Triumph (The Bellator Saga Book 6)

by Cecilia London

  Caroline let out a trembling wail as he glided in and out, careful not to hurt her. She spasmed around him, her knees buckling. He continued to move, feeling every inch of her, relishing the contractions caused by her orgasm. She gulped for air as he came inside her, growling and swearing, his ragged breath confirmation that he was just as spent as she.

  He pulled out and placed his palms on her shoulders. “Okay, sweetheart?”

  She rolled over and giggled lazily. “That was awesome. I think there’s a reason why anal sex used to be against the law. It’s too enjoyable.”

  Jack tossed the condom in the wastebasket next to the bed before curling up next to her and kissing the side of her head. “How do you feel?”

  “Incredible.” She hugged him. “Although my ass hurts. From the spanking,” she added.

  “With your luck they’ll put you in one of those ergonomic chairs without any padding tomorrow.”

  Shit. She hadn’t even thought of that. “In hindsight, this may not have been the best plan right before starting a day long deposition.”

  “Or longer.”

  He was right. It would probably take more than a day to get through her testimony. “We may have to lay off on some of the more intense sexy times for the near future,” she said.

  “Fine with me.” Jack tweaked her nose. “I’ll take it when I can get it.”

  “Dirty old man.” She yawned. “Tonight was definitely worth the wait.”

  “I hope this means you’re on the way to regaining your boldness in bed.”

  It was certainly easier when he was along for the ride. “I can just hear them in the deposition tomorrow,” she said, taking on a mock serious tone. “‘Ms. Gerard, did you do anything to prepare for your testimony here today?’ ‘What did I do to get ready? Oh, a little light spanking, some sodomy. You know, same old same old.’” Caroline started to giggle uncontrollably, rolling around on the bed, continuing to laugh until she was practically crying.

  “You are a sick puppy.” Jack kissed her forehead. “Silly, silly woman.”

  “Hey, it’s what really happened. I’ll be sworn to tell the truth. And I’m a terrible liar.”

  “I don’t think they need to know anything about what I do to you in bed. It may make them jealous.”

  Caroline wiped at her eyes, her giggles subsiding. “In case you didn’t figure it out, you haven’t missed a beat when it comes to the sexy games. Thank you.”

  Jack kissed her on the lips. “I live to please you. And I love making new memories. Memories that belong only to me. To us,” he added quietly.

  Caroline put her head on his chest, snuggling closer. There wasn’t much she could say to that.

  “Are you scared about making your statement to the prosecutors?” he whispered.

  “A little. I may not want you in the room with me when I’m speaking to them, even if it’s an option. Please don’t take that personally.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want you to do this alone.”

  Caroline propped herself up on one elbow. She’d broken down some of her remaining psychological walls in the bedroom but wasn’t ready to open the door to every last detail of what happened at The Fed. “I don’t – it makes me uncomfortable.”

  Jack kissed her forehead. “I want you to feel safe. I’m going to be right outside, though, in case you need me.” He covered her up with the blanket, putting his arm around her. “Time for you to get some rest. You’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

  Chapter Six

  Concrete and glass. Tinted windows. There was a certain sterility to the International Criminal Court, a businesslike, detached vibe in the building. There seemed to be light where it was needed – in the lobby, the courtrooms, common areas. A calming concept in a place where anxiety was bound to run rampant.

  Compartmentalize, Caroline reminded herself. Concentrate on the task at hand. Organize your thoughts. Practice your testimony. Better yet, distract yourself with inane conversation.

  She nudged Jones in the shoulder. “You clean up pretty nice.”

  He spun around so she could catch the full effect. “You dig the suit, Princess?”

  “Navy blue pinstripe. Classy.”

  Crunch laughed. “Jonesie likes the European shit. Gig and I had to drag him out of the menswear section before he ended up with a whole new wardrobe.”

  “You don’t look bad, either,” Caroline pointed out.

  “What about me?” Gig asked.

  The three men were pressed and polished. She wondered if Jack had slipped them a little extra something for their wardrobe budgets, but wasn’t about to ask. “You all look fantastic.”

  “Makes up for our personalities,” Jones said.

  “You nervous?” Gig asked her.

  Caroline shook her head, but was pleased when Jack not so subtly wrapped his arm around her. “I’m good.”

  Jack smiled at the men. “Aren’t you going to tell Caroline she cleans up pretty nice?”

  Crunch ran a finger along the lapels of Caroline’s suit. “She shines no matter what she’s wearing.”

  Nice of him to boost her confidence. The gesture had not gone unnoticed by her husband, who squeezed her hip. “Shall we get this show on the road?” he asked.

  Caroline patted her purse, feeling the outline of Tom’s watch. “Now or never.”

  *****

  They were all interrogated separately. Caroline wasn’t sure whether they’d get anything useful out of Gig or Jack, but the investigators intended to be as thorough as possible. She was assured that if she needed her husband at any time, he’d be available. Powell was in a holding area and would be detained for the near future. Whatever she said would determine whether he tasted freedom again or not.

  The room was equipped with a camera and other recording devices, markers and a wipe board, and several tables and chairs. Caroline was given water, a notepad and pen, and – thankfully – an extremely comfortable chair. The woman who helped her get settled was quite nice. Her name was Irina, and she and her parents had emigrated from the former Soviet Union and settled in Alsace-Lorraine. She spoke fluent French, Russian, and English and even allowed Caroline to brush up on her French, though she had to correct her a few times.

  Caroline grinned sheepishly. “I’m a little rusty.”

  “You’ll get better. All of our legal officers are fluent in English so it won’t be an issue.”

  Irina hadn’t told her much about who would be interrogating her. “I’ll be speaking with an attorney?” she asked.

  “Given your level of involvement and the potential sensitivity of this investigation, we thought it was best.”

  Huh. Was special treatment good or bad? “All right.”

  Irina patted her shoulder. “You’ll be fine. I’ll retrieve Ms. Robles.”

  They were doing whatever they could to keep her calm. That was nice.

  Her legal officer was petite. Black hair. Light eyes. Maybe Caroline could pretend she was Natalie. Or Jen.

  Jenny.

  Definitely Natalie.

  The woman extended her hand, motioning for Irina to shut the door on her way out. “Beatriz Robles,” she said.

  “Caroline Gerard,” Caroline said. But she probably already knew that. She returned the handshake anyway.

  Beatriz tossed a file on the table and took the seat across from Caroline. “I have to say, I never thought I’d see a citizen of the United States as anything other than an employee. Even then, it’s a rarity.”

  In the early stages of her career, Caroline had considered applying for a position with the ICC. Then she met Nicky and…her priorities changed. “It’s hard for Americans to get on here,” she said. “Probably because of the federal government’s odd opposition to almost everything related to international compacts.”

  Beatriz picked up the file. “First, let me assure you that although the United States is not a party to the Rome Treaty, jurisdiction will not be an issue should we proceed wit
h prosecution.”

  Man, she was a little too smooth and businesslike. Did this woman put on a performance with everyone, or just her? She’d gotten a little worse at reading people. “I know,” Caroline said.

  “We have a number of different investigators questioning your colleagues as well as the…prisoner you brought with you.”

  “Defendant, you mean.”

  “That remains to be seen.” Beatriz flipped through the pages. “Normally we send investigators to the affected areas to conduct their research and collect witness reports but as you probably know, that isn’t the wisest of moves right now.”

  “I assume that’s why I’m here.”

  “Yes.” The other woman shut the file, sliding it across the table. “I don’t want to discourage you but this has been a tough sell. I took the file myself and had to fight tooth and nail with my superiors to get it this far.”

  Aha. Her reticence had nothing to do with her feelings toward the accuser or the allegations made. “Hard to go after the kid with the biggest stick,” Caroline said.

  “Especially when the kid is unstable.” Beatriz opened the file, motioning toward the written documentation Caroline had prepared. “I grew up in Mexico. Received an LL.M from Harvard. I am intimately familiar with both the American legal system and international criminal law. This investigation isn’t just about human rights abuses. It’s about whether it’s worth the political and legal ramifications from going after the most powerful nation in the world.”

  “So, when the United Nations speaks of being a force for peace in the world, that fails to apply when Americans are involved?”

  “No, but it doesn’t help that the U.S. withdrew their signatory from the Rome Treaty. That sent a signal. I realize the arguments for and against it, the pros and cons of being party to an international system. The potential for abuse. But the risk is minimal. As you know from our history, we do not undertake investigations unless we truly believe there has been a violation of the law. And for the United States to be involved as a potential adversary, well…”

  “The pressure’s on, is what you’re saying?”

  Beatriz smiled wryly at Caroline. “I have no doubt you can handle it. But we’re going to need rock solid evidence to move forward. To indict the President of the United States or any other high ranking American officials for crimes against humanity is both unprecedented and unanticipated. I’m sure you can appreciate the historical significance of the situation.”

  Caroline shook her head. “I never thought it would happen either. Yet, here we are.”

  “I know this isn’t easy for you.” Beatriz patted her hand. “I’m assuming the few pages of narrative you provided barely scratch the surface of what happened, which is why I wanted to talk to you myself. I’m going to need every detail, even the most insignificant of facts. Anything and everything that occurred. If you have to give me a minute by minute account, do it. Your testimony is the most persuasive evidence we will have.”

  “How does this work?” Caroline asked. “Are we talking a standard Q and A, or what?”

  “I’ll conduct it like a deposition, for the most part. It’ll be videotaped. Your testimony will thus be preserved, in case…you know.”

  In case I do something stupid and get myself killed. Caroline’s reputation had clearly preceded her, even though recording depositions was standard practice. “Yeah,” she said.

  “We’ll take photos of any injuries, go step by step through every detail you have. Tell me everything, no matter how minute. If you remember something else after you’ve answered a question, make a note and we’ll revisit it.” She tapped on Caroline’s notepad. “If you start writing frantically I’ll know to slow down. If you need a break, tell me. If you need me to repeat a question, tell me. If you’re hungry or tired or anything else, tell me.”

  Her repetition was nice. And intentional. Beatriz knew what Caroline had gone through at The Fed. Knew she’d been deprived of food. Of companionship. Of human decency. It was meant to soothe and uplift. Caroline liked her already.

  “Some of the stuff I’m going to talk about is…difficult,” she said. “We might be here a while.”

  Beatriz squeezed her hand. A gentle squeeze. Reassuring. And confident as hell. “We’re going to take all the time you need.”

  *****

  Two weeks of imprisonment, years of activism…all condensed into a few days. Seemed strange to discuss the details with someone she’d just met, but it almost made it easier. There were times when Caroline wanted a connection with someone – a Natalie to listen and internalize, a Jack to know when she needed affection and support – but it was much easier to stay detached when she pretended she was taking place in a law school exercise. A performance. Playing a role. The tricks she’d used so many times before to block out the significance of what she was saying or reading or doing.

  She and Jack settled into a routine. They spent their days at the ICC, their nights at the hotel. Once or twice they went out to dinner but room service became standard practice. His testimony had finished quickly, so he would hang out in the building, reading a book, always on standby for care and comfort. Gig did some occasional sightseeing but seemed to spend most of his time with Jack, while Crunch and Jones were still in interrogation rooms of their own. Maybe they had more to say than she’d thought.

  Every morning Caroline would place Tom’s watch on the table. She’d study it, pat it occasionally when she needed to refocus. Her behavior probably seemed peculiar to Beatriz but she never questioned it.

  Three days. Three long, exhausting days. Hours and hours of testimony. Caroline was running out of euphemisms and pretty words, which meant she was reaching the end of her story.

  Beatriz checked her own notes. “Robert Allen. Ellen Goldman. Kathleen Thalberg. Were there any other people you recognized in there?”

  She’d avoided it the best she could. The same way she circumvented thoughts of her children, of whether Powell was lying, of what Santos might be scheming, of how Jack had suffered, of the countless others who may have been tortured and beaten and killed…

  “It’s okay, Caroline.” Jen’s voice rang out with remarkable clarity. “I’m ready.”

  She blinked and saw Jen’s petrified face. Caroline knew the guards had purposely kept Jen in the clothing she’d been wearing when she was arrested, because it was covered in blood. Her blood, Eric’s blood, Katie’s blood – who knew?

  A scared stiff appearance coupled with a defiant voice. Her dear, fearless Jen. Caroline started crying. “I love you. I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.”

  Murdock gave Caroline one final sneer. “Any other parting thoughts? Make them count. I want to hear all the pretty words.”

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He wasn’t getting anything more than he’d already taken. “You’ll rot in hell for this,” she said.

  Caroline fixed her eyes on Jen, trying to tell her what she didn’t have the courage to say. To apologize without words. And she didn’t want Murdock and the others to be privy to such a private exchange. But she knew she had to say something, even if it was babbling nonsense. “I’m so sorry, Jenny,” she whispered. “Please forgive me.”

  Jen glared at Murdock. “You’re not the one who’ll need forgiveness.” She brought her gaze back to Caroline and tried to smile, tears in her eyes. “I love you. I could never hate you. Ever.” Her voice broke. “I’ll hug Katie for you.”

  Murdock nodded at Fischer and he pulled the trigger. And Caroline found herself screaming again.

  Natalie was right. She had to get better at compartmentalizing. But the ICC had to know. The truth couldn’t stay buried forever, especially when it involved the most damning bit of evidence in her arsenal. Even if it meant she became a less credible witness because of her inaction.

  You owe her. Tell what they did to Jenny.

  “There’s one more thing,” Caroline said. “And it’s big.”

  “Then let’s get to it.
”

  *****

  She’d have to tell Jack. And Natalie. And anyone else. Someday, but not today. Caroline rubbed her eyes. “This transcript won’t be public record, right?”

  “The video will be sealed for now. At some point we’ll have to spell out the facts in an indictment but-” Beatriz gave her a knowing glance. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  Nice that she wasn’t passing judgment. Unless she was just better at playacting. Ms. Robles knew exactly what kind of shit person Caroline was.

  “You don’t have to repeat anything you said to me, if you don’t want to,” Beatriz continued.

  Caroline shook her head. “I’d prefer not to hold a press conference, if you know what I mean.”

  “You don’t have to tell anyone.”

  Including my own husband? Huh. Maybe this woman did know how she felt. “Noted.”

  “There’s one more thing.” Beatriz swiped at her phone. “We’ll need to document your injuries. We can do it on the video but I prefer digital photographs.”

  “Pictures?” Caroline asked blankly.

  “The more physical evidence, the better. It all corroborates your testimony,” Beatriz said.

  Oh. She’d mentioned that earlier. How could Caroline have forgotten? She tugged at the sleeves of her suit. What a nice time for a nervous tic to appear. “I – is my husband around?”

  Beatriz patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll go get him.”

  It took maybe a minute for him to enter the room. “Are you all right?”

  “They want to take pictures,” she whispered.

  “That seems like normal procedure, right?”

  Maybe being questioned had made him lose his protective edge. He seemed confused. “Can you stay in here while they do it?” she whispered.

  His expression softened and he brought her into his arms for a hard hug. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

  There would be two or three people in the room. Different cameras. Different angles. All taking notes, writing descriptions, keeping track of whens and wheres and hows.

  “I, uh, is it okay if I close my eyes?” Caroline asked.