by Sylvia Day
Once I got to work, I powered through my morning.
The release of the new GenTen gaming console was imminent and while speculation was rampant, we had managed to keep the virtual reality component a secret. VR was in development everywhere, but Cross Industries was years ahead of the competition. I knew decisively that LanCorp’s PhazeOne system was simply an overhaul, with advanced optics and increased speed. It could compete with the previous-generation GenTen, but that was all.
Shortly before lunch, I took the time to call my mother.
“Gideon.” She sighed tremulously. “I suppose you heard?”
“Yes. I’m sorry.” I could tell she was hurting. “If you need anything, please let me know.”
“Chris is the one who suddenly isn’t happy in our marriage,” she said bitterly. “And it’s all my fault, of course.”
I softened my tone, but spoke firmly. “Not to be insensitive, but the details don’t concern me. How are you?”
“Talk to him.” The plea was heartfelt. Her voice cracked. “Tell him he’s made a mistake.”
I debated how to answer. The assistance I offered was fiduciary, not personal. There was nothing personal left in my relationship with my mother. Still, I found myself saying, “You won’t want my advice, but I’ll offer it anyway. You might want to consider therapy.”
There was a pause. “I can’t believe you, of all people, would suggest that.”
“Preaching what I practice.” My gaze slid to the photo of my wife, as it so often did during my day. “Eva suggested couples counseling shortly after we began dating. She wanted something more out of our relationship. I wanted her, so I agreed. Initially, I was just going through the motions, but now I can say it’s been really worthwhile.”
“She started all of this,” she hissed. “You’re such a smart man, Gideon, but you can’t see what she’s doing.”
“And this is where I say good-bye, Mother,” I replied before she got me riled. “Call if you need anything.”
I hung up, then spun in my chair, making a slow revolution all the way around. The disappointment and anger that always accompanied interactions with my mother was there, simmering, but I was more aware of it than usual. Maybe because I’d so recently dreamed of her, reliving the moment when I had realized she would never come around, was deliberately choosing to turn a blind eye for reasons I would never comprehend.
For years, I made excuses for her. I manufactured dozens of reasons for her refusal to protect me to give myself some comfort. Until I realized she was doing the same thing in reverse, making up stories about why I’d lie about being abused so she could live with her decision to pretend it never happened. So I stopped.
She had failed me as a mother but preferred to believe I’d failed her as a son.
And so it went.
When I faced my desk again, I picked up the phone and called my brother.
“What do you want?” he answered.
I could picture the scowl on his face. A face very unlike mine. Of my mother’s three children, only Christopher resembled his father more than he did our mom.
His acrimony had the predictable effect of making me want to bait him. “The pleasure of hearing your voice. What else?”
“Cut the shit, Gideon. Did you call to gloat? Your fondest wish has finally come true.”
Leaning back in my chair, I looked up at the ceiling. “I’d tell you I’m very sorry your parents are divorcing, but you wouldn’t believe me, so I won’t bother. Instead, I’ll say that I’m here for you, if you need me.”
“Go to hell.” He hung up.
I pulled the receiver away from my ear and held it aloft a moment. Contrary to Christopher’s belief, I hadn’t always disliked him. There had been a time when I welcomed him in my life. For a short time, I’d had a comrade. A brother. The animosity I felt now, he’d earned. But no matter, I would take care of him and see that he didn’t stumble too badly, whether he liked it or not.
Returning the handset to its cradle, I got back to work. After all, I couldn’t have anything pressing over the weekend. I planned to be completely incommunicado while with my wife.
I studied Dr. Petersen, who sat completely at ease across from me. He wore dark, loose jeans with a tucked-in white shirt, as comfortable as I’d ever seen him. I wondered if that was a deliberate decision in an effort to seem as innocuous as possible. He knew my history with therapists now, understood why I would always find them threatening to some degree.
“How did your weekend in Westport go?” he asked.
“Did she call you?” In the past, when Eva wanted to make sure I discussed something in therapy, she would bring it up to Dr. Petersen in advance. I grumbled about it and often didn’t appreciate it, but her motivation was her love for me and I couldn’t bitch about that.
“No.” He smiled, and it was gentle, almost fond. “I saw the photographs of you and Eva.”
That surprised me. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the type to follow the tabloids.”
“My wife does. She showed me the pictures because she found them very romantic. I have to agree with her. You both looked very happy.”
“We are.”
“How do you get along with Eva’s family?”
I settled back, draping my arm over the armrest. “I’ve known Richard Stanton for many years and Monica for the last few.”
“Casual and business acquaintances are very different from in-laws.”
His perceptiveness rankled. Still, I was honest. “It was … awkward. Unnecessarily so, but I dealt with it.”
Dr. Petersen’s smile widened. “How did you deal with it?”
“I focused on Eva.”
“So you maintained distance from the others?”
“No more than usual.”
He scribbled notes into his tablet. “Anything else happen since I saw you on Thursday?”
My mouth twisted wryly. “She bought me a dog. A puppy.”
He looked up at me. “Congratulations.”
I shrugged. “Eva’s tickled by the whole thing.”
“Is it her dog, then?”
“No. She got all the gear and dropped him in my lap.”
“That’s quite a commitment.”
“He’ll be fine. Animals are good at self-sufficiency.” Because he waited with expectant patience, I moved on. “My stepfather filed for divorce.”
Dr. Petersen’s head tilted a little as he studied me. “We’ve gone from in-laws, to a new dog, to the dissolution of your parents’ marriage in the space of a few minutes. That’s a tremendous amount of change for someone who strives for structure.”
That was stating the obvious, so I didn’t add anything.
“You seem remarkably composed, Gideon. Because things are going well with Eva?”
“Exceptionally well.” I knew the contrast to last week’s therapy session was striking. I’d been wild with panic over the separation from Eva, terrified and frantic that I might lose her. I could recall the feelings with anguished clarity, but I had difficulty accepting how quickly I had … unraveled. I didn’t recognize that desperate man, couldn’t reconcile him with what I knew about myself.
He nodded slowly. “Of the three things you mentioned, how would you rank them from most important to least important?”
“That would depend on your definition of importance.”
“Fair enough. Which would you say impacts you most?”
“The dog.”
“Does he or she have a name?”
I held back a smile. “His name is Lucky.”
He noted that, for whatever reason. “Would you buy Eva a pet?”
The question took me aback. I answered without really thinking about it. “No.”
“Why not?”
I considered that a minute. “As you pointed out, it’s a commitment.”
“Are you resentful that she made you take on that commitment?”
“No.”
“Do you have any pictures of Lu
cky?”
I frowned. “No. Where are you going with this?”
“I’m not sure.” He set his tablet aside and held my gaze. “Bear with me a minute.”
“Okay.”
“Taking on a pet is a big responsibility, similar to adopting a child. They’re dependent on you for food and shelter, for companionship and love. Dogs more so than cats or other animals.”
“So I’ve been told,” I said dryly.
“You have the family you were born into and the family you’ve married into, but you keep yourself separate from both. Their activities and overtures don’t impact you in a meaningful way because you don’t allow them to. They’re disruptive to the order of your life, so you keep them at a comfortable distance.”
“I don’t see anything wrong with that. I’m certainly not the only person to say family is who you choose.”
“Who have you chosen, aside from Eva?”
“It … wasn’t a choice.”
I pictured her in my mind the way she’d been when I first saw her. She had been dressed to work out, her face naturally bare, her amazing body hugged by form-fitting fitness gear. Just like thousands of other women on the island of Manhattan, but she’d struck me like lightning without even knowing I was there.
“My concern is that she’s become a coping mechanism for you,” Dr. Petersen said. “You’ve found someone who loves you and believes you, who supports you and gives you strength. In many ways, you feel like she’s the only one who will ever truly understand you.”
“She’s in a unique position to do so.”
“Not that unique,” he said kindly. “I’ve read the transcripts of some of your speeches. You’re aware of the statistics.”
Yes, I knew that one in every four women I met had been exposed to sexual abuse. That didn’t change the fact that none of them had evoked the feelings of affinity that Eva did. “If there’s a point, Doctor, I’d like you to get to it.”
“I want you to be mindful of a potential tendency to seclude yourself with Eva, to the exclusion of everyone else. I asked if you would gift her with a pet, because I can’t see you doing so. That would shift her focus and affection away from you, even if only slightly, while your focus and affection is centered entirely on her.”
I drummed my fingertips on the arm of the sofa. “That’s not unusual for newlyweds.”
“It’s unusual for you.” He leaned forward. “Did Eva say why she gave Lucky to you?”
I hesitated, preferring to keep something so intimate to myself. “She wants me to have more unconditional love.”
He smiled. “And I’m certain it will give her great pleasure to see you reciprocating that. She’s pushed very hard for you to open up to her and to me. Now that you’re taking those steps, she’ll want you to open up to others. The bigger her intimate circle is, the happier she is. She wants to pull you into that, not have you pull her out of it.”
My lungs expanded on a long, deep breath. He was right, much as I hated to admit it.
Dr. Petersen sat back again and resumed scrawling on the screen of his tablet, giving me time to absorb what he said.
I asked him something that had been on my mind. “When I told you about Hugh …”
He gave me his full attention. “Yes?”
“You didn’t seem surprised.”
“And you want to know why.” His gaze was kind. “There were certain markers. I could say I deduced it, but that wouldn’t be entirely true.”
I felt my phone buzz in my pocket but ignored it, despite knowing that only a handful of people were programmed to bypass the do-not-disturb setting I used during my meetings with Dr. Petersen.
“I saw Eva shortly after she moved to New York,” he went on. “She asked me if it was possible for two abuse survivors to have a meaningful relationship. It was only a few days later when you contacted me and asked if I’d be open to seeing you, in addition to seeing you and Eva as a couple.”
My pulse quickened. “I hadn’t told her then. I didn’t until we’d been coming to you for a while.”
But I’d had nightmares, the really bad ones that had been coming less frequently of late.
My phone buzzed again and I pulled it out. “Excuse me.”
It was Angus. I’m outside the office door, he’d texted first. This time, It’s urgent.
My spine stiffened. Angus wouldn’t disturb me without a very good reason. I stood. “I’ll have to cut this short,” I told Dr. Petersen.
He set aside his tablet and rose to his feet. “Is everything all right?”
“If not, I’m sure you’ll hear about it on Thursday.” I shook his hand quickly and left the office, passing through the empty reception area before stepping out to the hallway.
Angus stood there, looking grim. He wasted no time. “The police are at the penthouse with Eva.”
My blood turned to ice. I strode to the elevator with Angus falling into step beside me. “Why?”
“Anne Lucas filed charges of harassment.”
7
My hand shook as I poured freshly brewed coffee into three mugs. I couldn’t tell if that was because I was so pissed off or because I was afraid. Certainly, I was both. Being a cop’s daughter, I understood the unwritten rules followed by those who worked behind the blue wall of law enforcement. And after everything Gideon and I had been through regarding Nathan’s death, I was doubly on my guard now.
But it wasn’t Detectives Graves and Michna of the homicide division who wanted to speak to me. I couldn’t decide if that made me more or less anxious. They were the devil I knew, so to speak. And while I wouldn’t go so far as to call Shelley Graves an ally, she’d dropped the case when she still had questions without answers.
This time around, it was Officers Peña and Williams who had shown up on our doorstep.
And it was Anne Lucas who sent them my way. That fucking bitch.
I’d had to cut my appointment with Blaire Ash short, knowing it was unavoidable that the designer would pass the officers in the lobby when he exited the private elevator. I didn’t have time to worry about what he’d make of that. Instead, I took the brief time alone to call Raúl and tell him to find Arash Madani. I wanted to call Gideon, but he was with Dr. Petersen and I considered that more important. I could handle the police. I knew the basics: Have an attorney present and be succinct. Don’t elaborate or offer information not asked for.
Setting the three mugs of coffee on a serving tray, I searched for something to pour the half-and-half into.
“You don’t have to go to any trouble, Ms. Tramell,” Officer Peña said as he and his partner entered the kitchen with their hats tucked under their arms.
Peña had a baby face that made him look younger than he probably was, which I guessed was close to my age. Williams was a petite, curvy black woman, with sharp cop eyes that told me she’d seen things I would never want to.
I’d asked them to wait in the living room and they had followed me instead. That made me feel hunted, which I’m sure was part of their intention.
“It’s no trouble.” I gave up trying to be classy about the half-and-half and just set the carton on the island. “And I’m waiting for my attorney to arrive, so there’s really not much else for me to do in the meantime.”
Officer Williams eyed me coolly, as if she were wondering why I felt the need for counsel.
I didn’t have to justify myself but knew it wouldn’t hurt to let them know why I was cautious. “My dad’s on the job in California. He’d chew me out if I didn’t follow his advice.”
I grabbed the box of sugar I’d dug out of the pantry and set it on the tray before moving it all over to the island.
“Where in California?” Peña asked, grabbing a mug and taking his coffee black.
“Oceanside.”
“San Diego area, right? Nice.”
“It is, yes.”
Williams took her coffee with a splash of half-and-half and a whole lot of sugar, which she poured straight from t
he box. “Is Mr. Cross here?”
“He’s in a meeting.”
She kept her gaze on me as she lifted her mug to her lips. “Who was the guy leaving when we came up?”
The deliberate casualness of her tone made me glad I’d sent word to Arash. I didn’t believe for a minute that the question was just small talk. “Blaire Ash. He’s the interior designer working on some renovations we’re doing.”
“You live here?” Peña asked. “We stopped by an apartment on the Upper West Side we heard was yours.”
“I’m in the process of moving in.”
He leaned into the island and looked around. “Nice place.”
“I think so, too.”
Williams caught my eye. “Have you been dating Gideon Cross long?”
“She’s married to me, actually,” Gideon said, appearing in the doorway.
Peña straightened, swallowing quickly. Williams set her mug down with enough force to spill some coffee.
Gideon’s gaze swept over all of us, then locked with mine. He looked perfect, his suit pristine, his tie immaculately knotted, his dark hair framing that savagely beautiful face. There was the faintest shadow of stubble around his sensual mouth. That, and the sexy length of his hair, lent a dangerous edge to his otherwise civilized appearance.
Not even the two cops standing between us could diminish the surge of hunger that flooded me at the sight of him.
I watched as he came toward me, shrugging out of his suit jacket as if it were the most natural thing to have two of New York’s finest there to question me. He tossed it over the back of a bar stool at the island and moved beside me, taking my coffee out of my hands and pressing a kiss to my temple.
“Gideon Cross,” he said, extending his hand to both officers. “And this is our counsel, Arash Madani.”
It was then I noticed that Arash had entered the kitchen behind my husband. The officers, as focused on Gideon as I was, didn’t seem to have noticed him either.
Supremely confident, with dark good looks and easy charm, Arash swept into the room and took over, introducing himself with a wide smile. The disparity between him and Gideon was striking. Both men were elegant, handsome, and poised. Both were courteous. But Arash was accessible, relatable. Gideon was imposing and remote.