"You won't mind if I have my own specialist run another comparison."
"Not at all. We'd expect as much," my father adds. "Once your results confirm the author's identity, my client would like to file a counter-suit against Mr. Kane, and another to address the matter of the libel against my son."
"We'll have to bring her in for questioning first," Williams adds, "but considering the way the pieces fit together, that course would be my recommendation as well." He sighs. "You will have to contend with the photos,
however."
"Photos?" we exclaim at once.
Fuck. "What photos?"
"Yes, Mr. Kane's further evidence, I thought you were aware of their form. They depict you in a rather unflattering light with regard to your wife, Mr. King. I take your reaction to indicate that you were unaware they'd been taken."
Of course I didn't fucking know. These days, anyone with a phone can take photos discreetly whenever they like. "Are they authentic? Who took them?" I demand.
"Mr. Kane took them himself, and there's no indication of tampering thus far. They've been examined at length."
That fucker was following us? How did I not know? How did Taylor not know? "Where? When?" I demand, my fingers locked rigid to avoid white-knuckling the arms of the leather chair. I can't give up the appearance of control, though my insides scream with impatience.
"I'm not sure of those details; haven't yet seen them myself. I've convinced Judge Matthews to take a special interest in this case; he's privy to the specifics of all evidence and given me discretion in moving things along. I'll have the graphologist downstairs take a look at the letters immediately. If they check out, I'll issue the warrant for questioning. And if all goes well, we'll have a confession by close of business today. But even if Mr. Kane were to withdraw his photos from the body of evidence, the box has been opened. The court is required by law to investigate the circumstances and ensure, as you maintain, that you pose no danger to your wife or your son."
Irritation bubbles in a viscous mass, like microwaved oatmeal. I tried that once, with disastrous results. And then Krissy laughed at me. That made me mad too, but that was surficial; my pride was all that was at stake, and she can have it once in a while, if it brings a smile to her face. No, this is deep, cutting, stinging anger, the bitter reminder that I'm not in control of this situation. I'm sick of feeling like this. I cannot live this way, with this level of uncertainty, in the knowledge that my basic freedoms are threatened. Williams doesn't have to say it. I know that if I don't prove I'm not the monster they think I am, the monster I occasionally tend to be, that I may lose everything.
I need to see those fucking pictures.
My father reads my mind. "My client and I will need to see the photos. When can that be arranged?"
Williams shifts in his seat. "I'll apply for their limited release, and have a deputy bring them to your office. They'll have to remain in your possession only, as per Mr. King's gag order." He gestures to me.
My father raises his eyebrow and peers in my direction. Yes, Dad. NDAs all around. I cannot afford to let this get out; it would ruin my reputation, and the thousands who work for me would inadvertently suffer. It's quite a house of cards I've built. My silent, even expression is all the confirmation he needs.
"Agreed." Dad's eyes shift forward again. "May I assume you've arranged for a closed hearing, per our request?"
"Sealed up tight. Depending on what we find out today, we could be in front of the judge by Friday morning. Will that work for you?"
In the scope of most proceedings, this isn't simply being fast-tracked. it's downright miraculous. But it had better be, considering the favors being pulled and my already generous contributions to the greater community. It's pleasing to see that my longstanding efforts have not gone unnoticed, and that there's the stereotypical fear that such donations may be redistributed should the case not be handled quickly, thoroughly, and, without saying, quietly.
Clearly, Williams understands the immediate economic value of keeping Edward King's private life, well… fucking private.
I sit and absorb the legal banter as he and my father discuss more specifics, breathing evenly to generate focus on the proper things to do, rather than what I'd like to be doing at the moment. I'd prefer to deal with the bitch myself. I'd thought she'd finally taken the hint after Krissy and I were married. It's… troubling, for lack of a better word… that she couldn't let this go, let me go. And now she stands to lose everything, and so do I, should she be called to testify in my wife's presence. What she may say could wound Krissy so deeply, I fear pondering whether she'll want anything to do with me after this is finished. But it's the best chance I have.
And then, there are the photos to deal with. Fuck me sideways. There had better not be anything else.
I'm instructed not to contact our dear author, whose name I can't even stomach to think for the wrath it pours into my soul. I thought I knew her, or at least, what she's capable of. Damn it King, stop thinking. Just stop.
Dad declines to have Krissy join us, though the injunction against me does not apply within the grounds of the courthouse so long as she has representation present, stating he'll fill her in. I wonder if that's more for my benefit or Krissy's… God I miss her. We stand and Williams offers his hand. Dad mutters that he'll be in touch when he and Krissy have reviewed the pictures, and to give him a five minute head start before departing. There's a shuffling of bodies and Taylor is once again at my side. I owe the man a vacation when this is done; Sawyer as well. Sawyer, who is probably within inches of my wife at the moment, while I remain here, restrained once again by words on a document filed in a concrete-and-fluorescent room somewhere downstairs.
My eyes lift to the doorway and beyond, and I steel myself when I see the familiar long brunette tresses. The small group leading Krissy away regards me with something between understanding, sympathy and duty. And then Krissy's eyes find mine. I'm not sure how long we stare at one another, but her eyes plead to my heart: come to me. A sharp hook in my belly yanks me forward, but I resist, as the pain disembowels me.
"We'll wait a few minutes, Taylor." He knows why.
"Very good, sir."
Dad leads her gently away, her body resistantly compliant. My sister-in-law draws her in close, and I revel gratefully in the support that surrounds my wife in my stead.
And then, just before the elevator doors close, she crumples to the floor.
"No!" the word leaves my lips in a rush of blood to my legs. The whole of my body goes numb, unfeeling, and unreactive to opposition. Arms shoot out to hold me, and I shove them aside, slamming through the stairwell door and throwing myself over the railing, bounding steps five at a time to the garage level, praying that this is the elevator's destination.
She's on the ground in my father's arms when the door opens, Kate frantically patting her hands, Sawyer hovering over them and shouting into his sleeve.
The arms lock around me again, stronger now, hauling me away, a voice calling something to me. I don't hear the words, but it brings a rush of remembrance, and just a sliver of control, and I force myself rigid. Oh God, don't do this, not now. Not when I can't touch her. I fall to my knees, and Taylor follows me to the ground. His arms remain locked at my shoulders, but relax ever so slightly.
"I'm going to release you now, Sir," he tells me, and slowly unbands his arms, but remains within reach. The pull reignites. It takes every ounce of control to remain where I am, just a mere meter away. The words bubble to my lips, strangled and desperate. "Krissy? Come back, baby, please try..."
"Mmm..." she whimpers, and her face tightens. "Edward?"
"Yes, baby. I'm here. You're safe."
"Sir, they'll take good care of her. We should go."
I can't, not now. Jesus, why does this keep happening to her? "Dad, take her to the hospital. I'm begging you."
"No..." Krissy whispers.
"Baby, please, just let Dad and Kate take care of you."
"Yes, Taylor!" I'll deal with my right hand later. My voice softens considerably. "Talk to me, Krissy."
"Mmm... no hospital."
"Did you see something, sweetie?" Kate looks between us. Those two and their talk... I imagine Ms. Kavanagh-King knows, quite emphatically, everything.
"The elevator… doors with mirrors. Your face... so sad..." she murmurs between cleansing breaths.
My brain does the math. Recognition is immediate… the Escala elevator.
The day she left me.
Fuck.
"Edward, we'll take care of her. Please go," my father instructs.
I consider ignoring him. "It's all right, baby. Please, go with Dad and Kate and get checked out." I glance to her best friend, and we exchange what could only pass as a silent understanding. I grit my teeth. "Don't leave her." I swallow hard and return my gaze to my poor, ailing wife. "Krissy, I love you."
And I tear myself away, leaving my soul behind... what's left of it.
~oOo~
I made Taylor stop and park the vehicle a safe distance away from the garage exit, and waited until the SUV carrying my wife departed before allowing him to take me home. I just couldn't leave her. Dad called shortly after to let me know that they'd arrived, that a doctor was seeing her. I heard her voice in the background, and it nearly broke me.
Taylor took refuge in the control room. We haven't yet exchanged real words. I comprehend why he held me back, and I'm perpetually grateful to him, but officially, it was an act of insubordination. I can't let it go, no matter how professional Jason has been over the years, and no matter how close we've become. It gives me something to dwell on, but it doesn't distract me from thoughts of Krissy.
I've spoken with my father twice more and Sawyer once in the hour since Krissy's episode. She's resting comfortably, they tell me, they're waiting on test results, and she'll be released shortly after. I should be with her. I should fucking be at her side.
"Gah!" My arm swings, connecting with a driftwood sculpture. The resounding crash does nothing to temper me, and I reach for a decorative marble orb, lobbing it into the back window. The crack of glass, and the sounding of the alarm system pierces the air. Another orb, another crack of glass. The alarm rings on. The shout of Taylor's voice. Another orb, the spidering of shatterproof glass. I take the mahogany bowl holding the remaining marble projectiles and hurl it away.
Taylor stands rooted in the doorway when I turn, arms spread and palms forward, a gesture meant to subdue. The rage is hardly pacified, but I snap out of it, and like clockwork, the alarm falls silent.
My phone rings.
"King."
"Mr. King, Ron Williams. I've been made aware of what happened to your wife as her party left the building this morning."
There goes the neighborhood.
"I imagined you would. My father took her to the hospital; she's been admitted for observation."
"Yes, I've already spoken with him. He mentioned it was one of her memory episodes, and seems a very worrisome event, I must say. My official concern, however, is your disregard for the restraining injunction. Technically, I should be sending a unit to your home to arrest you for violation of the distance mandate."
I hear the conflict in his voice. "But you aren't going to do that."
There's a slight hesitation. "Not at this time. Judge Matthews and I spoke briefly and reviewed the security tape, and we agree that your concern for Mrs. King was a sincere reaction to the situation, and the fact that you didn't touch her indicates a level of self-control I've not seen in many men in your current legal position. We're going to overlook the violation, this time," he warns.
"I appreciate it." I swallow, the tension in my stomach lessening fractionally.
"Out of curiosity, is it always like that? She just drops without warning?" he continues. "I've read the notes on her evaluation, of course. I need to make an entry of this event for the record."
Of course, should my family decide to sue the courthouse for some obscure safety violation that may have triggered Krissy's episode. But I won't do that; it wouldn't make sense to, and could be construed as blackmail on some level to perhaps turn the proceedings in my favor. I smell a test.
The Dom in me wants to play along, to end this ridiculous legal battle quickly, by whatever means necessary. My ever-successful business sense knocks him flat on his ass with one blow.
"There's no rhyme or reason to her episodes, Mr. Williams. On occasion she's remained conscious, but those times seem to be outliers."
"I see. Well I sincerely hope she makes a full recovery. I'll let you get back to your day. And King?"
"Hmm?"
"Mind the restraining order."
"Always my intention," I offer. "Any progress?"
He sighs. "It seems my graphologist agrees with you. I just dispatched a warrant officer to pick her up. I'll give you a call when I have some answers."
~oOo~
"Will that be all, Sir?"
Taylor hovers in the doorway. My office smells of sealant and window cleaner. Replacing the damaged glass took under two hours, but the time away from my office forced me to roam the rest of the house, waiting… waiting… with Ludwig hot on my heels. Tess was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Mrs. Taylor. I presume they're consoling one another over my outburst.
"A moment, Taylor." I wave toward the chairs.
"Sir." He sinks stiffly onto the seat, back rigid.
I blow out a breath. Even I'm not sure how to approach this. "I can't decide whether to thank you or fire you."
"Yes, Sir." He gulps. It's all the emotion I'll see from the man, and I'm grateful.
I swallow as well. "Considering I'm not currently in police custody, I'm leaning toward the former."
Jason shifts slightly, but remains silent.
I round my desk and sink into the chair across from him. "We've toed a few lines over the years, you and I."
My right hand tilts his head to the affirmative.
"I honestly don't know what I'd do without you. I don't know how to handle this." I run my fingers through my hair, and they come to rest at the back of my neck, rubbing slightly. "Things like this are going to come up, rarely, but they'll happen. I'm not comfortable with it. My head of security should never have to restrain me, and it's happened twice in under as many weeks. The fact that both cases occurred semi-publicly…" It occurs to me that I'm transferring some of the blame for my own lack of self-control. But he shouldn't have touched me… is that what this is really about? God, I'm so confused.
"My apologies, Sir."
"No, Taylor." I shake my head. "You shouldn't have to apologize." It's the best I can offer without admitting my own wrongdoing. The boss doesn't openly admit such things.
"Sir, if I may speak freely…"
"Go ahead."
He swallows again. "It is sometimes… difficult… acting as your head of security."
No shit. "Continue."
"It's been even more difficult since Mrs. King's accident."
Again, no shit. "Continue."
He shifts slightly, his discomfort subtle but obvious. "Well, Sir… I've often wondered whether I'm serving you in the best capacity."
What? The chill of abandonment washes through me. I'd as much as threatened to fire him, but the realization that I could never follow through is paralyzing. I blow out a breath, shaking my head. "Don't go there, Jason." Don't leave us.
He gulps again. "Yes, Sir."
"Let's, uh… not speak of this again." I rise, rubbing my damp palms over the legs of my slacks.
Taylor rises as well. "Understood, Sir." He eyes the exit. "Will there be anything else?"
A tugging on the leg of my pants draws my eyes downward. I pick up the lanky gray dog and hold him out. "See if Gail has the other one. They're, uh… bothering me." Make sure Gail and Tess are all right. And keep them away; they remind me of my family.
"Yes, Sir."
~ KRISSY ~
"They were taken out of context, Krissy. I admit, they do appear… alarming. Just explain, if they ask, exactly the way you just did for me."
"Will Judge Matthews understand?" I ask.
Carrick blows out a breath. I've seen Edward do this… nurture over nature, I suppose. "He will take your account of things into consideration. There's more to it than accepting your word; circumstance plays a significant role. And Edward will explain himself as well. The D.A. has informed me that Kane will call a few witnesses. We won't know who some of them are until the hearing on Friday, but we'll call a few of our own. I'll go over everything you need to know before then. I promise you'll be as prepared as possible."
That's the day after tomorrow. Holy shit. "So soon? I thought things like this took a while to go through the system…"
"For the average case, this is true. Fortunately for our case, and sadly for others. It's not a perfect system, but in the end, it helps to be the immediate family of Edward King."
Huh? My brain twists with the tangent of thoughts that sprout from that last statement. "Did he pay someone off?" I blurt, immediately regretting how that came out.
"Of course not, no. That would be illegal," he tells me. "Edward… both you and Edward make a number of financial and service contributions to the community. Such generosity breeds a tendency toward recognition and special treatment. It's an unfair advantage, I admit, but not an unwelcome one under the circumstances." He covers my folded hands with one of his own. "If it consoles you, such mindsets will have no real bearing on the outcome of the case. It simply makes the system more efficient."
Oh, now that makes me mad. Special treatment for the rich, while the poor have little hope of adequate representation, and the wrongfully accused can rot in a cell for God knows how long until the system gets around to a trial. When this is over, I make a vow to take my newfound status as a member of this so-called elite community and do… something… anything… to make that right, or at least, better than it is. It's the least I can do.
The Billionaire's Marriage: A Romance Novel Page 42