by Palmer, Dee
“Is that why you’ve not gone to the police?”
“With what exactly?” My tone is harsh, and I have to check myself. He’s just asking questions that need to be asked. If we’re ever to get through this mess in one piece, I need to be honest and not feel so defensive. I know his interest is simply tethered to his concern for me. Nevertheless, I have to counter his accusatory tone with a statement of fact. “It wasn’t me he kidnapped. I went willingly.”
“He cuffed you to the bed and drugged you, Tia. He stabbed me, left us both, and blew up the Hall. I think attempted murder is a good start.”
“So why haven’t you gone to the police?”
“Because it’s not my call. I refuse to do anything that will make you hate me.”
“I could never hate you, Logan.”
“If I was the reason Atticus went to jail, you would. You love him, which is why he’s still a free man.”
“I took the money,” I say in a hushed whisper. People are bumping shoulders with us both in the busy street.
“You secured the pension fund and deposited it with the rightful owners.”
“I don’t think the Kraus Corporation will view it like that.”
“You said the other money was in a ghost account, and even though you lied about me having the access codes, Atticus has probably discovered the money already. If he wanted you to pay, you’d be locked up by now. Looks like this love of yours is keeping you both out of jail.” He lets out a humourless laugh, tugging me tighter to his side and kissing the tension from my brow with a well placed tender kiss. “It’s all right. I get it. I might not like it, but I understand.”
“Understand?”
“It is possible to love more than one person, Tia.” His voice drops with serious intonation, and I hate that the momentary silence is heavily laden with my tacit agreement. Sadness falls like a veil, dulling the beauty of his face. It’s unbearable, and I pull him to stop, standing directly in front of him, and hold his head between my palms. His dark chocolate eyes have lost their mischief, and that breaks my fucking heart.
“Logan, I love you. I love you with all my heart. Atticus was a huge part of me, and I will always love him but not like this, not like us. Love isn’t a choice, but what you do with it is, and I chose you.” His lips tip in the right direction, and I’m about to mash mine to his when he speaks and rocks my world with his heart melting honesty.
“I know; I do. I feel it in my soul, T, and when you look at me like you are right now, I don’t have a doubt in the world.” He takes one of my hands and places it over the strong, steady beat of his heart. The vibrations travel through my fingertips and hit my own heart, hard. “I really don’t, but I’m also not naïve. You two have a connection. I just don’t want you tearing yourself up about it. That shit will drive you crazy. I’m secure enough to know you’re mine, and I’m not dumb enough to ever let you go. So trust me, I’m not concerned about Atticus. I just want you to understand it’s okay that you love him; you don’t ever have to feel guilty about that.”
“Thank you,” I don’t know what else to say. If I said I didn’t love Atticus, we both know I’d be lying, and honestly, where do we go from there? Building our relationship on a foundation of lies right out the gate, what chance would we have? “It changes nothing though. I’m still on probation, and I don’t want to risk anything that might jeopardise that. It’s why I haven’t taken this thing off.” I lift the lock on my collar and tuck and drop it just as quickly. He gives a slow, understanding nod, and I take his hand. We fall back into an easy amble, passing stunning window displays of couture designers whilst having the toughest conversation I think we’ve ever had. It’s surreal. “I just don’t want to jump to conclusions. He did that, and I ended up in jail. I won’t be guilty of the same. In my gut I don’t think he would’ve destroyed the only home he knew, so until I learn the truth—”
“What about seeking legal advice regarding your inheritance?”
“The only evidence was in the safe. You know, the one that went up in flames when the room around us burnt to the ground.” Sarcasm and derision fight for dominance in my tone.
“You have a copy.”
“Which won’t stand up in a court of law.”
“There will be other records, Tia. You just have to know where to look.”
“And have a bottomless pit of money to fight Mrs Kraus in court because, trust me, the only way I am getting what is supposedly mine is if I pry it from Mrs Kraus’s cold dead fingers.” I snort with a bitter laugh. It seems sarcasm wins that battle.
“I kind of like the sound of that.”
“Me too. Can we talk about something else?” The excitement I felt this morning is long gone, and the weight of this conversation is making it a physical chore to take another step. Logan senses this, I think, and we take a turn off the main road and head toward a small park. He sits and lifts me across his lap, cradling me like the most precious parcel outside of a newborn baby.
“Sure, what would you like to talk about?”
“Your sister.” I reply. I was teasing.
“Hmm, well, I guess I had that coming.” His reply takes me by surprise, and as much as I feel exhausted, if he’s willing to talk about her, I am not going to shut him down.
“Might as well rip the band aids off together. That way, we can lick each other’s wounds.”
“Not what I want to be licking right now.”
“And that’s why we needed to have this conversation out of the bedroom.” I snicker.
“Because in the rest of the house you’re safe?” He retorts with a wicked knowing grin. At least he’s smiling. I snuggle against his broad chest and soak up the warmth as it penetrates every cell in my body when he holds me.
“I’m always safe with you, but no, no room is safe, and we do need to have this conversation.”
He gives an almost imperceptible nod. “What about my sister?”
“You spoke to her?”
“I called her to ask about you. Her plan worked to that extent at least.” I can feel him stiffen beneath me, and I try and pull him back with my own comforting embrace. “I wanted to know if you knew. I mean, if you knew what she did to my parents.”
“I didn’t. I didn’t even know she was your sister. Not until you told me. She had a Southern American accent for chrissake. You don’t share the same surname. And when I was told my mother had died of a heart attack a year into my sentence and I said I wished I’d never had a mother, she told me she was an orphan. It was how we bonded.” I vehemently shake my head. “I honestly thought you had worked together at some point, something to do with computers. I never suspected.”
“I know; she wouldn’t have let on. You probably never would’ve found out if I hadn’t told you. Speaking with her confirmed one thing. You loved me and were neck deep in trouble that she didn’t give a shit about.”
“I think she needs help.”
“I agree. Unless she voluntarily commits herself, there is nothing I can do.” He takes a deep breath and another. The silence hangs heavy. I let him take his time, and he finally breaks the peace with a hollow laugh. “Its like waiting for a ticking bomb, if she commits a crime maybe I can have her sectioned. More than likely though, she’ll convince a judge she’s misguided and heartbroken but not insane. She’s done it before.”
“What happened to your parents?”
“She poisoned them.” His candour makes my stomach turn. “She admitted it to me just once and not anywhere where it could be recorded. She only got charged with perverting the course of justice when she should’ve got life.”
“I’m so sorry, Logan.”
“You would’ve loved my mum, and my dad was the best.” He blinks back the tears glazing his eyes, and the smallest smile struggles to reach his cheeks.
“It’s okay Logan we don’t have to—” He cuts me off, and with herculean effort that clearly causes unbearable physical pain, powers through his heartbreak.
&nbs
p; “She used aconite, which is an untraceable poison. Its causes heart arrhythmia. She mixed it in with my mother’s birthday cake. She made my mother’s favourite, coffee and walnut.”
“My favourite too,” I say softly, and he manages a one-sided smile in sad acknowledgement.
“My sister and I are both allergic to walnuts.”
“Oh god, Logan.”
“They died in their sleep. She removed any evidence from the house, she even doused the kitchen and her bedroom in bleach, which she explained away as something she did in a ‘fit of grief’. The solicitor said perverting the course of justice was the only charge that would stick. It carried a six-year sentence. I also testified against her. She’d stabbed me in the leg when I tried to restrain her when they came to arrest her. The police couldn’t get near her, and I stupidly thought she was going to let me bring her in.
“Only when I looked in her vacant dark eyes, did I understand, at that moment she wanted us both together or both dead. Her arm flayed, brandishing the knife, I managed to dislodge it before she could either hit her target or turn it on herself. She got four years added to that charge for harassment with violence. Ten years and out in seven, not exactly life.” His voice catches. His face is a tortuous display of devastation and bitterness. “She got away with murder.” He looks down at me and I’m speechless. “Honestly, I probably wouldn’t have known right away if Lilith hadn’t confessed. I mean, I would’ve guessed at some point. I think she wanted to make me understand.”
“Understand?”
“Understand, there was nothing she wouldn’t do to be with me.”
“Oh.”
“If you know where she is, I would very much like that information.”
I’m stunned he thinks I would keep this from him. I want to say duh or something equally good at expressing my astonishment that he would think I owe her any loyalty after what she’s done. She played me and ruined Logan.
“Of course, and if I knew, I would give it to you. All I have is the burner phone, and you said she’s disconnected the number.”
“She has.” He accepts my information with a troubled brow and heavy sigh.
“I’m so sorry, Logan.”
“It’s in the past and that is not my concern right now.”
“You really think she’d risk going back to jail?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely. Jail just gives her more time to scheme. She’ll never give up.”
I shiver in his arms, the chill from his words striking my very core. “What are we going to do?”
“Right now, nothing, because tomorrow is your birthday and we have a dress to buy.” He stands, lifting me in his arms. The ominous conversation falls to our feet like a heavy blanket woven and weighted down with dark and dirty deeds. He steps away, leaving that task for another day.
The taxi pulls to the kerb, and Logan pays the driver as I open the door. My feet burn with heat when I hit the pavement. We have walked the length of Bond Street, Oxford Street, and back to Bond before I was physically dragged into Roberto Cavalli to make my first purchase.
I grip the ribbon handle of one sleek stiff paper bag. I’m the proud owner of a stunning Roberto Cavalli backless cocktail dress. It’s completely gorgeous, and despite my reluctance to actually let Logan spend any of his money on me, I couldn’t stop smiling at my reflection when I came out of the dressing room. Logan’s jaw hit the floor. Delicate black lace and crushed velvet hugged my body like a second skin, and I was giddy with the lustful gaze, which darkened Logan’s eyes so much I didn’t need to try on another outfit.
The first one was the winner.
We hit one other shop where Logan picked out some ridiculously expensive underwear, and I fell in love with a cute pair of black lace open toe Luna Jimmy Choo shoes. They are higher than anything I’ve ever worn. I doubt I’ll be able to walk in them without the aid of a net, but I’m damn well going to try.
The colour drained from my face when we got to the till.
Logan appealed to my aesthetic appreciation of the shoes at least, as a work of art. He told me I could treasure them away for special occasions, if it made me feel better, or put them on display for all to see, after tomorrow evening.
Either way, he was buying them, and I would be wearing them.
My feet falter when I look away from the retreating taxi and see an unfamiliar man standing at Logan’s front door. Logan slips his hand in mine and strides confidently to approach the immaculately dressed stranger. The man turns and offers a stiff yet friendly smile. His hand outstretched toward me. Logan steps half in front, blocking the hand like it was some sort of weapon.
“Miss Parker?” The man addresses me, confusion and suspicion crinkling the corners of his unseasonably tanned face. I know its summertime, only we never get that much sun in London. His thick grey hair matches his bushy, intense brow. His demeanour strikes me as someone used to brooking more respect than Logan is currently displaying. Stepping around Logan, I offer my hand, despite a low, audible grumble of displeasure emanating from the rigid wall of man beside me.
“Yes, and you are?” I nudge Logan with my elbow and flash him a stand-down-solder scowl, which he completely ignores.
“I’m Sebastian Waterhouse. I’m the Kraus family solicitor.”
“Oh.” I swallow the instant panic down along with the lump in my throat. His handshake is firm, and his warm smile is completely disarming.
“ And that would make me your solicitor.”
“Oh.” I mouth because confusion has robbed me of my voice.
Tia invites the Kraus solicitor inside. Her hands are visibly shaking when she pushes the front door open. I place my hand over hers and calm her with a firm squeeze. I lift a short, sharp shrug in shared confusion when she mouths a silent, “What the hell does he want?” Since there are no accompanying police cars, I can only assume she’s not in trouble. I offer to make some coffee, and Tia leads Mr Waterhouse into the living room. Only one way to find out.
It takes a moment to fire up the coffee machine, and when I return with a tray of steaming hot drinks a few minutes later, the room is cloaked in an uneasy silence. The clinking of coffee cups makes my presence known, and Tia nearly jumps out of her skin at the light sound. Someone’s more than a little nervous.
“I told Mr Waterhouse I wanted to wait until you were here. We haven’t talked about anything.” Her knee bounces, and she grips her hands together as if squeezing the colour from them will help her nerves.
“It’s okay, darling. You don’t need to explain. I’ll stay if you want me, but I’m guessing this is all about you.” I direct the comment at Mr Waterhouse, raising a brow as do.
“It is. However, Miss Parker was insistent, so if you don’t mind staying, I won’t take up too much of your time.” He reaches for the briefcase at his feet, unclips the dual lock, and lifts a slim brown folder, which is neatly tied together with an elaborate red ribbon. Very old school.
“Sure.” I sit next to Tia and love the feeling in my chest as she shuffles as close as she can, threading her hand in mine and bringing it into her lap. Her worry is etched in deep lines, crinkling between her brows and huge wide eyes. Her knee bounces up and down, and I have to place my free hand on her thigh to make it stop. Her lips twitch with an apologetic grimace, and I shake my head and address the lawyer to try and quickly ease her rocketing anxiety.
“Is Tia in trouble?”
“What? No, why would you think that?” He shakes his head and looks horrified at my suggestion. This has to be a good thing, but I want to be sure.
“You’re a solicitor. Which usually goes hand in hand with something bad.” I explain flatly.
“Or something good.” He offers a warm, knowing smile.
“Not in either of our experiences it doesn’t,” I add, and he dismisses my curt tone with a friendly shake of his head.
“I can assure you, in this instance, it is definitely something good.”
“Okay, good.” Tia lets out
a huge sigh, which lifts the tension from the room; however, her rigid body would indicate she is yet to be convinced.
“Tia, baby, I have no circulation in my fingers.” I wiggle my hand in hers, and she lessens the fieriness of the grip but doesn’t let go. I won’t let her.
“Oh sorry.”
“It’s going to be all right. I’m never going to let anything happen to you.” I turn to face her when I speak and lock my gaze to hers as if there is no one else on the planet let alone in the same room. She draws in a deep, steadying breath, and her face softens as her smile widens.
“Thank you.”
“So Mr Waterhouse, what’s prompted this unexpected visit?” Renewed confidence straightens her spine when she turns, forcefully addressing her question directly at our visitor.
“Unexpected?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm, well, I have been waiting for you, Miss Parker, to contact the office. ” His thick brows furrow above his eyes. Although his expression is stern, he radiates confusion rather than anger.
“Why?”
“To start the transfer documentation.” He states this like it’s such a ridiculous thing to have to clarify. His tone lilts with humour. If he was of a different generation, I think he would’ve added a ‘duh’ at the end.
“Hmm?” Tia looks at me and then at Mr Waterhouse for illumination, since we’re both in the dark.
“I thought Mr Kraus had explained this. You are the rightful heir and as such—”
Tia coughs and sputters. “I’m sorry; Atticus told you I’m the heir?”
“No, Mr Kraus proved you were the rightful heir. Everything else is just paperwork.” He taps his index finger on the folder on his lap.
“And Mrs Kraus is okay with all this?” Tia’s tone is tick with sarcasm and disbelief.
“Mrs Kraus is in custody.” Mr Waterhouse’s reply carried a solemn delivery, but he may as well have pulled the pin on a grenade for the impact.
