She would never see Everett again.
After an hour, Paul showed up in the office. Someone must have called him; he had on his scrubs and Crocs. That was not his style.
“Let me take you home.”
“He’s gone, Paul. He’s gone.”
“Oh, jitterbug.” He hoisted her off the floor and held her. “I wish I could fix this.”
“I loved him, Paul. Not the way I love Killian, but I did. I wanted to see him happy. He deserved happy. His little girl deserved happy.”
“Come on, Cece. I’ll take you home.”
She clutched the box to her chest as Paul led her out of the library—straight into the little crowd of reporters and cameras.
They crowded in on her, demanding and yelling and shoving her around. It was only Paul’s massive presence that kept her on her feet and moving forward.
Someone reached out of the crowd and knocked the box out of her hands. It hit the ground with a sound that shattered her soul, and she waited for the camera flashes to start taking pictures of her most intimate secrets she shared only with her slaughtered lover.
It never happened.
Looking down, she saw that Paul had stopped the box from doing anything with a stomp of his foot. It was held to the ground, closed tight. His hand flew out, and his infamous temper came out as he grabbed the collar of the perpetrator. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You have the balls to attack a woman who is clearly stressed out?!” He hauled him close but spoke to everyone. “Anyone lays a goddamn hand on my fiancée, and I will bring the full power of the attorney general down on your fucking ass. Understood?”
The man staggered back once Paul released him and disappeared behind the rest of the small crowd. Paul scooped up the box, making sure the lid was on tight. He handed it back to Cece, who clutched it to her chest again.
Putting a hand on the small of her back, he guided her through the rest of the crowd.
He took her back to her cottage, where Emmy and Vanity were waiting. They stayed the night, Vanity on the couch, and Emmy in the bed with her. It might have been odd to others to have a grown, almost-married woman in the bed with her, but she needed someone there. It couldn’t be Killian, or Paul, or John, so having the woman who was quickly becoming her best friend was the next best choice.
Emmy had to leave to get ready for the funeral early in the morning, but Vanity had brought her stuff with her and helped Cece get ready.
Garabaldi was there at precisely eight in the morning to escort them, and he spent the day working to keep the press off of her, Saundra, and Imogene.
Seeing his little girl nearly broke Cece. She was crying so hard her tiny body shook with each gasp and sob. Saundra was stoic and didn’t shed a tear, but when they were at the graveside, she cracked and started crying.
Chas had been with Saundra all day, the portrait of staid companionship. He stood tall, surveying the people around him. He made sure his Amens were the loudest, that he was seen and that he was the picture of a good man with his woman in a terrible position.
But the moment Saundra lost her composure and wept at the loss of the man she’s spent ten years married to, Charles turned his gaze on Cece and looked at her with gut-twisting contempt.
Cece was pretty sure that whatever sibling love she had for Charles Robbe dried up in that very moment. There was nothing honorable or God-fearing about him—he was a sociopathic narcissist. In the next instant, Cece vowed to get her sister back, get her the fuck away from Charles Robbe, and cut all ties with her family—even if it meant living in a cardboard box.
Cece was given a white rose to place to Everett’s coffin and felt new tears on her face. He had given her a dozen white roses every week when they were dating. He had sent them to the library and insisted that she keep them on her desk, so no one would ever doubt she was loved. She’d never told him how much those flowers meant to her, in a family that didn’t do love. She would walk in each morning and sniff the flowers gently, inhaling their scent. That simple act had made her smile for at least an hour every morning.
Holding up the flower, she smelled it carefully.
Its scent was still that of love, of caring, of nights full of kinky fucking and tender lovemaking, of...Everett.
With that memory in her heart, Cece approached the casket, now covered with roses. Mostly red, a few yellow, and fewer white. The flower fell across the others there, a pile of love, regret, forgiveness, caring, friendship, family, and memories of what could never be. Cece put her hand on the rich wood barely showing for all the flowers.
Everett. God, Everett. I swear your daughter will be safe, and I see your spirit rest. I will find out who did this to you. I loved you, Everett. We were good in our own ways. I will always remember you. Goodbye for now, sweet, filthy man.
Not bothering to wipe the tears, Cece walked from the casket. She was having trouble putting one foot in front of the other and wanted all of this to go away.
“You rancid whore!”
The slap was hard and totally unexpected. It spilled Cece to the ground, into the mud. She was barely able to stop herself from being completely covered as her purse flew out of her hands.
She stopped where she was and took a long deep breath. Looking up through the curtain of her now tousled hair, she found Saundra standing over her.
“You stinking slut. How dare you show up at my husband’s funeral?”
“I came to say goodbye to a friend. I have that right.”
“You were fucking my husband! You were tying him up and indulging his perversions! You’re a goddamn homewrecker!”
“Oh, no, I leave that up to you.”
The kick in her side was hard and swift. Cece sputtered, clutching her side. “How long did you wait to start fucking my brother?” Another kick. “Did you wait a day to start the rumors about your husband’s proclivities?” A third kick, and Cece started laughing. “Keep trying, bitch. I was teaching your husband how to enjoy pain.”
Saundra made an incoherent sound and dove at her, trying to wrap her hands around her neck. Cece’s jujitsu kicked in, and she flipped Saundra up and over and onto her back with a hard ‘whump’ onto the mud she was seated in.
Two strong arms grabbed Cece and pulled her out of the mud and away from Saundra. She managed to still herself and see who had grabbed her before tossing them on their ass.
Tracey Dunham stood there, staring at her disapprovingly. “Cece, come on. You’re only making your case worse.”
Cece was going to argue but stopped herself. There were plenty of people around who saw what had happened, and she knew that she hadn’t sullied herself any further than she already had been.
Dunham was holding her off Saundra, and Garabaldi was holding Saundra off her.
And Chas stood there staring at her, disgusted.
“Back it down, both of you,” Garabaldi snapped.
Cece was shocked; his command was firm and clear and almost what she would expect from a Dom. But he continued before she had a chance to think about it.
“Let’s take these ladies to separate corners to relax. Mrs. Millhouse, could you please take custody of Imogene while we speak to these two?” He paused. “Please.”
Dunham hauled her away from the casket and the scorching stare of her brother while Garabaldi did the same to Saundra. Once Cece had her feet under her, she turned her back to them and resolutely did not turn back.
“You’re making it worse.” Dunham’s stare was angry.
“How could I possibly do that? No one believes me, and now all of Pittsburgh thinks I’m a pervert. There is no getting worse.” Cece folded her arms. “She attacked me first. I was just here to say goodbye...” Her voice caught in her throat. “...to say...good...bye...” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Fuck.”
Dunham let out an exasperated sigh. “I know it wasn’t you. I know you wouldn’t have hurt him for anything in the world. You just have to be careful. You should have swung away from them and walked in a d
ifferent direction.”
“I lost one of my best friends, Dun.” She gasped between tears. “I’m not in the right frame of mind to notice if I’m near the fucking lying, cheating whore of a widow.”
“Frances, your mouth is going to get you in trouble.” Garabaldi’s stride took him past Dunham, grabbing Cece and pulling her along.
“Stop calling me Frances. It’s Cece. That’s all. Just Cece.”
Garabaldi pulled them out of the line of sight of the rest of the funeral. “Cece, you have got to be careful.”
“That is my fucking friend and lover in that box!” she growled the words quietly at him. “There was no way I was going to miss this! There was no way I wasn’t going to say goodbye. I—”
“Stop.” Garabaldi was firm. “I would never suggest such a thing. You should have asked Vanity or Dun to escort you to keep you away from Saundra.”
Cece wrapped her arms around herself. “I was doing fine. And I thought that Saundra had started to get over this shit. You said—”
“Do you see who she’s with?” Dun’s voice cut through her tirade. “I hate to say it, but your brother doesn’t like you, your lifestyle, your clothes or the way you hold a fork. Whatever forgiveness started to blossom in her heart was wiped out by your brother’s dick in her—”
“THANK you, that’s enough.” Cece held up her hand to stop the words.
“Well, it’s true,” Dunham asserted.
Cece didn’t have it in her to fight. “Are we done? Can I leave?”
“Yes,” Garabaldi said. “Cece. Please. Don’t go alone. Bring someone out with you. While this was clearly not your fault, we may not be that lucky next time.”
To her very core, she wanted to argue. But he was right. She was innocent and having someone there to help her and be a witness was the right thing to do. She nodded and walked slowly back to her car.
Where was Hannah?
* * *
“Marjorie Robbe is going to hold a press conference.”
Cece’s blood ran cold as the words processed through her brain. “She’s what?”
Franz took a deep breath, leaning forward on the impressive and imposing desk that dominated his Club Imperial office. “She’s called a press conference. She and Chas are going to talk to the media. I’ve been trying to get a copy of what they are going to talk about, but they aren’t releasing it.”
“Oh, God.” The bile rose again in her throat, and Cece briefly wondered if that was ever going to stop. “Why is she doing this?”
Garabaldi tapped the pencil on his notepad. “Officially, ostensibly, to plea for Hannah’s return.”
Emmy cleared her throat. “More likely, to disavow and expose you.”
“Humiliate.” Killian’s interjection was angry. “She just wants to humiliate you.”
Franz glanced over at Morgan and nodded. Morgan took a step forward from the bookcase where she had been leaning. “You need to talk to the press, Cece. You need to counter anything they say, and you need to assert your innocence. Hiding in here, in your cottage is only going to bring on speculation and derisive conclusions that will taint any jury pool in two hundred miles.”
“Jury pool?” Now she was sure she was going to puke.
“Jury. Pool.” Morgan enunciated the words. “Because God fucking forbid we get that far, you don’t want to have to move your trial out of Allegheny county. You want to be able to fight your accusation right here so people can see that you are innocent by a jury of their peers. If someone in Beaver county votes not guilty, feh! What do those hicks know? But if a jury from the ‘Burgh finds you innocent, well...you probably are.” Morgan sighed. “I really wish this wasn’t so much about appearances, but it really is.”
Cece took a deep breath. “I’m innocent. The evidence will show that. They’ll have to dismiss the charges before we even get to court.” She looked up at Morgan. “Right?”
“If I have anything to say about it.”
“I’m setting up a press conference for you,” Franz stated. There was no arguing that tone. It was his Dom voice, and he was having none of her bullshit. “Marjorie is holding hers tomorrow afternoon outside the gates of the house. You are going to hold one outside the gates of North End.”
“Victor’s?”
Emmy nodded. “Marjorie Robbe may think she’s powerful, but she has nothing on my brother-in-law and husband.”
“You all really believe that I’m innocent.” Cece couldn’t keep the relief out of her voice.
“Of course we do.” Morgan rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if I had even one doubt in my mind. And that Paul hasn’t called off the engagement says a lot too.”
Emmy sniffled. “Please remember, Cece. People talk. You’re going to hear awful things about you, about Everett, about Paul. We can’t protect you from the gossips. All we can do is warn you and try to help you face this head-on.”
Franz stood. “Which is why we’re going to hold the press conference.”
“What about Hannah, though?” Cece was terrified for her sister. “If she doesn’t have her medicine, she can die. Her whole body will start to shut down—”
“We have leads,” Garabaldi answered, cutting her off. “We are all over Hannah. We have cause to believe she has the meds with her.”
There was no containing the gasp, and Cece spun to him. “You know where she is?”
“No, I did not say that.” He shook his head. “I said we have leads. You’ll be one of the first to know when we find her. We are sure she’s alive, and we’re reasonably sure she has her meds.”
Emmy looked confused. “Who kidnaps someone and makes sure they have their meds?”
Morgan sighed. “Someone who knows they are worth more alive than dead.”
“Small comfort,” Killian grumbled and shook his head.
“You.” Franz stuck his finger out at Killian. “You are going to stay here. You are not to be anywhere near either press conference.”
“Hold on a second here—”
“I said no. I mean no.” Franz once again used his Dom voice. “I know you want to be near Cece and help her, but you are not her fiancé. I don’t want you anywhere near her or this media circus.”
Killian was going to argue again, but Cece grabbed his hand. “No. Trust them. Keep yourself away from this mess. You have to think of your reputation as a doctor in the eyes of the community you serve. I know you want to be there and that’s enough for me.”
She watched a thousand emotions play over his face, but he finally settled on a reluctant agreement.
Cece wanted him there more than anyone else.
She hoped he understood when she had to leave Pittsburgh after all this was over.
If she wasn’t in prison.
Chapter Four
Garabaldi stood in the door of the bathroom, watching Killian, Nick Dovadsky, and Dunham. The four men milled about the room, looking at everything from different angles, considering all they saw, not saying a thing to each other.
“Cleaning crew will be in at six tomorrow morning,” Garabaldi called.
“I’m shocked they didn’t have them in the next day,” Killian said.
“They tried. We compromised.”
The room had been locked and set off-limits, but there was no police tape on the outside. Killian knew Garabaldi must have pulled some serious rank to get that to happen, especially at this hotel.
“Did she always take her off-sites to such classy places?” Dunham called from the far end of the room.
“Apparently, there were only two off-sites she had in months,” Garabaldi answered. “Everett and the John Smith guy. We can’t uncover anymore, and with how honest and forthcoming she’s been, I’m inclined to believe her. So I would guess that yes, she does usually book places like this. I mean, wouldn’t you? If you’re having a fling, why would you go somewhere cheap and nasty?”
“A fling?” Nick asked.
“Well, she’s not a streetwalker, and she’s no
t a call girl.” Dunham came back across the room. “She and Everett were close. They met often, and according to her, were good friends outside the playtime.”
Killian leaned against the wall. “You aren’t all skeeved out by the lifestyle?”
“Are you?” Nick asked. “Because if you are, now is the time to get the hell out. She’s not going to give it up. It’s a part of her. Even Morgan has inclinations and all she did was work at the bar.”
“I’ve just always thought everyone sort of blanket rejected kinky stuff.”
“Missionary is boring,” Nick answered. “Cece had a master’s in library science. She’s smart, she’s funny, she’s kinky. There’s nothing wrong with any of that.”
Killian assessed the three other faces. They were looking at him expectantly. He sighed. “I love her, lock stock and two handcuffed wrists. I’m with her through all of this.”
Garabaldi nodded. “And what are we all thinking about this?”
“Objectively,” Dunham said. “I don’t think she could have done this.”
“CSI said the body was hauled around.” Nick looked around the room. “I know it’s not a large space, and I know that Cece is strong. But the way they were talking about him being hauled around, I don’t think she could have done it.”
“Psychologically speaking,” Dunham interjected, “her purpose was to bring pleasure. Even erotic asphyxiation has limits, and she would one hundred percent know those. If she and Everett were involved as long as she says they were, she’d know every limit.”
“Just about a year, from what I’m told,” Garabaldi said.
“Not guilty. At all.” Nick folded his arms.
“No way.” Dunham shook his head.
“Not guilty,” Killian chimed in.
Garabaldi nodded his head in agreement. “You’re all right. The only thing she’s guilty of is being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
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