"Yeah." It's the only response I have.
"Listen," he says after several seconds of silence, "Off topic… I know you were just trying to help keep my shop in business, what with all the extra orders. Your brother's buddy is working out well. I've been meaning to say… thanks."
"Don't mention it. I think Elliot has a couple more Halfway House contacts who might need some part-time work."
"Consider 'em hired. Gonna need the help. But next time, run it by me or give me a heads up… or something." I hear something clatter in the background, and Ray stifles a curse. "Darn neighbor's cat snuck in again, I have to go… I'll get an update from Krissy later. Call me immediately if there's any news, about any of it." Somehow, I know this includes my mother's condition. Krissy sure as hell got her compassionate nature from her father.
"I will. "
~oOo~
I've taken to pacing the long hallway. There's just nothing more I can do.
I can't read another word of legalese, pore over case reports or dig any deeper into the financial statements of one Marcus William Kane. And those pictures… gah. The more I read, the more I fear that I may never hold my son, never kiss my wife again, never feel them in my arms. Even though it isn't true, whatever this letter holds. I have to prove that I never hurt them, that I'm no danger to anyone, save those who would harm the ones I love. And how does a former sadist with a guilty conscience accomplish that? Because any normal person would be screwed.
So naturally, I don't have a prayer.
I'm so fucking angry. No, that's not even an appropriate word. Livid… furious… maddened... such depictions are closer, but don't quite reach the plane of discontent to which I've plummeted… forget the depths of control I'd contemplated earlier. The initial, fresh rage melted to a dull, staggering paralysis, during which I asked myself, over and over... what have we done to deserve this? And forget me… what have Krissy and Ryan done? They say bad things tend to occur all at once. I'm bracing for a third shoe to drop, and I wonder if I have the capacity for more anger than presently stews inside me. On some level, I'm glad Krissy and Ryan aren't here. Neither should see me this way, filled with such horrible temper. If I were to be found guilty of anything, it would be of beating this Kane fucker senseless for what he's unjustly doing to my family.
Instead, I take my insuppressible frustration downstairs to the home gym and light up the rowing machine. It's not even close to the real thing. The angle of resistance feels like pulling through sand, cheapening the experience and adding to my anger, but it's a distraction, albeit just a temporary exchange of one target for another.
When my shoulders and chest burn from muscle failure, I abandon the infernal contraption for one of the treadmills, and switch on the main flatscreen, pleading with the scrolling stock values to lull my brain, while the speed and incline of the machine drain my body.
"Sir?" Gail appears in the doorway.
I stab the stop button and slow to a halt, sweat dripping, chest heaving. "Yes?"
"Ms. Carter paged from the control room. Your father is on his way in."
I nod in dismissal. "Thank you."
Gail retreats as timidly as is standard of late. I grab a towel from the stack, not really caring about my appearance, but whatever Dad has, I'd rather not drench it before reading it. Fuck Taylor's longstanding protocol; I wave Carter away and answer the door myself.
"Two things," he says, holding out a manila envelope.
I take it without hesitation, dragging my fingernail along the seal. "My study," I mutter, walking away. I hear the front door bang shut behind me and my father's footsteps echo on the hardwood. "Have you read it yet?"
"I have a copy, yes. The letter is my first point. The second; I have a court date for you."
"Already?" my eyes spring up from the half-torn flap. Little else could divide my attention.
"It's only an informal sit-down on Wednesday morning with the D.A. He's doing me a favor, and it might serve to get all this nonsense overturned, if we play our cards right."
"My cards, Dad. I'm representing myself. End of discussion."
"Edward…"
"No, Dad. You're the best Krissy has. You can't represent us both." I rake my finger through to the end and pull out a photocopy.
It's just one page, written in elegant longhand script. It makes me gasp, before I've read a single word.
"I know who wrote this."
CHAPTER 20
~ KRISSY ~
"It's good to see you, Krissy. How are you holding up?" Flynn's expression is only mildly concerned, but from the lengthy sit-down with Carrick yesterday morning, I get the distinct impression that everyone is putting on brave faces for our benefit... Ryan's more so than mine. It's both comforting and disconcerting at the same time; I want to be kept in the loop, no matter how ragged and stretched-to-snapping that loop gets.
"Holding up," I confirm. "Really baffled and blindsided. Not knowing the whole story yet, not knowing this Kane guy's motivation, is driving me nuts but considering all Edward has told me in the past couple of months, part of me doesn't want to know. I'm kind of tempted to bury my head in the sand, to let Carrick do whatever lawyer stuff he has to, but I think that's the coward's way out… and so is the nagging urge to drop everything and run home to my Dad. But this is my life now, mine and Ryan's, and we just want to go home. My son misses his father. Edward and I were really figuring things out. I'm willing to do what it takes to get back to that."
"That's encouraging to hear, and a very courageous resolution. It couldn't have been easy to reach, but it sounds like you're willing and able to move forward," he reassures me. "I hate to bring this up; I'd rather not make you uncomfortable before we get started with the real reason for our meeting today, but I'm here first and foremost for your well-being," he explains. "Edward let me know that you finally remembered the child you lost. Would you like to talk about it?"
A creeping sourness fills the pit of my stomach. Not that. Not now. I shake my head. "Another time. I want to get through all this and then there will be time to focus on... other things."
"As you wish." Flynn adjusts in his chair. "I've asked an acquaintance of mine from the DA's office to meet with you today. She's assured me she'll be brief and as informal as she can be; the goal is to establish that your decisions and behaviors are your own, and not the product of coercion. Keep in mind, she knows nothing of the sensitive subjects that Edward has asked that we keep private. It's your decision whether they remain thus, but due to my agreement with Edward, I'm required not to speak of them. It's also your decision whether to have me stay while you're evaluated. If you'd prefer a one-on-one..."
"I thought you'd be here," I interrupt. The thought of being questioned by a stranger, even a vouched-for stranger, is unsettling. But to go it alone...
"I'll stay, if you'd prefer. But only in support. You'll have to answer the questions. I'm only permitted to clarify."
"I understand," I say, firmly. "I'd rather you stayed, if it's all the same to you."
"It isn't all the same. I'm honored that you'd choose to accept my support." He swallows, obviously touched by the vote of confidence, and the fleeting worry that I appeared needy fades. "Are you ready?"
I nod. "As ever."
Ms. Mattox is a very well-dressed and upright professional. Her handshake is reassuringly tepid. I get the distinct sense that there will be no bias in her report.
"Thank you for taking time out of your weekend, Lara," Flynn gestures toward us to begin, and he settles off to the side.
"I'm glad to help, John, and I owed you one," she says, and then turns to me. "Krissy, I'm going to ask you some questions today. This is a psychological competency evaluation, but if you're uncomfortable responding or if you require an aside with your counsel, please let me know, all right?"
Counsel? I didn't know I was supposed to have Carrick with me. Perhaps he didn't know either, but I'd find that odd.
"She means me, Krissy," Flynn
interjects. "Your father-in-law asked me to stand in for him, just for the evaluation." He must have read my expression... wow, he's that good.
"Okay."
Ms. Mattox makes a note on her legal pad. "Will you state your full name for me?"
"Kristina Rose... King." Whew, I might have messed that up already.
"How old are you?"
"I'll be twenty-five on Monday." Thank goodness I worked that out... I'd hate to sound stupid so early in the process.
"Your son's name?"
"Ryan… Theodore."
"Where did you attend college?"
"Washington State, in Vancouver."
"Where did you live previously?"
"In Montesano, with my father."
"Do you see him often?"
"Whenever I can," I say. "He was here when I got out of the hospital, and we talk a couple times a week."
"Is your mother in the picture?"
"She lives in Georgia with her current husband."
Scribble, scribble. "Are you in contact with her?"
"We talk about once a week, yes."
"Any major childhood illnesses, learning disabilities, or traumatic events?"
"Aside from my parents' divorce, I'd say no."
Her eyes meet mine, clinically, for just a moment. "Can you elaborate?"
I snort. "What child wants to see their parents split up? In any case, I was old enough to realize in the end that they were better apart than together."
"And why did you choose to remain with your father?"
"Well, I lived with my Mom for a while, but her next husband and I didn't get along, so Dad brought me home."
"Is the man you speak of your mother's current husband?"
"No, the one before this one."
"I see. You say you didn't get along with him… did he ever behave inappropriately toward you?"
"Like abuse?" I frown. "No way. He was just a jerk."
She nods. "And where do you live now?"
"Here in Seattle."
"Home address?"
I pause, my eyes shooting toward John. He returns my gaze, considerately.
"It's information I already have, Krissy. Baseline questions gauge your responses to neutral, self-identifying queries," she prods.
Great. Here we go. "Oh. Um... I don't have it memorized."
"I see. May I ask why not?"
Flynn and I share another glance, and he nods. God, please don't let the media get ahold of this... Edward will shit a cinderblock.
"Because I'm having trouble remembering things that happened within the last three years."
Her perfectly manicured eyebrows rise proportionately. "That... wasn't listed... in the report I received..." she thumbs disjointedly through her notes.
"Krissy has been hesitant to discuss her condition outside the family," Flynn interjects, his expression fixed on me, asking permission, and I give a subtle nod. "She can explain better than I, though."
I wonder just how much I should reveal, and wish desperately that Edward were here. My fingers drum nervously on my knee. "I'm sure you heard about my accident a few months ago, through the media," I begin, and Ms. Mattox nods. I've piqued her interest, her arms now crossed over her notepad, leaning forward over her lap, toward me. "I woke up about a month later, not recognizing my husband or our son, not remembering the child I lost due to my injuries... I'm missing approximately three years, starting before Edward and I met."
"I see." She looks flustered. "All right, well, I suppose I can adjust the rest of my questions a bit. This is definitely good to know. It explains why you hesitated when I asked your full name," She glances toward Flynn. So, she did notice.
For some weird reason, I feel a little better... at least I don't feel as though what I say could be construed as hiding or warping the facts.
John seems to visibly relax as well. "It may be useful to note that Krissy's memories have been returning in short bursts, typically the more notable, high-stress events," he offers.
"Yes, that could be helpful," she says, writing distractedly. "All right then, Krissy... how have you and your son been coping with your situation?"
"You mean being forcibly removed from my home, with no warning or reason, by the authorities? That situation?" My inner bitch has shoved my subconscious out of the way and occupied her seat.
She blanches a bit. "I actually meant since you woke up after your accident, but I sense that the more recent situation is a point of contention for you. So, all right... the more recent situation."
My subconscious calmly chloroforms the bitch, lightly shoving her limp body from the front row. "The best we can, I suppose. I'm thankful that Edward's family has been so accommodating and supportive."
"Do you feel safer, more comfortable in Mr. and Dr. King's home?"
"Not particularly." Oh wow, that sounds completely ungrateful. "That sounded wrong… it's just not where I want to be."
"And where do you want to be?"
"Home." The house on the bay at the address I can't remember.
She scribbles some more. "Has anything happened, anything you can recall, that made you feel uncomfortable in your home?"
"Not outright."
"Can you clarify?"
How best to put this, without swallowing my foot... "When my memories try to surface, I often lose consciousness, and I'm disoriented when I wake up. Edward usually freaks out, he worries a lot." Why the heck did I offer that up?
"That must be a little frightening," she prods.
"It was, in the beginning. I've had a number of brain scans to pinpoint a cause, but my neurologist can't find anything unusual. He says everyone is different in how they recover from a head injury."
"Very true, and you answered my next question. I'd like to consult with your neurologist as well. How are you feeling so far today?"
"Fine, I guess."
She nods, continuing with her notes. I'm offhandedly grateful she isn't using a Quick Quotes Quill*, though I can only imagine what observations she's made about me.
"Are you taking any medication currently?"
"Not for the past two weeks."
"She's been weaned off Paxil for postpartum, it had no interaction potential with the anticoagulants or pain suppressors Krissy's taken since the accident," Flynn notes.
"Good to know, thank you. Krissy, how would you describe your relationship with Edward King?"
I have to stop myself from snorting at the direct, ultimately loaded question. Intense would be my first response. "Supportive," is the word I settle on. "He's been through the wringer with everything that's happened... my accident, losing the baby..." I force back the years that threaten exposure upon the admission. "He's been wonderful."
Ms. Mattox's eyes are sincere. "Do you trust him?"
I nod, wholeheartedly. "I do."
"Krissy, I have only a few more questions, and please be perfectly honest with me. Has your husband ever treated you in a way that made you uncomfortable?"
I can't lie. "We've had our differences. He's understandably frustrated with my memory loss, but he doesn't hold it against me. If we disagree on a matter, we work through it."
"Can you be more specific, give me an example, perhaps?"
"Um…" my brow furrows. I'd rather not give too many details. Thankfully, my brain leads me in a safe direction. "He's been concerned about me venturing out in public. I'm new to all this society stuff, I suppose, and he's very protective. And with my memory episodes as random as they've been, he's uncomfortable with the thought of me being out and about if one were to happen." And with good reason, considering what happened the other day.
"So, he restricts your movements…" Ms. Mattox assumes.
"Not technically… we disagree about it sometimes. Being married is still new to me. I'm learning to compromise."
"Has he ever harmed you? Threatened to harm you?"
Oh God, I can't lie to save my life! What the heck do I say? "Never, that I'm able to remember."
She's busily writing again. "And Mr. King's staff… are you uncomfortable with them?"
"Absolutely not. I'm still getting used to their constant presence, but they're great people."
"They're always with you?"
"Well, not in the bathroom, obviously… but they do the driving, answer the door, provide protection when we do go out," I say. "I'm adjusting to it."
"And your son… how is his relationship with your husband?"
"Wonderful. He's the center of Edward's world. They have an incredible bond."
She smiles, for the first time during the interview. It's slight, but it's there. "Thank you, Krissy. I appreciate your cooperation. Do you have anything to add, John?"
"Not at this time. Mr. King will be arriving in a half hour for his evaluation, and due to the injunction, I need to make sure Krissy departs well in advance of his arrival, but I'd like a word with her before she leaves."
"Of course," Ms. Mattox rises, extending her hand. "Krissy, it was a pleasure to meet you. John, I need to make a phone call, but I'll be back in thirty." She nods to Dr. Flynn, turns, and leaves. Flynn gestures for me to rise as well.
"You did very well. How do you feel?"
I shake my head. "Overwhelmed, again. Edward is being evaluated, too? I thought she just wanted to establish whether or not I'm crazy."
"No one thinks that, Krissy… at least, no one who matters. Your evaluation was standard procedure. Edward has elected to be evaluated as well, as a good-faith gesture. He feels the need to prove himself when challenged, as I'm sure you've noticed. I'm rather pleasantly surprised that he's chosen to… submit to this assessment, if you'll pardon the word." He chuckles to himself, and then regains utmost sincerity. "Is there anything you'd like me to pass along to Edward? In confidence, of course."
"What about the restraining order?"
He shrugs. "Krissy, I'm asking, as a friend. I don't believe one word of the allegations, or that either of you is impaired. So?"
I sigh. What I have to say is awfully private, but what choice do I have? It's not exactly a message I can pass through Carrick or Taylor, either. "Tell him… tell him that I love him. That Ryan is doing okay. That I'll do whatever it takes to come home."
The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel Page 39