"So, what are you going to do, look for a position at another law firm?"
"No, I'm going to open my own law office. Jack is letting me use the top floor of a building he owns a couple of blocks from the courthouse."
Alex's shoulders relax, his eyes soften, and he caresses my cheek. "And this is what you want?"
"Yeah, it really is. I've known for a while that the firm isn't right for me. I thought once I moved into the penthouse offices and started trying murder cases that things would finally fall into place, and I'd feel as if I belong. But John was well liked, and I was seen as a woman screwing him over to get ahead."
"Well, if you're sure, then I fully support you, baby." He leans in, gives me a quick kiss, and starts to rise.
"Um, there's something else I need to discuss with you."
"I met with Matt. Your dad filed an appeal."
"He's petitioned them before—it never goes anywhere."
"It's different this time."
"Why?"
"Geoffrey Hamilton is not just one of the best appellate attorneys in this state, he's the best in the country."
"So what do you think his chances are of getting the courts to hear it?"
"Pretty good, he was granted cert—sorry, the right to appear and present their arguments."
"What's he claiming?"
"Well, I haven't been able to get all the way through it, but the biggest assertion is new evidence."
"How is that even possible?"
"They found an autopsy photo of your mother and had a forensic expert examine it. They claim there are ligature marks around your mother's neck that could mean she was strangled to death by someone other than your fa—, someone other than James."
"Who?" His face falls and he pales. "Me."
I nod.
"That bastard. He has to know there is no way anyone will believe him."
"Hamilton made other claims, as well, that bolster his argument. And, I don't know if you realize it, but there is a ground swell of public support for James."
"Yeah, my office building was swarming with protesters apparently."
"They were at the courthouse, too."
"Jesus." He rakes his hand through his hair.
I take a deep inhale and release it, and hold tight to his hand. "There's more—and it's not good. The appellate court reversed the conviction."
Alex jumps up, his heads over his head, and he's yelling. "So, he's free? Is he out of prison?"
I grab his hand, and pull him back down next to me. "No, babe, he's not out. And Matt has already filed charges, and is going to re-try the case."
"Will they be able to convict him again—after all these years?"
"Well, that's where I come in. Matt wants me to assist with the trial, and I've agreed."
"Dammit, Kylie. I don't like this."
"Do you really want to risk leaving this up to people who don't know you, or the situation? This is what I do. I know how defend against Hamilton's allegations and make sure James stays in prison."
He pulls me tight against his chest and buries his face in my hair.
"I can do this, Alex. Please trust me."
"Baby, there is no one I trust more."
His heart pounds against my cheek, his breathing ragged, and, for the first time since he broke down and confided in me about his mother death, Alex is trembling. It's frightening—this man who is the epitome of strength and courage—and encourages me to protect him. I owe him, after everything he has done for me.
Chapter Eight
There must be a hundred stairs up to my new office, but the windows that look out onto the quaint historic town make it worth it. From my office I can see the courthouse, and not far beyond that, the still waters of the bay.
Sergeant Reyes and Lisa are already stacking boxes into the conference room. The law school's fall break came at a very opportune time, and while I feel bad that Lisa is using her time off to help me when she should be studying, I'm also grateful to have someone who knows my system of handling evidence, briefs, and case files.
I place a box on the long rectangle table, and open the top.
"I brought some supplies—pens, highlighters, legal pads, sticky notes—you name it, it's probably in here."
Reyes pulls back one of the flaps and peers into the box.
"Okay, I'll go through it and get stuff put away," Lisa says. "We have most of the files from the prosecutor's office in here. I put some files on your desk that Matt suggested you go through first. I'm guessing you'll want to set up your office the way you want it."
"I'll have to do that later. I have to run out, right now, though."
"Hot date?" Reyes asks. He's smiling, but his eyes narrow.
Christ, what is his deal? Why am I getting a jealous vibe from him?
"Uh, no," I respond. "I was going through some stuff last night, and found the name of a psychiatrist that evaluated Wells during the first trial. He's agreed to meet with me, but I have to see him this morning before he goes on vacation for two weeks."
"Shrinks take vacations?" Reyes asks.
I shrug. "Who knew. I'll be back this afternoon."
The drive out to Cedar Grove State Hospital for the Criminally Insane took just under an hour. Once I turned off the main highway, the road wound its way through a dense forest that revealed the hospital. The building looked to be about a hundred years old, and was as beautiful as the surrounding landscape. Crazy people who commit heinous crimes have some of the best real estate in the country.
The receptionist shows me into a waiting room, informs me that the doctor will be with me in a few minutes, and then leaves. The room is a mix of white and gray walls, with navy blue chairs that could stand to be cleaned, and white, blue, and gray floor tiles. There are two doors—the one I came in, and one that has a sign with Dr. Jeremiah Hinderland's name on it. The door opens, and a short, gray-haired man comes out, catches sight of me, and extends his hand.
"Ms. Tate?"
I stand and shake his hand. "Yes, I'm Kylie Tate."
"It's very nice to meet you. Come into my office, we can talk in there." He leads me in, points to a chair that I can sit in, walks around his desk and sits in a swivel desk chair. "I understand you have some questions for me about an inmate?"
I reach into my briefcase and pull out a legal pad with a few questions jotted down. "Yes, James Arthur Wells. He was convicted in 1997 for murdering his wife."
Dr. Hinderland crosses to a five-drawer filing cabinet and rummages through it. "Ah, here we go." He returns to his chair and flips through a few of the pages in the file. "Yes, I remember this case. Very sad. Mr. Wells beat his wife to death in a drunken rage. The oldest son, James Alexander Wells, witnessed the altercation, and was present when his mother died."
"Alex Stone," I say, though I don't know why it's so important for me to correct him. "He was adopted by his aunt and uncle, and changed his name."
"Well, that's not surprising. It's natural to want to distance one's self from a tragedy such as this, and deny any connection to the event or the person who committed the offense. But I doubt you are here to talk about Mr. Stone."
"I would like to know more about your evaluation of Mr. Wells."
"Well, the court record has the evaluation I did to assess his mental capacity at the time. I'm not sure what else I can add to it." The chair squeaks as he leans back in it, his elbows on the armrests and his fingers steepled.
"I was hoping that you might have taken notes during your meetings with Mr. Wells, and have retained them."
"What is it, specifically, that you're looking for, Ms. Tate?"
"I'm not sure, exactly, but I'm hoping your notes will provide some clarity into his demeanor…and character. Sometimes it is the most innocuous statements that provide insight."
"So, you're on a fishing expedition? Why now? Mr. Wells has been in prison for eighteen years, and will be there for the rest of his life, if I remember correctly."
"Mr. We
lls appealed his conviction and has been granted a new trial."
"Ah, I see. And you are hoping to find something that will keep him in prison, is that right?"
"Yes."
"Well, Ms. Tate, I can give you what I have in my file, but it's not much. I'm not sure the notes will be of much value to you without proper context. They are the scribblings that meant something at the time, but have very little meaning now."
"Whatever you can give me will be appreciated."
Dr. Hinderland picks up the receiver from his desk phone and pushes a button. "Yes, can you make copies for Ms. Tate, please?" He replaces the handset as the receptionist comes through the door, retrieves the file, and leaves.
"It will be waiting for you at the reception desk when you leave."
That was easier than I thought it'd be. I toss the legal pad into my briefcase and begin to rise. If I hurry, I can make it back to the office just after lunch. The sooner I can get things organized, the sooner I can seriously delve into this case. I need to make a timeline of events. And go through the crime scene photos—I wonder how many there are?
"I have to admit, I was confused by your phone call," the doctor is saying.
"I'm sorry?"
"Well, when I got your message that you wanted to meet with me, I thought it was in response to my requests."
What the hell? "Now I'm the one confused, I guess. What requests?" I hope this isn't another effect of my memory loss. Most everything has come back to me—at least, as far as I know.
"I've sent letters to your home hoping you would consider meeting with my patient. It would assist in his recovery…seeing you and being able to apologize for his actions."
"I think you have me mistaken with someone else, Doctor. I don't know anyone incarcerated here."
"Why sure you do, Ms. Tate." He opens the door and calls out into the waiting room. "Bring him in."
A ghost—my worst nightmare—walks through the door, bringing an icy chill that penetrates my bones, my heart, and my soul.
I shake my head. It can't be. It can't be him. He's dead.
But here he stands in front of me. Very much alive.
John Sysco.
Chapter Nine
I stumble backwards. My knees quiver. My heart is about to burst out of my chest. No, no, no. It's not real.
"You're not real," I murmur. "You died."
A grin slides across John's face. A dark glint flashes through his eyes. My head is swirling. I'm hanging by my arms in the shower. Crying. Begging John to stop. The same grin—the same evil glint. He raises the flogger so I can see it. Blood drips from the leather tendrils. My blood. I'm not through with you yet, he whispers in my ear.
"No," Dr. Hinderland says. He is at my side, his hand on my elbow. "John is alive, as you can see. He's been incarcerated here for the last three months."
I want to look away, but I can't. His eyes are locked on mine, commanding me to pay attention to only him. "You're dead."
John doesn't speak. He just stands there, smiling at me. Mocking me. Making me feel small and insecure. I swore I would never give him that kind of control over me again. But I wasn't prepared for this. Small pieces of reality are breaking away, and floating to infinity. Nothing makes sense. I'm flailing in a sea of uncertainty. Do I admit that the one truth that has saved my sanity these past couple of months is nothing but a vicious lie?
"Jake shot you."
"Yes, John did suffer from a gunshot wound, but he was taken into surgery and they were able to save his life."
"They should have let you die. They should have let you slowly bleed out until there was nothing left in you but your cold heart."
I take a step towards the door. John shifts slightly, blocking my path. Dr. Hinderland is talking, but I can't hear what he's saying. All I can focus on is John. And how the hell I get out of here.
"Looks as if Alex wasn't completely honest with you, and greatly exaggerated my demise," he whispers, darts his eyes over to the doctor, and ensures he is preoccupied with whatever he is doing. "Alex probably wishes I was dead, but I'm alive and well."
"Get out of my way, John."
He grabs my arm, yanks it until I fall against his chest. He lowers his head, his nose in my hair, and takes a deep inhale. "I told you I would never leave you, Kylie, and I never will. You will always be mine."
He releases me, and steps away from the door. I grab for the handle, yank the door open, and run through the waiting room. The door closes behind me and I walk quickly down the hallway to the reception desk. I have to get out of here. Out of this building. Away from John.
"Ms. Tate," the receptionist calls out. "Don't forget your copies."
My hands shake and I nearly drop the large envelope. I burst through the door and out into the bright sun. My only thought is to get in my car and get as far away from here as possible. The tires on the Porsche squeal as I punch it into first gear and speed down the long, winding driveway.
John's alive. Breathe. Alex lied. My heart seizes. I trusted him and he lied to me.
All the warm from the sun evaporates, and I'm left with a chill I can't shake. My heart is aching. My soul is dying. My world is dark, scary—unknown. There are only three things I know for certain—John survived, Alex has been lying to me for months, and I will never be able to forgive him.
The Maserati is gone when I pull into the garage. I leave everything, including the keys, in the car and enter the kitchen. Maggie looks up from the stove and smiles at me. A little more of my heart breaks, I'm going to miss her. She's the closest thing to a grandmother I've ever known.
"Do you know where Alex is?" I ask.
She continues to stir whatever she's making. "I think he said something about going into his office and thought he'd be back by mid-afternoon, so I expect him any time now."
"Thanks."
Not much time to get everything together. I will have to take only the essentials and come back for the rest. I pull the suitcase from the top of the closet, toss it onto the bed, and start emptying the dresser drawers. I shove as many of my suits into a hanging bag as I can, tossing in shoes without looking at them. The bathroom is last to get cleared out. I zip the hanging bag and suitcase. Getting them out without raising suspicion is the challenge. If Maggie thinks something is up, she'll call Alex.
Fuck it. I don't give a shit. The faster he gets home, the faster I can confront him and get the hell out of here. Thank God I can fit all this in the Porsche's trunk. I slam it closed, re-enter the house and head for the living room. Christ, I need a drink. My hands shake as I pour scotch into the glass and lift it to my lips. I relish the burn as it slides down my throat, and ignites my stomach.
The door to the kitchen opens. Alex is talking to Maggie. His footsteps echo on the tile. I drink the rest of the scotch in my glass and place it back on the bar.
"Hey, baby," Alex says. His eyes are bright and he has a smile on his face that wraps around my heart and squeezes it. "I figured you'd be at your new office all day getting set up."
"I had a meeting."
He steps around me and pours himself a drink.
"And how'd it go?"
"It was…enlightening."
Alex's eyebrows raise. "Elaborate."
I take a deep breath. He's so calm, while every part of my body is quivering. It wasn't supposed to be like this. We were supposed to be happy forever. But he betrayed me in the worst way possible. He robbed me of my security. Trampled on my trust. And nothing will ever be the same again.
"Did I mention to you where I was going today?"
His eyes narrow. "No, I don't think so."
I chuckle, but there is absolutely no humor in it. "No, I'm sure I didn't. If I had, you would've tried to stop me."
"Where did you go?" he asks.
"I had a meeting with a psychiatrist involved in your father's case."
He bristles at the mention of his father.
"Dr. Hinderland. He's at the Cedar Grove State Hospital."
All the blood drains from Alex's face. The glass slips from his hand but he manages to catch it before it falls to the floor.
"Yeah, I thought I might get that reaction from you," I sneer.
He crosses the room, placing the glass on the table, and stops in front of me. Before he can say anything—before he can start another stream of lies—I lean in until my lips are next to his ear.
"You lied to me, Alex, and I'm done."
I pivot and start out the door. Alex is on my heels, grabs my wrist, and tugs on my arm. I yank my hand away, run into the garage, and drop behind the steering wheel. I catch a glimpse of Alex at the door as I speed away.
A wave of nausea hits me as I roll through the gates. Away from the one place I felt safe… from the one man I believed would never betray me. Perspiration covers my skin. I stop on the shoulder of the road, get out of the car—sure I'm going to be sick. My hand clutches my stomach, I bend at the waist, and heave. I haven't eaten anything, so the endless surges don't actually expel anything. I slump into the driver's seat, and lean my head against the head rest.
My head is pounding, never-ending beats of John's alive and Alex betrayed me drumming rhythmically behind my eye sockets. "Why, Alex?" I sob, the pain in my heart unbearable. We were happy. We were back. We were strong again.
John—alive. I thought I was free of him. Never again would I have to worry about his sadistic threats against me. He knows the fear he evokes in me, and he uses it to his advantage. He'll come after me again. It's not even a matter of if—it's a matter of when.
"No!" I scream, and pound my fists on the steering wheel until pain radiates through my fingers and up my arm. I lean my forehead against the leather wrapped steering wheel, fatigue overtakes me, and I'm lost.
Now what? Where the hell do I go? I can't go to Paul and Ryan's—I'm just getting started on the Wells appeal. My row house in town is rented, so that's not an option.
I hit the speed dial for Paul's cell phone.
"Hey, K. What's up?"
Just hearing his voice opens the flood gates I have been holding in since I came eye-to-eye with John Sysco.
Revenge: Tri-Stone Trilogy, Book Two Page 7