore, staring at Lautner’s smug expression on the television.

  Kadir placed a comforting hand on Abrianna’s shoulder. “Don’t let him get to you.”

  She shook her head and backed away. “He doesn’t think that I’ll go through with it.”

  “Who, your father?”

  “Yeah. He sent that slimy fuck onto that show as a warning to me. Talk and he’ll tell the world what I did.”

  Kadir cocked his head. “And what exactly did you do?”

  Abrianna sucked in a breath to calm down, but it didn’t work. Her eyes burned, but she blinked back the tears. “This has got to stop. I can’t let the past keep doing this to me. I can’t.” Suddenly, she was tired. Tired of running from what she’d done. Tired of feeling guilty and punishing herself. It had to stop.

  “Bree?” Kadir pulled her into his arms. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. We’ll work through it together.”

  She looked at him, her confession on the tip of her tongue when her phone rang from the bedroom. Abrianna welcomed the excuse to flee Kadir’s intense gaze. “Hold on.”

  “Bree—”

  “I’ll be right back.” She rushed out of the bedroom, swiping her eyes. When she reached the phone, she noted the call was from Kellerm
an. “Shit.”

  “Abrianna?” Kellerman asked.

  “Yeah. It’s me.”

  “Look. I saw a segment on Face the Press—”

  “I know. My father’s personal attorney was on there.”

  “What is he talking about? Who is this Samuel? I don’t have any record of a Samuel Parker.”

  She shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “Abrianna, talk to me. Randall is going to have my head when she sees this clip. We have a lot banking on your testimony.”

  “Look. It’s nothing. It’s . . . a threat.”

  “A threat?”

  Abrianna’s head buzzed while the corners of her eyes twitched. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Take care of what? Take care of it how?”

  “I’ll call you later.”

  “Abrianna, we have to—”

  She disconnected the call and then quickly searched for her purse and dug around. For a moment she feared that she’d thrown the number away, but then she found the folded piece of paper at the bottom. I can’t believe that I’m about to do this. Abrianna took a deep breath and dialed the number. Hang up, her inner voice screamed while the line rang. She was tempted. Her hand even tightened on the phone. Do I really want to do this? She didn’t, but suddenly she felt the need to see Cargill finally pay for all the hell that he caused, not only in her life, but for all those children that he and his secret boys’ club herded through the Lynnwood Club. In a short time, she’d gotten used to the idea of him being behind bars for the rest of his life or, even better, getting the needle. She couldn’t give those fantasies up now.

  “Hello.”

  Abrianna’s heart stopped at the familiar voice that had haunted her for years. “Hello, Marion.”

  54

  Despite Cargill’s disapproval, Tina Bouchard and Marion Parker had been best friends for twenty-five years. When Tina was married to fellow Dragon member Jean Luc Bouchard, Cargill didn’t have a problem. It was only after Tina’s husband mysteriously dropped dead among strong whispers of having been poisoned that she lost Cargill’s approval. In her only act of defiance, Marion succeeded in having covert brunches and the occasion dinner with her friend.

  Today, Marion arranged a meeting with Abrianna to take place at one of Tina’s rental condos in Wardman Towers. Marion arrived an hour early, paranoid about whether Cargill had placed a tail on her.

  Tina, decked head-to-toe in pink Chanel, opened the front door, took one look at Marion’s huge Jackie O glasses, and knew that her girl was hiding another black eye. “Why haven’t you killed that bastard already?” she asked, shaking her head.

  “Don’t start. Can I come in?” Marion asked.

  Biting and ruining her perfect red lip, Tina stepped back and held open the door.

  Marion entered the condo, removing her shades.

  Tina sighed. “Let me take your coat.”

  “Thank you for allowing me to use your place for this meeting.”

  “No need to thank me. You know I’ll do anything for you.” She hung up the coat in the closet. “Including acquiring a non-traceable poison to slip into your husband’s bourbon bottle.”

  “Can we please have one afternoon where you’re not plotting Cargill’s death?”

  “I guess—but it won’t be as much fun.” With a catwalk strut, Tina led the way to the living room. “I made cocktails. I figured your and Abrianna’s talk would require alcohol.”

  “Thanks. I could use some right now. I’m so nervous.”

  “I can imagine.” Tina handed her a Cinque Terre and took one for herself. “Bottoms up.”

  Marion sipped, but wished for something stronger.

  “Are you really ready for this?” Tina asked.

  “Hell no.” Marion’s hands shook. “I don’t think I’d ever really believed that Bree would agree to meet. I hoped, of course. But . . . so much time and too much history has passed between us.”

  “Are you going to tell her the truth about—?”

  “I . . . I can’t.” Marion shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “Have you not seen the news? Cargill’s piece of shit lawyer dragged Samuel into this mess. It’s the new shiny object in this political soap opera.”

  “I know, but I can’t. It’s too risky. She may use the information in court, and Cargill will . . .”

  “Which leads us back to killing the bastard. All roads lead there, you know?”

  A tear skipped down Marion’s face. “You always make things sound like it’s so simple.”

  “That’s because they are simple. You overthink things. It’s way past time for you to be a woman of action again.”

  Marion shook her head and moved toward the ceiling-to-floor window and stared out at the slate-gray sky while snow flurries dusted the landscape.

  Tina remained like a rabid dog with a bone. “Think about it, Marion. Everything goes away with him out of the picture: the press, the protesters, the sex-trafficking scandal—everything. And then you’ll have a real opportunity to be with your children. Don’t you want that?”

  “Stop it.” Marion lifted her head in a silent prayer before admitting, “I’m not as strong as you are.”

  Tina came up behind her and squeezed her shoulders. “Nonsense. You’re stronger than you know. You showed courage before. You can do it again.”

  Marion turned into Tina’s arms a second before their lips brushed in a tender kiss.

  A rap on the front door, and Marion broke away as if the police were hammering it down. “Cargill.”

  “What? Calm down.” Tina turned for the door, but Marion grabbed her right arm.

  “He may have had me followed.”

  “You’re paranoid.” Tina attempted to pull away. “It’s probably Bree.”

  “No. It’s too early.”

  “You were early.” She wrenched free and headed toward the door.

  Marion shook her head, frightened. She glanced around to note what other exits she could use, but unless she was going to throw herself over the balcony, she had no choice but to face whatever was coming her way.

  Tina opened the door.

  “Hello. I’m not sure if I’m at the right place. I’m looking for Marion Parker?”

  At Abrianna’s husky voice, Marion’s fear downgraded from a ten to an eight.

  Tina’s lyrical voice floated throughout the condo. “Hello, Bree. It’s good seeing you again. Please, come in.”

  Confused, Abrianna hesitated. After reassessing the elegant woman, she crossed the threshold. She glanced around with an appreciative eye at the place’s sophistication.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  Abrianna frowned.

  “I don’t blame you. The last time I saw you, you were a lot smaller,” the woman said, closing the door. “I’m Tina Bouchard. I’m a good friend of your mother’s.”

  The name rang a bell, albeit a small one. “Is Marion here?”

  “Yes. She’s in the living room. May I take your jacket?”

  Abrianna shook her head. “No. That’s okay. I’m not staying long.”

  Disappointment rippled across the woman’s porcelain face and then disappeared. “This way.”

  Abrianna followed behind the woman’s rhythmic hips into a large living room where a nervous Marion stood by the window.

  The mother’s and daughter’s gazes connected.

  Butterflies Abrianna tried to ignore took flight while her heart pounded against her chest.

  The corners of Marion’s lips quivered. “Bree, it’s so good to see you.”

  Abrianna’s throat clogged.

  “Cocktail?” Tina asked, extending a drink toward her.

  Abrianna accepted the glass and then downed half of it before remembering to say, “Thank you.”

  Tina smiled. “I’ll leave you two alone so that you can talk.”

  Abrianna caught the nod of encouragement that Tina sent Marion before strutting away.

  Alone, Abrian
na and Marion resumed their silent evaluation of each other. Abrianna had changed a lot, while Marion looked like she always had: elegant, polished, and failing at covering a black eye.

  “Thank you for agreeing to come,” Marion started. “I’ve dreamed about this moment for so long that—”

  “I didn’t come here to fulfill your dreams,” Abrianna said. “I’m here because I want you to help me take down that monster that you’re still pretending to be married to.”

  Marion flinched and then dropped her gaze to the deep pile carpet. “Bree, that’s . . .”

  “What? You’re still too chickenshit to do it? Like you were too chickenshit to do anything when it comes to him? Let me guess: That black eye is another love pat from him? What did you forget to do—run his bathwater on time? Did you forget to have a drink ready when he walked in the door? Or maybe you didn’t have his latest sex toy dressed in the right costume for playtime?”

  “Bree, please. Don’t be cruel.” Marion sipped her drink.

  “Cruel?” Anger flashed through Abrianna.

  The cocktail glass in Marion’s hand exploded.

  Marion leaped backward, stunned. “Oh, God. I made a mess.” She started to head off, to clean it up.

  “Leave it,” Abrianna snapped. “It can wait. You know you should be on trial, right along with Cargill and his Dragons, don’t you? I don’t know why I’ve covered for you.”

  Marion cowered from her daughter’s anger. “Look. I understand you’re angry and frustrated. I really do. And I had hoped that we—”

  “No.” Abrianna shook her head. “There is and there will never be a ‘we.’ You are not my mother and I am not your daughter. You’re a coked-out, drunk bitch that let that man destroy so many lives. I can’t even believe that you’re still alive. You should have killed yourself a long time ago.”

  Tears skipped down Marion’s face as she shook her head. She looked lost, broken.

  Abrianna sneered, “No. You don’t get to stand there and make me feel like shit. Like I’m the one who fucked up your life!” She paced while the hairs on her body rose.

  “You didn’t fuck up my life,” Marion whispered. “It was fucked up the minute I came into the world. All I have ever done was try to survive it. I know that a lot of times I came off as cruel or indifferent—but nothing could be further from the truth.”