Free and Bound (A Club Volare New Orleans Novel)

by Chloe Cox

  The media reaction was to go batshit crazy.

  And it got even more insane when a man named Jason Whittier gave a very pissed-off interview.

  Soren felt his blood rise just thinking about it. He was waiting for Ford and Adra in one of the lounges at Club Volare, trying to come up with a plan, and that man’s face on the cover a tabloid kept popping up in his mind. The man who had hurt Cate. The man who was still hurting Cate.

  Her husband.

  Not her ex. Not some distant ghost from the past. Her lawful husband.

  Soren never should have let Cate drive off in that car without telling her. She’d said she had something big she was working on for his case, something that was going to end the madness, something she’d had waiting since before she followed him back home. And stupidly, arrogantly, so fucking stupidly, Soren had thought: That will give us both time. They both needed a breather. Let Cate be sure of what she wants. They had all the time in the world.

  They hadn’t talked. He hadn’t told her.

  And now he was staring incomprehensibly at the smarmy face of one Jason Whittier, the man who had hurt Cate, and the man that she had lied to him about. Soren needed to talk to Cate more than he needed food or water. He needed to tell her that he didn’t care. He needed to tell her that she was the only thing that mattered to him.

  He needed to tell her that he loved her.

  Why hadn’t he fucking told her?

  Because he was afraid it wasn’t true? No, he knew, he knew it with more certainty than he’d ever known anything else; he knew it like he knew his own goddamn name. The way he felt about her pumped in his blood, was his life-blood, she was his life now. He laughed now, because of her. She had switched him fully on.

  She had taught him that he could love.

  Had he just been afraid of it? Of finally finding something stronger than he was? Did it matter? Whatever the reason, he should have told her. He needed to tell her.

  And she wasn’t taking his calls.

  Her secretary, Verna, assured him that Cate was fine. But that was all he’d gotten. He was losing his fucking mind.

  Cate was hiding again.

  Which meant the only thing Soren had left was how he was going to deal with Jason Whittier.

  “How you holding up?” Ford asked as he entered the room. The man was back to his blond James Bond-looking self, unbuttoning his suit coat as he sat across from Soren with that casual confidence that had women fawning over him.

  Soren just looked at him, and Ford’s face fell.

  “I see,” Ford said. “What can I do to help?”

  “We’re waiting on someone,” Soren said.

  “Who?”

  “Me,” Adra said. She was paused in the doorway, her hand on the knob. Her eyes locked on Ford.

  “Get over it,” Soren said roughly. “Both of you. Right now. I need you for this, so I need you to get over it.”

  Ford couldn’t tear his eyes away from Adra, either. The pain and lust on both their faces would have amused Soren in any other circumstance, but he didn’t have time for it now. He had to help Cate.

  “Of course,” Ford said, rising to his feet as Adra walked into the room. She paused and waited for him to pull a chair out for her, the two of them moving in this choreographed dance that neither was aware of.

  Soren hoped they worked that well together no matter what the project.

  “How can we help, Soren?” Adra asked.

  “Tell me everything about this guy,” Soren said. “I don’t care what the truth is, I just want to help her. I want to her to have whatever she wants. Whatever she needs.” He paused, his fists clenched tightly. “Even if that’s not me.”

  Ford and Adra looked at each other.

  “She needs to get away from Jason Whittier,” Adra said.

  Cate looked out the window of the bland hotel room she’d chosen for this meeting and told herself she would not cry.

  She would not.

  She had gotten off that plane and nearly run away from Soren, preferring to live in this fantasy dream world where he was always on the verge of telling her that he loved her, and where Cate hadn’t lied to him. Where she’d been strong enough to tell him the truth from the beginning, to own her past, to admit that she loved him and wanted him. She’d had the case to deal with, and she’d been happy about it—her investigator Rubin had come through, and Cate had everything she needed to nail Mark Cheedham and Daniella Collins to the wall.

  Cate couldn’t fix Soren, she couldn’t fix whatever their situation was, and she couldn’t fix the fact that she’d lied to him. But she could damn well fix this case, and that she was going to do.

  She’d relished it. She would come back to Soren with this case, and maybe…

  She couldn’t believe she’d actually thought that way. It hadn’t been conscious, but Cate knew the moment she saw those newspaper headlines that she’d been thinking that somehow she’d fix this one thing, and then all her other mistakes wouldn’t matter. That everything else would magically come together.

  It was childish. It was inane.

  And now it didn’t matter anymore, because he knew she was a liar.

  She’d teased him about his honesty rule. She’d mocked it even, albeit gently. And she saw now that she had done that because she knew she was breaking it. It was a high, harsh standard, but Soren had serious reasons for it, and she’d failed it. Did it matter that she had good reasons for lying to him? Didn’t most people have good reasons for doing bad things? That’s what made them so easy to do. It was the rare, Cheedham-like person who sat there and tried to think up ways to screw another human being over. The rest was just people rationalizing because they were afraid, or hurt, or because they wanted something, until it seemed ok to do something that would hurt someone else.

  Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. But it had been weak, and selfish, and if she were in Soren’s place, she didn’t know what she would think. The thought that she might have hurt him had come too late, and now it was all she could think about.

  And what was worse, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to face him. Didn’t matter that she knew it was childish or inane, she wanted to be able to tell him that she’d at least done this for him. Soren had changed her life just by being Soren, by sheer force of will, by being the one to show her who she really was. And that she’d felt loved. Even if he never said it, even if he didn’t…

  He’d taught her it was at least possible. He’d taught her what being loved should feel like.

  She had to give him something back. She had to. And she was too much of a coward to face him empty handed.

  So, once again, Jason Whittier had found a way to hurt her. She almost had to hand it to him for this one. Points for style, at least. Jason probably thought that his blackmail leverage was all the more valuable now, but he wasn’t counting on one thing. She didn’t care if she never tried a case again. She didn’t have anything to prove anymore; now she just had the rest of her life to figure out. And the only thing she really cared about was making it up to Soren.

  Cate Kennedy was about to kick some ass.

  “Ms. Kennedy,” Mark Cheedham’s oily voice rang out from the doorway. “Very cloak and dagger.”

  The man was smiling. Cate had let him think she was about to make a settlement offer, on the condition that she arrange to transport Mark and his client to a secret meeting location. She had no doubt that otherwise the place would be awash with media, and Mark would have a field day.

  “Given the press attention, it seemed prudent,” Cate said.

  “For you, yes,” Mark said. His smile was actually lewd. Unbelievable. “Never become the story, Cate,” he admonished, shaking his head. Then he looked her up and down. “I never would have guessed.”

  Cate’s voice turned cold. She was very close to done with this dirtbag.

  “Where’s your client?”

  “I thought we could talk.”

  “Non-negotiable, Ma
rk. I was very clear about that.”

  Cheedham looked at her with his dead eyes for a beat. Then he sighed and opened the door again, waving a woman inside.

  He’d made Daniella Collins wait in the hallway. Unbelievable redux.

  Daniella was a small woman, brown hair, blue eyes, tattoos down one of her arms. Head held high. Cate wasn’t sure what she should feel—this wasn’t a typical case, and she wasn’t a typical plaintiff. If it weren’t for Soren, Cate might have felt pity. But pity was too condescending for this woman. So Cate fought down the jealousy from knowing this woman had been with Soren and settled on empathy, instead.

  Cate wanted to help her, after all.

  “Daniella, this is Cate Kennedy,” Mark said. And then, as if he’d spent hours thinking it up and simply couldn’t help himself, he said, “She likes it rough, too.”

  Silence.

  Mark Cheedham chuckled slightly, as though this were a totally acceptable thing to say. Like it was fair game, just because it had been in the news. Like introducing them as though they both had a similar interest in tennis was a good joke.

  Unbelievable, the trilogy.

  Cate might have kept it professionally tactful, except she saw Daniella’s face. The woman looked hurt, and sorry, and sad, and full of loathing for this man who had put her in her current position and now made her the butt of sexual jokes.

  So she went with professionally blunt.

  “I wouldn’t make jokes of that nature if I were you, Mark,” Cate said. “You’ll be going to prison—soon—and unfortunately the threat of violence in our state facilities is still very real.”

  Mark looked up, stunned. She could see the pale circles around his eyes where he wore goggles in the tanning bed.

  “It’s tragic,” Cate said. She meant it. “But that doesn’t stop it from being true. Maybe you’ll be able to draw attention to the issue from the inside.”

  Cate sat at the small dining table in the corner of the suite, leaned back, and crossed her legs.

  “You might be able to bring those media manipulation skills to bear for a worthy cause,” she went on. “You could look at it as an opportunity.”

  “What are you talking about?” Daniella said. “Mark, what is she talking about?”

  Cheedham had partially recovered. He was doing his best to look outraged now, rather than terrified, standing up as though he were about to storm out. “She’s talking out of her ass,” he said.

  “Sit down, Mark,” Cate said. “I have a hypothetical situation for you both to consider. In that hypothetical situation, I have evidence that you, Mark, coerced Daniella Collins into perjuring herself, making false claims, the whole deal, by first promising to pay for her nephew’s medical treatments, and then threatening to blackmail her.” Cate looked at Daniella, who was wide-eyed and open-mouthed. “Your sister is very worried about you, you know.”

  “Oh my God,” she said.

  Mark was silent.

  “In that scenario, I would be obligated to come forward. Perjury is a crime. So is fraud. I’m an officer of the court.” Cate sighed. The woman looked terrified. “Again, in that hypothetical scenario, I might also recommend that you, Ms. Collins, get yourself a criminal attorney. I think if you were to separate yourself from Mr. Cheedham here, make a full public admission absolving my client of everything you’ve accused him of, and cooperated with the district attorney, you’d probably be ok. My client isn’t the type to beat up on someone he cares about, and the district attorney is likely to be far more interested in Mr. Cheedham’s activities than your misdeeds.”

  More silence.

  Cheedham looked like he was about to throw up.

  “Happily, I’ve brought a criminal attorney for you, Ms. Collins,” Cate said, as gently as she could. “He’s very good, and he’s in the adjoining room. All you have to do is open that door right there. I can tell you the first thing he’s going to do is recommend that you fire Mr. Cheedham, who, as it happens, will also be needing a criminal attorney.” Cate looked back at Cheedham. “I didn’t bring one for you, Mark.”

  Daniella began to cry. Cate found that all she wanted to do was get up and give the woman a hug—after all, Cate had spent the morning thinking about how she’d managed to make her own mistakes. She’d lied, too, and she hadn’t even had a sick nephew to worry about.

  “Honey, just open the door,” Cate said. “Fire him and open the door. I really think it will all be ok.”

  The second Daniella stood up, Mark Cheedham shot to his feet and raced out the door. He was probably about to try to shred a whole lot of documents. Given how brazenly stupid Cheedham’s fraud was, Cate guessed that he’d done it many times before, always counting on a quick hush-up settlement. She’d alerted the district attorney ahead of time, but it was anyone’s guess what would happen. If Cheedham really were running a giant racketeering operation, well…Cate would get out the popcorn.

  But Daniella was still standing there, motionless. Looking at Cate.

  “It didn’t start out like this,” she said quietly. “I just want you to know. He didn’t say we’d be accusing him of abusing me—he didn’t put it like that. He made it sound different. It was just a slippery slope, and before I knew it I was signing these documents, and by then…”

  “You should say that to Soren,” Cate said. Then she remembered her job. “On television. As soon as possible.”

  Daniella cringed.

  “I will.”

  “Just between us,” Cate said, “I bet he won’t even hold a grudge. And I have a feeling your nephew is going to be taken care of no matter what happens.”

  That’s when Daniella started to cry for real. Cate left before she joined in. She even managed to hold on until she got home and found Adra waiting for her.

  Soren had to admit: the three of them made an odd team. He and Declan looked like they’d just rolled off a tour bus, and Ford looked like, well, Ford.

  Jason Whittier could be forgiven for being a little bit confused when he opened the door. Then he recognized Soren, and his mouth dropped open.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Jason sputtered.

  “I’m here to make you a deal,” Soren said. If this idiot knew the supreme concentration it required not to simply beat the shit out of him, he didn’t show it. “These two buddies of mine are here to act as witnesses. There’s a notary in the car.”

  Soren looked back. There was a very confused but patient notary in the back of Ford’s Benz.

  “Get the hell off my property.” Jason sneered. “Or I’ll call the police.”

  “It’s not your property,” Soren said. “It’s Cate’s. And I promise you, Jason, you want to hear this deal.”

  Soren’s muscles had started to twitch. Every fiber of his being wanted to be involved in teaching Jason Whittier a lesson or ten. Soren inhaled very slowly and thought about Cate.

  “Screw you,” Jason said. “I’m calling the cops.”

  And he tried to close the door.

  Soren caught it.

  And, very slowly, he opened it again.

  Ford coughed and looked away, intent on studying something happening in a tree on the other side of the yard. Declan just smiled.

  Soren stepped inside the house.

  “Give me a reason, Jason,” Soren said quietly. “You don’t know me, but I have a mean streak. I earned it. I know what it’s like to get the shit beaten out of me, and it made me really good at beating the shit out of people like you. And if I’m honest? There’s a part of me that comes alive then. I don’t have to like it; I just have to deal with it. I control it. So I’m telling you, right now, that if you give me a reason to let that beast out of its cage, I am going to owe you one. And that’s gonna be the thing that saves your miserable life.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Jason said. He’d backed farther into the house. Soren had no intention of following him. He wondered if Cate had felt as scared as Jason looked, and the thought made him nauseous.
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br />   “I’m in love with Cate Kennedy,” Soren said. “That’s what’s wrong with me. It means that I will literally do anything to get her what she needs. Look at me, Jason: fucking anything. And what’s wrong with you is that you’re a douchebag who won’t let her go, and you find any excuse to hurt her. That is going to stop right fucking now, do you understand?”

  Jason stopped backing away.

  “Give me a reason,” Jason said.

  “That was the plan,” Soren said.

  Cate had tried calling Soren half a dozen times since Adra had left, determined, finally, to tell him everything in person. To apologize, to tell him the case was sorted out, even if they couldn’t make it public yet. To tell him that she loved him.

  Adra had been somehow reassuring without actually telling her anything, which, as a lawyer, Cate kind of admired. She had also offered to have Ford take a look at the divorce agreement that Jason had refused to sign, which hadn’t made much sense, but had seemed a sweet attempt to help. The end result was that Cate remembered that she had people who cared about her, even if she had screwed up.

  That Soren cared about her, even if he didn’t…

  Well, there was no point in going there at the moment. She needed to tell him about the case, she needed to tell him how she felt, and she needed to stop hiding. She’d put on her big girl panties and called.

  And called.

  And called.

  After the fifth or sixth time, she’d begun to worry. Maybe she had crossed the line. Maybe she wasn’t special; maybe he was done. Honesty was his hard limit, right?

  The thought was just…crushing.

  Soren was the man who’d made her believe that people could be better than she’d ever imagined. If he couldn’t forgive her, she would feel utterly, utterly lost.

  And she was on the verge of another bout of embarrassing tears when her doorbell rang.

  Cate stiffened. The media was still a problem; she’d hired security guards through Ford’s contacts to keep them from encroaching on her property, and anyway, it was truly weird to have someone at her actual door unannounced.