"Uh, yeah, so…" Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone come out of Paul's bedroom. "Ryan's here."
Ryan has the same disheveled look as Paul.
"So, let me guess, you've made up and everything is perfect between you?" I blurt out through clenched teeth. My chest is heaving, and heat flushes through my body. How could Paul just forgive Ryan after how he helped Alex cover up John's survival? A burning sensation spread through my chest. Why do they get to be so happy when I'm dying a little bit every day I am away from Alex?
A fine line exists between loving Alex so much I can't bear to be away from him, and resenting him so much that I can't forgive him. I'm on a tightrope between the two. At any given moment, I could fall to one side or the other depending on which way I'm leaning. And I fear where I end up. Losing Alex, or losing a piece of myself forgiving him again.
"K, come on," Paul says. "Ryan and I talked, he explained his reasons for going along with Alex, and we worked it out. It's what people in loving, committed relationships do."
"Nice, Paul." His words slice through my heart. I have every right to be upset at Alex, to not want to hear his excuses, to be resentful of his need to control me. Ryan's involvement hurts just as much. How can he think so little of me as to lie about something so important?
Ryan takes a step toward me, his eyes soft, the corners drooping. "Kylie, I know you're still upset with me and you have every reason to be—but if you will just hear me out. If, after that, you're still angry, I will leave it alone, and let you reach out to me when you're ready. No judgment and no resentment from either of us." He moves his finger back and forth between himself and Paul.
My heart is a lead balloon in my chest, weighing me down, and I just want to be unburdened by this suffering. I nod my head, follow Ryan into the living room, and sink into the couch.
Ryan sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of me. "When you came out of the coma, the doctor's warned us not to upset you, that head injuries are not fully understood because so much of the brain remains enigmatic. We were concerned that you may become frightened—afraid John was still able to get to you and harm you—and that would cause you to lapse back into a coma. You were so fragile, and your memories of the incident with John were clouded. Alex and I were talking to you, do you remember?"
"Yes, vaguely." Everything before and for days after I regained consciousness were a muddled mass of memories. They were disjointed, some of them incomprehensible, and I'm never really sure how they all fit together sometimes.
"You asked Alex about John, and there was so much fear in your eyes, so much tension in your body at just the mention of his name. I've never seen you that way, not even when we found you after John had beat you so badly. Alex told you that John was gone, and would never be able to hurt you again. Your eyes brightened, and it was as if all the tension in your body instantly flowed out of you."
The memory is clear in my mind—whether it's because it was the first moment of joy I recall after waking from the coma, or because I have replayed it in my mind so many times during the past few days. "I remember hugging Alex, and repeating over and over that John was dead."
Ryan nods. "Alex and I just looked at each other, stunned. I didn't know what to do, but I didn't want to be the one who took away the comfort that John's death provided you. When you fell asleep, Alex and I left the room and talked about it. He was adamant that we not correct your assumption right away given the doctor's warnings. I agreed with him. Since then, I've told him that he needs to come clean about what really happened to John, and where he is now."
Ryan runs his fingers through his hair, takes a deep breath, and glances at Paul who nods and tips the corners of his mouth up just enough to encourage Ryan to continue. "Alex told me when the two of you visited us last week that he had let it go on so long, he didn't know how you would react to the news, but that it would probably cause you to lose trust in him. I told him that I wanted to be there when he told you—help you understand. But he refused, saying he didn't want me to be involved, that you didn't ever need to know that I was a part of the deception. He was going to take it all on himself."
"That's not surprising." My voice is soft. I gaze out the window. Alex's need to protect extends to the people I love, especially the two men with me that are all the family I've had for so many years now.
"He's a good man, Kylie," Ryan says, taking ahold of my hands and squeezing them.
"He lied to me." That's the part twisting like a knife in my heart.
"Did he?" Ryan asks. I dart my eyes to his, disbelieving he can actually ask me that. "Did he ever actually say that John was dead?"
My mind races back over the past couple of months. Not at any time did Alex state John had died, and when I said it, he wouldn't respond. Sometimes he would look away, or change the subject. Often, he would gather me in his arms and hold me. I thought it was because we both shared in the contentment of not having to look over our shoulders, of the constant worry that John was planning his next attack, and finally being able to be together without the threat John posed.
"No, but that's really immaterial, Ryan. It was a lie by omission. He may not have explicitly stated John was dead, but he knew the truth, and intentionally misled me."
"You're right, but if you believe nothing else, please believe that we had your best interests at heart. We just couldn't risk it while you were in the hospital. It went on too long, and for my part, I am so very sorry. But you should know—Alex was going to tell you that afternoon. We had a long talk about it that morning, and he was determined not to let another day pass without you knowing the truth."
I take a large gulp of coffee from my travel mug and set it into the cup holder in my Porsche and head back to the office. Lunch had been longer—and a hell of a lot more emotional—than I had anticipated, and I'm returning later than I want. Forgiving Ryan is hard, but I do understand better why he went along with the deception. He and Paul have always been there for me, trying to take care of me when I needed it most, so I shouldn't be surprised that Ryan did what he has always done since he met me in college.
So why is it so hard for to forgive Alex? During the period John stalked me, it was always Alex who was there for me. He stopped John from beating me, and probably more, so many times. From the moment I first told him about John and our relationship, Alex swore he would never let anyone—especially John—lay a finger on me in ever again. And yet, here I am, holding him to a higher standard than Ryan for doing what he has always done. This is not new behavior for him.
I stop at a red light, take another sip of coffee, and take a deep cleansing breath. I need to figure out my feelings for Alex, but it's not going to happen today. Focusing on this appeal has to be the primary goal if we're going to have any chance of keeping James Wells in prison, where he belongs. I only get one shot at this. If James is acquitted, double jeopardy attaches, and he can't be tried for this crime ever again. No matter what happens between Alex and I, I cannot fail him. The memory of Alex slumped on the floor, reliving his mother's death, sobbing in my arms—it nearly broke me to see him like that, and I will use every legal maneuver I can to make sure he never sees his father walking the streets as a free man.
A horn honks behind me, letting me know the light is green. I look in the rearview mirror and wave at the driver of the black car. Halfway through the intersection, I glance into the rearview mirror again. The black car is practically hitched to my back bumper.
"You think you can get a little farther up my ass, buddy?" I mutter, shaking my head. I wave at him to back off, but he stays in close.
What the hell is this guy's problem? Is he really that upset that he had to wait a few extra seconds on a green light? I press firmly on the accelerator and get ahead of him, and can see the BMW hood emblem contrasting against the dark sports car. The driver accelerates, catches up to me, and resumes his tailgating.
My breathing hitches. It's not John's car. It's not John's car. I tap on the
brakes. The car swerves into the left lane, pulls ahead of me, and nearly takes out my front end as he slides back in the lane ahead of me.
"Jesus Christ!" I slam on my brakes and hit the horn, but the car speeds away. My eyes are glued to the license plates. JAS. I blink, it can't be. When I look again, to verify what I'd seen, the car turns the corner and is out of sight.
"I'm losing my mind." Weighing what I think I just saw against the impossibility of it being John is causing a lightning storm in my brain and a dull throb at the base of my skull.
I pull into the small parking lot behind my law office, grab my coffee and purse, and head up the stairs. Thank God Reyes isn't back from lunch either. I have time to calm down without him scrutinizing me. I dump my stuff on a chair in my office, cross the open space to the kitchenette, and start a new pot of coffee. My hands are shaking, coffee grounds scatter all over the counter. I need to get a grip on my paranoia, but this is twice now that I've seen John's BMW. And it's not just one that looks like his—it's his, the vanity plates are proof of that.
My breathing is out of control, I'm hyperventilating, and one step away from a full blown panic attack. I grab the edge of the counter, close my eyes, and concentrate on slow inhales and exhales.
Footsteps fall on the stairs, and I turn as Reyes hits the top step. He's breathing heavily, his chest heaving almost as heavily as mine. Sweat covers his face, his short hair wet, his shirt sticking to him, the outline of his highly defined pectoral muscles visible through the thin material.
"Were you running?" I ask.
His head swivels around until his eyes meet mine.
"Uh…yeah…"
I grab the coffee pot before it's done brewing, fill my coffee mug, and stroll into my office. "Was someone chasing you?" I'm only half joking as I stop behind my desk and peer at him standing in the doorway of my office.
"Well, it was more of a jog, really—I lost track of time at lunch and wanted to get back to the office." His eyes run over my body, finally landing on my face. "You alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost." He leans against the doorframe to my office, his massive, muscular arms across his chest, and his eyebrows raised.
"I wish it had been a ghost," I mutter. I glance at him, and his eyes narrow and lock onto mine. "It's nothing," I wave dismissively, "just some jerk who was driving like an asshole on the way over here. Nearly clipped the front of my car." Hopefully, he'll take the hint and let this drop.
"Drivers around here suck. I hated being on patrol when I first became a cop. It's a miracle I was never in an accident."
I smile, nod, and change the subject. I really don't want to talk about this anymore and say something to the detective that will only generate more questions that I didn't have answers for. "I thought we'd go through the crime scene photos, and start a timeline on the whiteboard this afternoon."
"Okay, I'll find the boxes we need."
"Sounds good. I just have to make a quick phone call and I'll be right in." As soon as he's in the conference room, I pick up the receiver and dial the number to Cedar Grove Hospital. The receptionist answers after the second ring.
"Yes, hello, I was wondering if there is any way I can speak to John Sysco?" I ask.
"And you are?"
Crap! I hadn't thought this far ahead. I don't want to give my name for a variety of reasons, but I have no idea what name to give.
"Um, I'm a cousin of his…Caroline." I have no idea if he has a cousin named Caroline—or if he even has a cousin, but it's the first thing that pops in my head.
After a few minutes of being on hold, the line is picked up. "Hello?"
I'd know his voice anywhere. It still gives me an icy shiver down my spine.
"Hello? Anyone there?" He asks.
I move the phone away from my ear but hear a low, evil whisper that sucks all the air out of my lungs. "I know that's you, Kylie. I know you're scared—wondering if the things you're seeing are real. Are you questioning your own sanity yet?"
I slam the receiver down. My hands are trembling. A cold wave rushes over me leaving goosebumps in its wake. What did he mean? Was that him driving the car? No, there's be no way for him to get all the way back to the hospital in that amount of time. God, I hate that he can frighten me to the very depths of my soul with just the sound of his voice. But there's something more going on here. Either I'm losing my mind, or John has somehow resumed stalking me.
I shake my head at my own irrational thoughts and head into the conference room. Distraction. That's what I need right now. Work has always been a reprieve from John in the past, even when we were dating. No reason it can't be again.
Reyes is busy separating the photos into piles. I grab a couple and drop down into one of the chairs.
"Let's see what we have here…" The first picture shows a close up of an overturned end table and a few broken glass objects scattered close by. Little yellow tents with numbers mark the evidence. "I wish I could get a sense of how the room was laid out—you know, basic dimensions, furniture placement?" I flip through a few more pictures showing other items broken or generally out of place. "Is there a diagram…or sketch of this room? Or the house?"
"I haven't seen anything yet, but that wouldn't be in this stuff." Reyes drops a few more photos in front of me. "I can take a look at the evidence log and see if either the prosecution or defense had one made for the trial."
I glance up from the photos and meet his gaze. His eyes are so intense, a hunger lurks in the periphery, edged with melancholy. We've been working closely for the past few days, but I know virtually nothing about him. I have no idea if he's married, single, divorced. If he has kids. The atmosphere when he's around me—when it's just us—shifts to one of need and desire, and I can't help but wonder if Paul is right, and Reyes is interested in more than just a professional relationship.
I go through the pictures he added to my pile. One is a close-up of Ellen Wells. A stream of blood runs from the corner of her mouth, across her cheek, and drips into a pool of blood on the floor. There are fresh bruises on her cheek and around her eye, and her lip is swollen and split open.
It's the marks on the neck that I'm most interested in. Four long, wide bruises line the right side of her neck, with one large bruise on the left side. Damn, this complicates things.
"Do you have a copy of the death certificate handy?" I ask Reyes.
He shifts through a file at the other end of the long table. "Yep, right here." He waves it in the air.
"What does it say the cause of death is?"
"Intracranial hemorrhage and brain herniation due to traumatic brain injury."
"I need to see the coroner's report and the transcript of his testimony." There is something in this photo that I'm missing, something that will exculpate Alex in his mother's death. "What's the name of the coroner?"
"Xavier Schiffer."
"No, not the current guy. The one from the original trial…he's retired now." I flip through the files in front of me, unsure what is actually in them.
"Logan? Lewis, maybe?" Reyes offers. "It should be on the death certificate." He finds it under a pile of crime scene photos, yanks it out, and scours it for the name. "Theodore Loftus."
"We need to find him. I want him to take a look at these photos and explain the bruises on her neck, and why the cause of death wasn't strangulation. See if we can get him to come here."
Reyes stares at me and releases a long, heavy sigh. "Anything else?"
A flush hits my face. "You're not my legal secretary. You're a highly experienced detective, and I have no right expecting you to fetch things for me. I apologize, I guess I'm used to having Lisa around when I work up a case. That's not an excuse, and I'm sure you have your own areas to investigate."
He chuckles, rubs the back of his neck and twists at the hips to stretch his back. "It's no problem. Nothing I've been looking into is leading anywhere. Besides, I'm kind of getting a kick out of watching you. I just wish I could be inside your head and see wha
t's going on in there."
Placing the pictures in some coherent order, I shake my head. "It's total chaos and confusion. I wouldn't recommend going in there."
"It's a beautiful mind."
I still, and slowly lift my eyes.
"You know, the guy in that movie. Total genius, bat-shit crazy."
I breathe a sigh of relief, chastising myself for assuming he meant anything else. "Hmmm, I'm going to pretend there's a compliment in there and just say thanks."
He saunters around the table toward me, his eyes trained on mine, and stops right in front of me. "You're welcome." His voice is deep, and his eyes have darkened. I suck in a breath, not sure what's coming next. He hands me a notebook and a file. "Here's the coroner's report and transcript you requested."
My chest is heaving, although I haven't the faintest idea why. I'm not attracted to Reyes, even though a woman would have to be near dead not to appreciate the sculptured body, and—damn—can he ever fill out a pair of jeans with that perfect ass. Maybe it's just the possibility that he will try to kiss me, or want to take it farther that's has me apprehensive.
I have no idea, but it's becoming clear to me that the men in my life are driving me a little "bat shit crazy" lately. I wonder how long until I am full-blown insane and committed to Cedar Grove?
By late afternoon, I gather up some files to go over tonight, and head out the door. When I get into the apartment, all I can think of is getting a glass of wine and taking a long, scalding hot bath. Paul and Ryan returned to New York after lunch, so I'm on my own. Paul gave me his patented bear hug as I before I left, and whispered in my ear, "Don't string Alex along for too long, K. You deserve to be happy, and you've been at your happiest since being with him. It may be time to suck it up and let him off the hook."
My relationship with Alex has been a series of stops and starts, each stop a blindside that slams me up against a wall, certain our relationship is beyond repair. I dwell in darkness, the constant pain that ravages my heart is my companion, and I wallow in self-pity until the slightest bit of light slips through the cracks. The light is always Alex. It will always be Alex. No matter how mad I am, how much I convince myself that it will never work, that we are over, I know I can't live without him.
Revenge: Tri-Stone Trilogy, Book Two Page 9