She had planned to confront him when it seemed most advantageous. The situation would have been entirely under her control. She could not make her move unless she was confident that she could sever her ties to Lewis. Once that was in place, Frank would have had two options: he could either move with her for a fresh start in a new place, or she would leave without him, but Frank had forced the issue. On some level, she wished he would choose to accompany her, but she had enough stashed away that it would not have bothered her, financially, if he had chosen otherwise. Brianna was an adult and no longer needed them. Besides, if she wanted to, she would have been welcome to come as well.
Lisa could no longer stick to that plan. Frank was in jail, presumably for defending her, and Lewis may be dead. She could not reach Brianna, and her past, as far as she knew, was public knowledge. Why did Frank have to go and do something so chivalrous now? She loved him and would always love him, but she did not want to want him. She had, in time, grown used to the emotional distance and had anticipated her ability to make a clean break, if necessary. She was certain now that it was unlikely she would be able to do so. Ugh! Lisa was irritated with the turn of events. She had to admit she was feeling some type of way about everything. Feeling some type of way about Frank. If nothing else, one thing was certain; she needed to see him. She made a few phone calls and got ready for her trip downtown.
Chapter 27
Michelle landed in the Dallas/Fort Worth airport and took a taxi to the Hilton Anatole, as instructed. She was more than a little rattled, and if she was not aware of her temperamental state, her snapping at the poor cabdriver was very telling. Poor guy threw her bags out of the cab and drove off without even getting his tip. Michelle didn’t care; she only wanted to get into her room. Armand had reserved her an executive suite. She walked into the massive space and was immediately grateful. The bellhop dropped her bags by the door. Michelle took a moment to enjoy the beautiful downtown view before wandering into the master bedroom and collapsing onto the bed.
She was about to fall asleep when she felt her thigh vibrating. “Michelle, have you landed?”
“I get the notion that you know I have.”
“I’m on my way over there.”
Michelle felt tense all over. Armand’s tone did not bode well for her . . . too businesslike. He was never business with her. Sleep was no longer an option. She needed to wake up. After locating the complimentary coffeepot, Michelle brewed and poured herself a cup. She considered adding a little something from the minibar to calm her nerves but decided against it. This was not the time for her to experiment with alcohol. The strong, black java was exactly the stiff drink she needed to get her juices flowing.
Michelle wondered if Brianna was okay . . . if she was hurt. She hated this. The ordeal was awful, but it was the mystery, the not knowing, that drove Michelle insane. Part of her motivation for becoming a private investigator was due to her discomfort with the unknown. She was always researching and uncovering some truth. Even with all the riddles she solved for other people over the years, she didn’t know the first place to look to find Brianna. A lot of good her PI skills were to her now.
Michelle heard a knock at the door. It was Armand. She got up to let him in. As soon the door closed behind him, he wrapped Michelle up in a big hug right there, in the doorway. He didn’t realize how much he had missed her until that very moment. She buried her face in his chest and dizzied herself with his scent. She felt her body temperature rise. He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Though he desired to have her, he resisted. He laid her down on the bed and took his place behind her. The scene was familiar.
She pulled his leg toward the front of her body until it rested perfectly between her legs. She felt the moisture from his lips on the nape of her neck and the chill of each breath he exhaled. She wanted him in spite of herself. It felt wrong to crave the release his love would bring her. The gentle massage he could offer her body. How could she make love when her sister was missing? Somehow, thoughts of Brianna did little to curb her carnal urges. She craved penetration.
Armand wanted her too. To savor the warmth of her feminine design around his member, to fill the room with her beautiful music. He wanted nothing more than to give her pleasure, realizing the probable pain his news was sure to bring later; instead, relishing the feel of her soft body next to his. The scent of the Chanel No. 5 that Michelle wore faithfully just for him; the curves of her small fingers interlaced with his. Though the feel of her soft round buttocks against his groin was nearly too much, Armand managed to restrain his growth. He focused on the flawlessness of her complexion. The silky feel of her hair against his face. She was truly beautiful. Armand was grateful that she was safe and in his arms. He would tell her about her dad, but he wanted to hold her a little bit longer, to extend this peaceful moment for as long as he could. He pulled her closer into his body and held her firmly. Michelle was relaxed; her breathing slow and steady. Armand was anxious; if he did not tell her now, he might not ever do it.
“Michelle, I need to tell you something.”
“What is it?” she murmured, half-asleep.
“Everything is going to be okay. I need you to believe that.”
Armand’s foreboding was creeping Michelle out. The news she had been dreading since his phone call was on its way to her ears, and she wasn’t sure if she could handle one more piece of bad news. Her body tensed up. Armand felt it too. He ran his hand from the top of her shoulder, down the length of her arm, and back in a gentle caress.
His shoulders slumped, bracing for the impact that his news would bring. “There is no easy way to say this, so, I am just going to say it . . . your dad is . . . He’s gone, babe.”
Michelle did not respond. For a moment he thought perhaps she did not hear him.
“Michelle, your dad—”
“I heard you. I heard you. Explain.” Michelle was trying not to panic. This was the perfect time to exercise the caution she seldom did. She would not jump to any conclusions, especially not that one. The one that buried her father in a grave six feet underground. Never to be seen, hugged, or heard again. No, she wasn’t exactly upset with her father; disappointed, but not ready to say her last good-bye. She would not.
“The coroner came to your house. Your mother watched from the doorway. The ambulance rode out of your driveway quiet, no sirens. Your father has not been seen for days.”
“Stop talking.” Michelle did not want to hear any more. “I’m sorry . . .” Her voice was breaking. Her body shook as she began to fight the sobs overtaking her. “I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry.”
Armand did not know if those apologies were for him, but he did not need them. “Michelle, it’s okay; breathe. I’m here. I got you.”
He shifted his weight to the leg draped over her lower torso and braced himself for what he felt was coming. Right on cue, Michelle started kicking, slowly at first, and then, uncontrollably, throwing her body around, but Armand held his grip. He would not let go. She went crazy, swinging her arms and legs wildly. Twisting, turning . . . trying to run. Run away from Armand. Away from his words. Away from the pain sweeping over her, that seemed to fill her lungs and cut off her air supply. A life-altering, inescapable pain.
A bloodcurdling scream pierced through the air so loudly, it stopped her cold. It was deafening, so chalked with pain, that it made a few seconds feel like an eternity. As quickly as it began, it ended, beginning again, only this time, it seemed to have been traveling toward her from a distance far off; a high-pitched squeal, blooming into a full-throttled yell. It took her a moment to realize it was coming from her. Michelle was afraid and turned her face toward Armand just enough to give him a full view of the confusion and hurt anchored in the gleam of her wide eyes.
The look in her eyes scared Armand. Not the look itself. The look he understood; it was not foreign to him. He recognized the distress, the agony. It was not her disposition that frightened him but the moment itself, the implication. M
ichelle had become his world. Their love was something of fantasy had it not been for all the malleable truth he lined it with, and he wanted nothing more than to protect her. As he lay there, staring into her eyes, absorbing her brokenness, he understood in the most profound way that he could not. He could not take her hurt away, and it terrified him. He didn’t know how to comfort her. Could not find the words to ease her burden, so he remained silent, hoping that his embrace would communicate more than his love. That it would offer itself as evidence to the raw, unadulterated fact that he was absolutely unwilling to let her carry this pain alone.
Michelle did not want to feel anything. Her mind sifted through her memory and her dreams in no particular order. The room spun in circles around her, and she closed her eyes to pull her sister close. She reached her this time. She fought the good fight and saved Brianna. She was safe. Michelle’s family was intact. Her father alive and well; a faithful, loving man. Her parents birthed and raised her; they shared DNA, life lessons, and their love; it was good; unchanged. Michelle was Mrs. LaCroix, an award-winning journalist.
Lights were flashing. Her world was black and white. She was young, eight years old. There were tears on her face, but they were not hers; they were her mother’s. Transferred from her swollen cheeks as she sat in her mother’s lap nestled in her breasts. She was singing a beautiful song, but it made Michelle sad. She didn’t want her mommy to cry. To the tune of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star,” she sang, “My lost little girl, wherever you are, just know I love you, forever my star.”
The song confused her, but she didn’t ask any questions. She never did. Whenever her mother cried like this . . . Michelle would sit in her lap, as close as she could, to remind her mommy that she wasn’t lost, that she didn’t have to cry. Fast-forward ten years. Michelle was graduating. Diploma in hand, she scanned the crowd and found her mother. Although she’s happy to see her, that wasn’t who she was looking for. Michelle’s heart was broken, but she pretended it wasn’t. She smiled and posed for pictures. She imagined her daddy was in the crowd. She did not tell her mother how disappointed she was with his absence; she never did.
More flashing lights. Michelle was in and out of consciousness. Overcome with grief. The room was filled with her screams, deep guttural groans. With each vision, each dream, each sound, Michelle released her hurt. She permitted herself to do as she never did: to love, relate, and release.
Chapter 28
Lisa was nervous about her visit with Frank. She didn’t know what she would say to him or if he wanted to see her. The ride there was long and uneventful. Too long. She nearly chickened out. Fortunately, her curiosity was stronger than her panic. The taxi pulled up to the jail, and Lisa headed toward the entrance. She could not believe that Frank Mason was incarcerated. The brown brick building seemed to loom in front of her. The view of the beautiful glass buildings of downtown Dallas, which seemed close enough to touch, made the tall, ten-story building even more intimidating and that much more painful. Lisa had managed to avoid the stripes, but she had heard plenty of horror stories from other girls. This was as close as she ever wanted to be. She was not comfortable in the least bit but was determined to speak with Frank. Besides, her agitation was irrational. They couldn’t keep her inside . . . Could they? Of course not.
Lisa walked inside and was almost immediately turned away. Frank was not allowed to see visitors, and she was told she would need to come back either Tuesday or Friday between 7:00 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. She was disappointed and angry that she could not see her husband. She would have to put her questions on ice for another two days. At least Frank had put her on the list; she took that as confirmation that he would be willing to talk with her. A small but important silver lining in her storm cloud.
As she stood outside Lew Sterrett waiting for her taxi, she contemplated what her next move would be. She was fairly certain Lewis was dead, pending her own visual confirmation. If it was true, there wasn’t really any reason for her to leave. Though the idea of starting over fresh somewhere was still very appealing, her decision would depend largely on what Frank had to say to her. She still had been unable to reach Brianna, and she was pretty sure Brianna was ignoring her. She was certain this situation was upsetting for her, and she wanted to let her daughter know that she was available.
Lisa had been reluctant to acknowledge the river that had come to rest between her and Brianna. Brianna had always been a daddy’s girl, and Lisa had failed to nurture her fragile relationship with Brianna as she got older. The hard truth was that her relationship with her daughter worsened, as had her relationship with her husband. She had been so distracted by her marital issues and pursuit of her personal happiness that she hadn’t noticed the distance between them. When she did, it was simply too late. Brianna didn’t want anything to do with her. Though she never dared to utter the words, Lisa could sense it. Lisa had been unable, and at times, unwilling, to do the work to repair it. Brianna didn’t really need her. She was intelligent and driven. She had made all the right decisions, and Lisa wasn’t worried about her.
Brianna had her dad, and that seemed to be enough. Things had changed. Lisa didn’t know what would happen to Frank, and she wanted to let Brianna know that she would be there if she needed her. It was more important now than before that Brianna knows that she was not alone. Brianna had not returned one of Lisa’s calls in the last several months before that day she spoke with her in the hospital. Lisa was glad to hear from her even if she was only calling because she could not reach her dad. Lisa could have pressed the issue, but on some level, she felt deserving of the treatment. Even though Brianna could not have known all that Lisa had done, she was painfully aware.
The ride back to the hotel was quick. Lisa’s mind continued to wander. She even missed Charlie a bit. She was angry that she had been duped, but she wanted her all the same. She pondered a bit more and realized that maybe it wasn’t Charlie she wanted. Maybe she just wanted somebody. Anybody. Charlie had always been available. Easy. Convenient. Lisa was not sure if she was really capable of truly giving her whole heart to someone. Not sure if she was crazy enough to do that. The potential for pain drastically increased with that kind of transfer, and Lisa was intelligent enough to keep at least a part of herself to herself. That was how she reasoned anyway. She was not being selfish; she was being protective. If she didn’t look out for herself... who would?
Chapter 29
It hurt to breathe. Brianna cringed with every breath. Her chest was sore and probably bruised. Her vision was blurry, and she couldn’t move. Her 140 pounds felt like 300. She was no longer tied up, but her freedom did not free her. After what seemed like endless failed attempts to lift her hands, she resolved to lie there quietly. She was lying on top of something but could not fully tell what it was. It was soft, but not as thick as a mattress and not as firm as a cot. She guessed it was probably a few blankets clumped together with a sheet covering them. She was still fully clothed except for her shoes. She could not tell how long she had been sleeping or how long it had been since her walk on the beach. A few days maybe, she figured. She was having a hard time remembering. Drugged probably. She couldn’t seem to wake up.
She thought of Michelle and how worried she must be. She was glad Michelle hadn’t made it to her; grateful the men had let Michelle be. Knowing Michelle was out there gave her hope, something to attach her faith to. Ironically, the person who she’s known the least amount of time was closest to her and would witness the most horrific time in her life. Brianna had to hope that Michelle could find her; she had to. There was absolutely nothing else for her to do.
Being hopeless felt like a slow death, and she wasn’t dying. She was lost and believed that she would be found again. Something else encouraged her, though; something more than an ideal. It pulled her away from her thoughts and into the cold room where she lay: a scent. She braced herself for the pain and took another deep breath, recognizing the smell: Djarum cigarettes. It was the same kind that Javan sm
oked.
She hadn’t thought of Javan until that moment. Memories flooded her mind. If she had any tears left, she imagined she might have cried. Some part of her resented her decision to resist Javan’s affection. For a second, she pictured him missing her, looking and searching frantically. He and Michelle, both together, trying to get to her, to rescue her from the middle of nowhere.
* * *
A few rooms away, in another part of the house, the Marx Brothers were having a very different type of conversation. They recently learned of Frank’s incarceration and, perhaps more importantly, Lewis’s death. Their situation had changed drastically. Their reputation had carried them through the years, but they weren’t the big bad dangerous Marx Brothers everyone believed them to be anymore. They were street relics, an urban legend, masquerading as tough guys. In truth, they needed the money.
“Damn, man, he’s cold. What good is the girl to us now?”
“Calm down. You’re stressing me; let me think. We’ll figure this shit out.”
“Can’t bargain with a chalk outline, Mike.”
John shuffled back and forth in the room, wearing a hole in the floor. He was a heavy guy with a hothead. His temper was legendary, and Mike was trying his best to manage it. “I think we should get rid of her.”
The girl was supposed to be leverage. Lewis was no stranger and was into them for close to thirty thousand. He had put in some work for them back in the day, a young and thirsty hustler, always raving about his girl and his daughter, proud that he was about to be a daddy. He didn’t do anything major, only some little nickel-and-dime stuff, getting his feet wet with the art of the hustle.
“There may be another way, John. Just let me think. Shit.”
One day, out of the blue, Lewis split; disappeared with their money. The Marx Brothers looked everywhere for him, But the streets were silent. When he emerged again, they could not touch him. It seemed almost overnight he had become even more connected than they were, too connected for them to try to breathe in his direction. Anybody with the mayor’s number on speed dial was out of their pay grade. Lewis had married up and shut them out. So, the Marx Brothers fell back, burying their insult and disdain until it could be rebirthed again. It was only a matter of time before the universe would offer a chance to get even. It was the nature of the beast, the law of the universe, and they had been patient.
Virtuous Deception Page 14