by Sam Crescent
“I understand everything,” he said.
“But … but what about us?”
“There is no us, Abigail. I did stalk you, you know, but only because of my plan. To break you as Peter broke Catherine.”
She took a deep breath, tears coursing down her cheeks, devastation burning in her soul. “But I … I think I l-love you.”
“I know,” he replied. “You wouldn’t have slept with me unless you felt deeply. Of that, I came to know very clearly. You wear your emotions on your sleeve.”
Her world shattered. Everything she thought she knew fell apart. She didn’t believe him, of course. Peter wouldn’t have done that to his sister. He couldn’t have. A sliver of pride rose up, and Abigail refused to give Alex any more satisfaction.
“Would you leave?” she asked, lifting her chin. Although it wobbled, she reined in her tears. “I want to get dressed.”
He opened his mouth to say something, then must have thought better because he closed it, turned, and left. He closed the bedroom door behind him. Abigail lay there for a moment, breathing in his scent, letting his words wash over her. It had all been a lie. All his words, his smiles, his loving gestures were designed to use her for a preconceived notion of revenge.
Alex expected her to go running back to her brother, spill her heartbreak so Peter would wallow in self-hatred. But she knew her brother, far better than Alex did. However Alex had come to this conclusion, it was nothing but a horrible mistake. Abigail dried her tears and rose, dressing quickly. She wanted to go home and shower Alex off her body.
When she opened the bedroom door, he wasn’t there. A note lay on the front foyer table. Along with a stack of money. She didn’t bother to count it, leaving the hundreds untouched. Adding cash to the scenario had further cheapened their lovemaking, a moment she thought had been beautiful and soul-filling.
How could everything change in an instant? How could Alex go from being Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde?
How could she have been so stupid?
Chapter Seven
“Abbi?” Peter asked as he knocked on her door. “Are you all right?”
“Not feeling great,” she called out through the locked door. A moment later, she heard him leave.
She had called out sick the next morning, which was unusual because she never did that. Abigail worked even if she felt bad because her work ethic wouldn’t accept any less. She felt stupid and thought she was made of sterner stuff. All she wanted to do was cry and throw a pity party for herself, but she knew that wouldn’t do her any good. And it wouldn’t do Peter any good, because even if he might not know about Catherine, he had to be aware that maybe his lack of employment status fell on someone’s shoulders.
Then she remembered how she’d met Alex. He had bought her apartment complex, and all the puzzle pieces came together. He had planned this from the beginning. Making her homeless. Peter jobless. Causing her to fall in love with him.
Well, love and hate were two sides of the same coin, and right then, if Alex was in front of her, she’d kick him as hard as possible in the nuts. Knowing she couldn’t give him the satisfaction of his so-called revenge, Abigail got into the shower and let the rest of her tears fall before drying them up. She couldn’t cry over Alex Paul anymore. If that was even his name.
When she left her bedroom, Peter was wrapping pictures up in paper and putting them in a cardboard box.
“Hey,” he said. “How’re you feeling?”
“I have a question for you,” she said, not bothering to answer. She felt like shit, but she didn’t want to tell him the real reason why.
“Okay.”
“When you were working on the rigs in Saudi Arabia, did you know a Catherine?”
Peter thought for a moment, confusion in his eyes. “I remember a woman named Catherine who was Reinecke’s sister.”
“Reinecke?”
“Yeah, Alexander Reinecke. He was the big-wig over there. Negotiated with the king to produce oil, built a refinery and leased to the Saudis. The guy’s constantly in the Forbes Wealthy edition.”
“So you knew Catherine?”
Puzzlement flickered across his face. “I met her once. Briefly. I didn’t really have a lot of time for socializing over there. Why? How did you know about her?”
“No reason.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Peter.”
“Love you, too, sis.”
She knew he was confused, but now she had a name. Going back into her bedroom, she grabbed her laptop and Googled him. Images brought up pictures of Alexander Paul Reinecke, and it kicked her in the heart, seeing his smiling face. Dozens of news sites posted articles about him, mainly all about his business dealings. Occasionally, there’d be some gossip about his love life, but it wasn’t like he was a top celebrity always in the spotlight. She and Alex came from different worlds.
She even saw a picture of Catherine, and an article that reported her death. Suicide from poisoning, it was said. The death of choice for women. Abigail felt so sorry for the woman who must have felt devastated from losing the man she loved, but that man wasn’t Peter. Alex had said his sister had been pregnant, and from what she’d seen of forensic shows, the fetus’s DNA could still be checked. Perhaps Alex needed a biology lesson.
Top of the World was where he said he’d be, so that evening she hung out until she saw him enter. He didn’t have a woman on his arm, and part of her breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t know if she’d be able to hold it in if she saw him dating so soon after their night together. She let determination shadow the hurt and humiliation she felt at his rejection, riding the coattails until she got her point across.
While the hostess dealt with another party, she slipped by and looked around until she saw Alex talking with an older gentleman in the back. With sweaty palms and a pounding heart, she marched up to his table. When he looked up at her, shock widened his eyes.
“Abigail, what are you—”
“No, it’s you who gets to listen to me now,” she interrupted, pointing a finger at him. “You took a big chance on your revenge factors. Like if my apartment complex would be for sale. Or if I would find you attractive. Or if I wouldn’t react the same as how Catherine did when she got her heart broken. Otherwise, my death would be on your shoulders right now. A scenario where you became judge, jury, and executioner of my brother. What kind of man does that make you, so quick to anger and judgment without benefit of an investigation?”
He opened his mouth, but she shushed him.
“I said no,” she said forcefully. She yanked a clump of hair from her head and tossed it onto his plate. “Here are enough hair follicles to test my DNA against the fetus. But I’ll guarantee Peter is not the father because my brother is gay. Nobody knows because he keeps that a secret to work in places like Saudi Arabia, where homosexuality is punishable by death. When I asked him about Catherine, he admitted meeting her in passing, but nothing more. I hope you find whoever hurt your sister, Alexander Reinecke. But maybe next time get your fucking facts straight.”
She took a deep breath, chest heaving in agitation. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss him. How messed up did that make her? Because despite all he’d done, or tried to do, she still had feelings for him.
****
Alexander watched her storm away, and every instinct in his body urged him to chase after her. Beg her forgiveness. Offer her the moon and stars. Yet he said nothing. Her words had frozen him in his chair, made his mind go numb. Could he have been so wrong?
“So, let me get this straight,” his dining companion, an old friend, said. “You accused someone of hurting Catherine without proof?”
“Yeah, you got the gist of it.” He took a sip of his water before placing his glass back down, wishing it was whiskey. “I thought … I thought if not him, then who?”
“Well, I’m no detective, but if I was you, I’d start with the person who accused him in the first place.”
Damir’s face flashed through A
lex’s mind. His assistant had been with him from the first day he’d set foot in Saudi Arabia, starting out as his translator and morphing into his personal secretary. He’d been around the entire time Catherine had been visiting, and the sudden insight made him sick to his stomach.
“I think I have to go,” Alex muttered.
“I think you’re right.”
Alex scooped the hair strands into his clean napkin, rose, and nodded good-bye to his dinner companion. He didn’t know if he hoped Abigail was right or not, because if she was, then he had a helluva lot to make up for.
Chapter Eight
Damir walked into his office and turned on the light. Alex narrowed his eyes at the sudden glare, giving a mocking smile as he saw his assistant flinch when he saw him.
“Mr. Reinecke, I wasn’t expecting you. When did you return to Saudi Arabia?”
“Just flew in, actually.” He held up the folder that Damir had said was the coroner’s report. “I wanted to come here and tell you, in person, that I had a second autopsy performed on my sister, in Virginia. And while that coroner couldn’t prove whether she’d died by suicide or homicide, it was definitely concluded the baby wasn’t fathered by Peter Jensen.”
Fear flashed through Damir’s eyes for a moment before he looked down, hiding the brief moment of truth that Alex couldn’t help but see.
“I kept thinking back to the moment you handed me the report, saying how you translated the findings into English,” he said, continuing. “So I went back and had another translation done. And you know what it told me? That you did a shitty job reporting the facts.” He tossed the old file on the desk. Damir took a step back.
“Although the exam couldn’t say conclusively if she’d been raped or not, I’m willing to bet you couldn’t resist her.”
“No—”
“You forced her, didn’t you? And when she got pregnant and you realized she had evidence of your crime, so you had to get rid of her.”
“What? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”
“The baby was yours,” Alex said softly. “Wasn’t it? And you led me down the wrong path to throw suspicion off you.”
“You can’t prove a thing.” Damir raised his chin. “Your sister was a filthy American. How dare she say no to me.”
Alex had heard enough. That one sentence was as good as a confession in his book.
“So you did kill her.”
“This is my country,” Damir said, smirking. “My King will never believe an American.”
“You forget this world listens to money.” Alex rose and walked over to him. He bent to whisper into Damir’s ear. “And I’ve already bought your execution.”
The door opened and two of the King’s guard entered. Damir’s eyes widened, panic setting in, but Alex walked out, leaving his ex-assistant to his fate.
****
As he flew back to the States, Alex realized he had a lot to atone for. Luckily, he’d discovered the truth before he’d completely destroyed Peter or Abigail. Thoughts of her made him pause.
She’d said she thought she loved him.
He wondered if those feelings had gone away, because God forgive him, but he wanted her back. He hadn’t realized how much she’d gotten under his skin until he realized just how badly he’d fucked up.
Amends would have to start with Peter.
And then he was going for his woman.
Chapter Nine
A knock sounded on the conference room door that Alex had reserved in his hotel. Before him lay a folder, with a contract that he hoped would soften Peter Jensen’s anger when he came clean. He took a deep breath, because this was a negotiation unlike he’d ever experienced. This wasn’t about money, or power—it was about atonement, and he hoped, winning back the affection of the one woman who had become very important.
“Come in,” he said.
The door opened and Peter Jensen stood there, dressed in an off-the-rack suit. “Oh, Mr. Reinecke. I didn’t realize it was you.”
“Please,” Alex said, gesturing to a chair. “Have a seat. I have a proposition for you.”
Confusion caused a frown to form between Peter’s eyes, but he sat and waited. Alex pushed the folder toward him.
“I have a contract for you, to work on my refineries, with a significant pay increase, full benefits included, and your choice of location.”
Peter blinked. Alex knew it was an amazing contract because he had it specifically drafted.
“Um, wow! I don’t know what to say except—”
“Before you say yes,” Alex said, interrupting him. “I have something to tell you.”
“You do?”
“A confession.”
“About what?”
“My sister, Catherine.”
Peter sat back in his seat. “My own sister brought her up. I thought it was an odd conversation, but now I’m getting the vibe it was deeper than what I thought.”
“You know she died.”
“Yes, and I’m very sorry for your loss,” Peter murmured. “But what has that got to do with me?”
“Because I thought you were responsible.”
“Come again?”
Alex placed his elbows on the table top and linked his fingers, resting his chin on them as he gathered his thoughts. “I was told you had an affair with her. That you used her and broke her.”
“I see,” said Peter thoughtfully. “Now Abbi’s questions seem a little more understandable.”
“I can only imagine what she said.”
“She said nothing about you—wait. Tell me you weren’t the Alex dating her.”
“I was,” Alex admitted softly.
“Shit,” Peter muttered. “I don’t think you have to tell me anymore.”
“I am so very sorry,” Alex said.
“It’s not me you need to apologize to, is it?”
“No, but you’re the molehill. She’s the mountain.”
Peter folded his arms across his chest. “So this deal you’re offering … is it to appease your conscience?”
“It’s a legitimate offer. Your work is on point, and you’ve had nothing but recommendations from your supervisors. I was the one to fuck up your last position. Least I could do is offer you one better. If you choose not to take it, then I’ll make phone calls and personally make sure you’re not black-listed anymore.”
Peter stared at him for a long moment. Then he picked up the pen and opened the folder. “I accept your offer. But I have two conditions.”
“Name them.”
“First, you make it right with Abigail. Although she’ll never admit it, you hurt her deeply.”
“I swear it to you, even if I have to get down on my knees and beg, I’ll make it up to your sister. What’s your second condition?”
“A right hook.”
“Yeah, I thought that might be coming.” Alex stood and walked over to stand in front of Peter. “Go ahead.”
Peter stood, regarded him, then brought his fist back and let it fly, right into Alex’s jaw. He fell against the table, wincing as he tried to open his mouth and test how hard Peter had hit him. Pain blossomed, but it was a much-deserved punishment. Peter signed the contract, and Alex held out his hand.
“Thank you for forgiving me.”
“I didn’t say I forgave you,” Peter said. He ignored the hand. “Start with Abigail, and I’ll follow her lead.”
“I guess I deserve that. Thank you, Peter.”
Peter held up the contract. “Same back at you. Now go get groveling.”
****
Abigail clocked out and waved to her coworkers as she left for her lunch break. Yet as soon as she stepped outside, she halted upon seeing Alex standing there with his dog on a leash, tongue out as he waited for his master’s command.
Her heart thumped heavily in her chest. It had been weeks since she’d seen him, and she thought he didn’t matter anymore. That she’d gotten over him. But one glance and she knew she’d been fooling
herself.
“Lucky needs a bath.”
“Lucky?” she asked, a little confused.
Alex gestured to the dog. “Figured that’s a good name for him. Couldn’t keep calling him Old Man. Hoping the new name translates to me.”
“Alex—”
“I’m begging again. Please hear me out, Abigail.”
She sighed. “Okay. Coffee house.”
Déjà vu hit her between the eyes as they settled at a small table. This time, however, Alex had brought the water bowl for Lucky. The dog plopped down at their feet, tongue out as he watched the world through his canine eyes.
“I made it right with Peter.”
That mollified her a little. “He’s got his job back?”
“Yes. And benefits. Not much I can do about the apartment. It’s already been resold.”
She waved her hand. “Just don’t come after the one I’m in now.”
Silence fell between them, but Abigail waited. She refused to fill in the uncomfortable gap with placating words.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“For?”
“For assuming Peter hurt my sister. For deceiving you. For being the world’s biggest asshole.”
It took all her strength not to smile at that. “You were an asshole. What made you believe Peter was the man who broke Catherine’s heart?”
“I wasn’t the best brother to her,” he admitted. “She was thirteen years younger than me, so I didn’t have that much interest in a baby sister at that age. It wasn’t until she was older that we began to connect as siblings. She came to visit me in Saudi Arabia, where my assistant—well, let’s say I got the proof needed to have him convicted. I don’t know why she didn’t come to me to tell me what he’d done, but that’s something I’ll probably always wonder about. At least he confessed.”
She let out a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders. “Then she has justice.”
“Yes,” he said. “She has. And it was thanks to you.”