He smoothed a hand over his clean-shaven face. “And you’re happy here?”
“I’ve been focused on putting together the Mayor’s Ball. Kind of crazy that I’m working with Erick Jensen on this whole thing, but it has helped keep me busy.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” he responded with a firm voice. “I’m worried about you.”
So am I. “I just don’t know if being an event planner is all that fulfilling anymore.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll quit altogether, someday. I sort of feel . . . adrift.”
He studied her for a moment before responding. “I know the feeling. When my time was up in the military, I had no idea what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. My father wanted me to run his business, but that’s definitely not what I wanted. Thankfully my younger brother is up for the challenge once he’s out of the Marines. But me—I should’ve stayed in the military.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s honestly hard to explain what it’s like to be in the military, to be on a tour of duty and never know when or if your day is up. And to watch people die—to kill people. It’s hard for civilians to understand.” He clasped his large hands on the table. “But in the service, everyone gets it. We’ve all been through it together.” He laughed as if shaking off his heavy comments. “If being in war doesn’t screw with your head, then you must have been pretty screwed up, to begin with.”
“Is it hard for you to be in a relationship? You know, because of your time in the Marines?” She leaned forward, wondering if Michael was the only one with the issue.
He took a moment to drink his latte. “I think it is, for a lot of people,” he responded, without answering the question for himself.
Connor had a wall up almost as high as Michael, she realized. She watched as his eyes narrowed in on a blonde in a short skirt.
He averted his attention back to Kate. “Uh, hmm. Sorry.” His lips curved into a smile. “I’m not ready to settle down.”
“Well, when you think you are, consider moving to Boston. It would be nice to have you here.”
“Do you mind if I tell Michael that I saw you?”
She didn’t know how to answer.
“Kate?” Connor waved his hand in front of her face. “I take that as a no?”
Michael sat behind his desk and stared at the computer screen. The numbers were becoming blurry. He couldn’t focus. He glanced over at the time and realized that if he didn’t leave soon, he’d be late.
He hurried out of the office. It was almost four o’clock, but he only needed to walk a few blocks.
He arrived a few minutes after four and apologized to the receptionist. He was always a prompt person, and he hated being late to anything.
“He’s ready for you. You can go on in,” the receptionist said.
He nodded and headed down the long hall and to the office. He knocked on the door and waited for a response before entering.
The doctor rose from behind his desk and walked toward Michael to greet him. “Good to see you. Have a seat.” He walked back to his desk and grabbed a notepad before seating himself in front of Michael.
Michael rubbed his palms against his gray slacks and waited for the doctor to speak.
“So, this is your third week in therapy. Do you feel like you’re making any progress?”
“No,” he said flatly. “I still feel shitty.”
“Because?”
“Because I’m here—instead of with her.”
“Kate?”
Michael nodded and looked down at the floor.
“Have you made your decision about rejoining the military yet?”
He asked him this question every time he visited. And Michael’s response was always the same. “No.”
“But you want to be with Kate?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t know if you can be?”
“Yes.” Michael knew the game. He knew the series of questions he would ask. He knew his answers before he was even asked.
“Are you having the nightmares?”
“Yes.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. The dreams had been coming every night, but the nightmares were no longer about the day he almost died in Afghanistan.
“Tell me about it.”
He nodded, his eyes still shut. “I watch Dustin slit Kate’s throat. Powerless to stop it.”
“Why do you think she dies in your dream?”
He had answered this question before, too. “I don’t know.”
The doctor usually moved on to another question, but this time he pushed. “I want you to really think about it. You used to dream of watching a fellow Marine die in Afghanistan. His throat was slit, and you couldn’t save him. Everything you dreamt about was true. Why do you think your mind is altering the reality of what actually happened now?”
“I don’t know,” he responded, almost angry.
“You saved her life when you couldn’t save the Marine. But for some reason, I think that you’re afraid that if you love her, you’ll somehow kill her. You see yourself as the enemy.”
Michael let the words sink in.
“You should talk to her,” the doctor suggested.
“I can’t. It’s been too long. She must hate me.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his ankle over his knee.
“Do you think the nightmares will stop once you see her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want Kate or do you want to be a Marine?” He was always direct, which is what Michael needed.
“They need me. People are dying.”
“You’re only one man.”
“The military is made up of men and women. If everyone thought like that, there’d be no military.” He rose to his feet, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked to the window.
“Don’t you deserve happiness?”
“No,” he was quick to answer.
“What about Kate? Does she deserve it?”
“Of course.” He kept his eyes trained on the view outside. The room felt like it was closing in on him. He was struggling to breathe.
“What if you are her happy ending? What if you rob her of that?”
“She’ll find someone else. Someone better. She deserves better than a murderer.”
“So we’re back to that, huh?” The doctor set his notepad and pen on the coffee table in front of him and stood up. “Why do you call yourself a murderer?”
“Because by definition, that is what I am.” He turned to face the doctor, his lips twitching with irritation.
“So the military is made up of a bunch of murderers?” The doctor stood a few feet in front of him and crossed his arms.
He was taller and more muscular than Michael would have expected, and he had gray hair that was cut close to his head. Michael noticed for the first time that he had callouses on his hands.
“Am I a murderer?”
“You were in the military?” He could see it now—the edge to the man. He wasn’t sure how he’d missed it before.
“Navy. Ten years. Served in Vietnam. Killed more people than I can remember. I tried to keep count like it would somehow make it okay, but eventually, there were just so many.” He shook his head. “But I’m not a murderer. I followed orders. I was in a war.”
Michael bit his bottom lip, which triggered an image of Kate to flash into his mind. Beautiful and stunning Kate, biting her lip . . .
“How many men have you saved? How many Marines are alive because of you?”
Michael shrugged and looked away.
“That may be a better number to count.” The doctor joined him at the window and looked down at the street.
Michael let the words sink in, but his attention shifted to a woman exiting a limo on the street.
A stunning blonde woman. Similar age. Same height. A dead ringer for Elizabeth, for Kate’s mother—for Kate.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Don’t be nervous. Everything will go as
planned. Kate walked around the ballroom, apprehension building inside of her.
The last three weeks had been a whirlwind as she prepared for the Boston Mayor’s Winter Ball. It had served as a well-needed distraction from Michael, though. She still couldn’t believe Michael never even gave her the courtesy of a call.
Over two months of silence. But she knew in her heart that hearing his voice would only make things harder for her. It was probably for the best.
For the last few weeks, she’d been spinning a story in her head, telling herself that she had only fallen for Michael because of the circumstances. She had simply been a character in a movie, falling for the rich playboy, going against everything she believed in because she had been in close quarters with him and was scared.
That wasn’t love. Just context. True love and fairy tale endings were exactly that—fairy tales.
Every day she told herself that story. And every day, she felt she was getting a little closer to believing it.
Kate smoothed a hand over her sleek, white chiffon dress. The one-shoulder gown reached her ankles but also gave her some breathing room with a long slit up the side leg.
Take a deep breath. I’ll be fine. She shut her eyes for a moment, allowing the music to fade into the background. Just breathe.
She gave a nervous swallow as she opened her eyes and moved toward one of her employees, gliding in strappy heels across the ballroom floor. “How are things going?” she asked, trying to sound as upbeat as possible.
The young brunette looked up at Kate and smiled. “Everything is perfect. The guests look happy. The mayor looks ecstatic. The music is divine.” She nodded and looked toward the orchestra.
“Excellent. I think you guys have everything covered. I’m going to go outside for a bit and get some fresh air.”
“It’s pretty cold out. The forecast shows snow, which is way too early for November.”
“I’ll be fine.” Kate smiled, grabbed her jacket from the coat check, and reached the large set of glass doors, noticing a slight tremble in her hand.
She ignored the alarm bells that sounded in her head as she stepped out onto the empty patio area. She rubbed her shoulders a bit, but the cool air was a welcome change to her heated and flushed skin.
She looked up to see the sun beginning to set, offering a blur of orange and pink that settled midway in the sky.
She tried not to feel a little empty as she glanced inside the ballroom through the glass doors, watching the happy couples move around the dance floor. She tried not to remember that she’d met Michael because she had been hired to plan his gala.
But the memory of their first kiss on the night of the ball slipped into her head and filled her with a mixture of pleasure and sadness. She missed his lips. The way they tightened when he stared at her as if he was struggling to control his desire.
Breathe. How many times would she need to remind herself to gather oxygen into her lungs? Tonight was such an important night. Thoughts of Michael bopping around in her head would only get her in trouble.
She forced her feet to move, to walk farther out into the maze that was the ghost of a garden. She found a bench and sat down, careful not to rip her dress as she pulled the soft coat snug to her body. She clasped her hands on her lap and shut her eyes. She needed a minute.
Just one minute.
“I thought that was you. What are you doing out in this frigid weather?”
When she opened her eyes, she found herself looking at Erick Jensen. Throughout the coordination of the event, she had spent a lot of time working with him—at his insistence. “Taking a break,” she said, offering him a small smile. “How’s your wife? Feeling any better?”
“She has a touch of the stomach bug.” He took a seat next to her and rubbed his hands together. His black blazer was most likely not keeping him warm enough. “You did an amazing job tonight. Your mother would be proud.” He moved a little closer to her, his leg brushing up against hers.
She gave a polite nod and forced herself to respond, “Thank you.”
The touch of his cool hand against her cheek stunned her. She pulled her brows together and studied him with caution, her shoulders arching back.
“God, you’re stunning.”
She ignored her nerves and moistened her lips. “Do you miss her? Elizabeth?”
The pad of his thumb had brushed across her lips before he placed his hand on her thigh. “Having you here has made me miss her a lot more.”
She could see him swallow. “The flowers you had delivered to my office two weeks ago—the white tulips . . . you said they were my mother’s favorite, right?”
He nodded, his eyes darkening as he focused on her mouth.
“When you had tulips delivered to my hotel back in Charlotte in September—how’d you even know I was in the city?”
“I—” He tilted his head to the side and eyed her. “Eh, what are you—”
“Do you ever visit my mom’s grave?”
“Kate, what’s going on?”
“You loved her, didn’t you?” His hand on her forearm sparked a warning inside of her, but she disregarded it. “Erick, please, just tell me—did you love her?”
He looked up to the heavens and back at her again, his eyes ablaze with . . . something. “Yes.”
“Do you want me? Do you want me because I look like her?” Erick’s mouth dropped open, and he gaped at her in silence. “Erick?” She stood up.
“I cared very much for her, and you look so much alike. It can be confusing.” He rose to his feet and braced his hands on her shoulders, urging her toward him. “Yes—yes, I want you.”
“Then tell me the truth. Tell me what actually happened to her. I won’t blame you. I promise. I need to know what happened.”
Without responding, he reached for her, his mouth covering hers.
She struggled against him and pulled free. “You killed her,” she rasped, unable to stop herself. “You killed my mother. Admit it.” Her voice was raw now. And her body warm from adrenaline.
Erick had changed at that moment. He no longer studied her with a love-struck gaze. His face grew taut with emotion—with rage. “I want you, Kate. I need you. Let’s forget the past and move forward.”
“I love someone else.”
He shook his head, his face twisting with anger. “No. You’ve been flirting with me these last few weeks. Wearing slutty clothes and brushing up against me. You’ve been teasing me.” He shoved his hands through his hair before balling them into fists at his sides. “You’re a whore like your mother.” He grabbed her by the arm and tugged her against him, his hot breath on her face. “Your mother fucked me, made me fall in love with her, and then wouldn’t leave that asshole, David. She was everything to me. Fucking everything.” His voice, a low growl, echoed through the air.
She could feel his spit on her face as he yelled. “And you’re just like her—a manipulative bitch.”
“Why’d you kill her if you loved her?”
He ignored her as he began to yank her arm, trying to force her down the path, farther away from the ball.
“No.” She twisted and turned in his arms. She slammed her heel into the top of his shoe.
“Bitch!” He released his grip for a moment before seizing her arm again. “Your mother wouldn’t be with me, but—Goddamn it—you are.”
“Let her go.” A familiar voice roared through the air.
Kate shut her eyes at the sound. No, not yet. I didn’t get it yet!
Michael was on Erick in a split second. He reeled his hand back and socked him in the jaw, knocking him off his feet and to the ground. He kneeled down and reached for the lapels of his blazer before twisting Erick’s arms behind his back, effectively disabling him.
“Get the police,” Michael yelled while flipping him over, shoving his knee into Erick’s back, pushing his face against the concrete.
She chucked her heels and rushed with bare feet down the cold path to the ballroom, screaming for he
lp as she neared the doors.
The security guards were at their stations, and there was a crowd of police, as well. The Boston Police Department was being honored at the ball this year. “Help!” she hollered as loud as her lungs would allow.
Everyone in the room stopped dancing, and the orchestra members dropped their bows. The party came to a screeching halt.
She was shaking.
The armed security guards and unarmed, uniformed police officers followed her down the trail. They rushed to action when they saw Michael standing over Erick’s body.
The guards aimed their weapons at Michael. “Back away!”
Michael looked up from Erick, his exhaled breath evident in the cool night. He held his hands up as he locked eyes with Kate.
“No. No, he’s the one who saved me,” she cried out, but no one seemed to hear. She watched in horror as they cuffed Michael and his eyes never left hers.
“Explain what happened tonight,” the detective said while sitting across his desk from Kate.
Kate glanced around the room, wondering where they were holding Michael. Why wouldn’t they let him go already? But why was Michael even at the ball?
Kate looked down at her hands in her lap and back up at the green eyes of the middle-aged detective staring back at her. “I have something I’d like you to hear.” She took an uneasy breath and reached into the pocket of her jacket.
The detective cocked his head and leaned back in his chair as Kate set her phone on his desk.
“Listen,” she said. She hit the play button.
When the recording ended, the detective squinted his eyes and leaned forward across his desk. “I didn’t hear him say he murdered your mother. Angry at her, yes . . . and he certainly hit on you. We can charge him with assault.”
Kate pressed her palms against the desk, knowing she needed to speak fast. “Twenty-seven years ago, my mother was shot while she was eight months pregnant with me.” She continued to explain the story, as well as the events that had led up to Dustin Scott’s arrest two months ago. “You can verify the story with the FBI.” She sat back in her chair, a little breathless.
The Hidden Truths Series Box Set Page 23