by Raine Miller
“Hmmmm. The only people who would benefited from his death are Senator Oakley’s camp.”
“I know. I hate to know it, but I do. Everything goes to Brynne—the house, the cars, the investments. No surprise there, but I’m wondering if Tom left anything incriminating against Oakley.”
“Like a videotaped deposition?”
“Yeah . . . exactly like that. May know tomorrow. We have a meeting with his business partner in the morning to go over the trust, then the funeral and service. It’s gonna be a long fucking day.”
“When are you coming home?”
“If we can wrap everything up, the red-eye tomorrow night. I want Brynne out of here. Makes me fucking nervous. I’m out of my element.”
“Right. Give her our condolences, please. Ring if you need me. I’m here.”
“Thanks . . . see you in twenty-four.”
I ended the call and lit a second clove, the smoke curling slowing up into the still night air. I smoked and thought, my mind going back to a place I’d not been to for a long time. It terrified me, and with good reason.
Drowning is a horrific way to go out. Well, it is if you’re conscious. This was something I knew from experience. The cold and desperate feeling as water invades your nose and mouth. The impossible attempt to stay calm and hold your dwindling breath. The pain of lungs utterly depleted of oxygen.
I think the Afghans experimented on me to see what all the fuss was about with waterboarding. It wasn’t their preferred method, that’s for sure. Winching me up by the arms and shredding my back was their favorite. That and depriving me of sleep for what seemed like weeks at a time. The mind does crazy shit when there is no rest for the cogs.
I looked up at the stars and thought of her. My mum. She was an angel up there somewhere. I knew this. Spirituality is deeply personal and I needed no other confirmation of what I believed other than what I knew to be real inside my heart. She was up there watching over me somehow and was with me when they were going to cut off my—
Nope. Not going to that fucked-up horror right now. Later . . .
I got up quickly and stubbed out my second ciggie. I tucked the butts back in the pack and went inside my father-in-law’s nice American modern house. I’d never speak to him again, but ironically, one of the most important conversations I’d ever had, when weighed against all the others in the whole of my life, had been with him. An email with a plea for my help . . . and a photograph.
As I went back in to crawl into bed with Brynne, I prayed. I did. I prayed that Tom Bennett had been unconscious when he left this world.
♠ In a black Chanel suit with her hair pinned up, Brynne looked gorgeous. Terribly sad, but tragically beautiful. Her mother had brought the clothes over for her to wear. They were the same size, apparently, and Brynne was pretty much helpless against arguments at this point. I sensed she was merely coping to get through and hadn’t really allowed herself the freedom of indulging in her grief yet.
I stayed on the fringe and kept out of discussions as much as possible. Brynne was in no shape to bear a family row, and so I held my tongue to keep the peace. Mrs. Exely and I had a wary truce—we pretty much avoided direct contact. I never heard her ask Brynne about how she was feeling with the pregnancy once. Not one time. It was almost like she pretended it wasn’t happening. What mother didn’t care about her daughter being pregnant enough to even ask her about it?
I wished for this to end swiftly so I could get my girl out of here. I wanted her back on British soil. The flight home tonight couldn’t come soon enough for me.
The funeral had gone off well; if a death suffered too soon could be memorialized in a good way, that is. I wanted it to be an unfortunate consequence of life, not murder. Brynne had not asked me. I don’t think the idea occurred to her, and for that I was grateful.
I knew him the instant he walked into the gathering after the graveside service. I’d seen enough photos of the slimy prick to know him on sight. Bollocks must be the size of grapefruits for him to stroll in here looking entitled, as he most definitely did. He came right over and put his hands on Brynne, hugging her, and offering his fake sympathies for her terrible loss. I think she was too sad to react much to his presence. Her mum stood alongside and engaged him with demonstrative affection, which angered me. How could she do that to Brynne? This man’s son had raped her child, made a public video of it, and she called him a friend? Blah, blah, bullshit. I locked eyes with Oakley and made sure my handshake was delivered overly hard.
Yeah, that’s right, Senator, we’re just getting acquainted. You’ll meet my dick in a bit. It’s huge.
I had to step away and pull myself together. I kissed my girl on the forehead and told her I’d be back shortly. The senator and I had a date.
I tracked him around and pegged his security detail immediately. I mean, we’re all recognizable in the trade. All I would do was talk to the senator. Harmless, right?
When Oakley left for a piss I made sure I was a bit delayed behind him. Perfect timing. Security goon was busy filling his plate with food. The men’s room had a lock, which was an added bonus. My luck seemed to have no bounds today.
I was leaned up against the wash counter when he came out of the stall adjusting his belt.
“We are alone and the door is locked, Oakley.”
He stopped dead flat and assessed the situation. The senator seemed to have been blessed with some modicum of intelligence, I’ll give him that. He did not panic.
“Are you threatening me, Blackstone?” he kept his voice level.
“You remember my name. Very good. And I really couldn’t say . . . yet.” I shrugged. “Why don’t you tell me, Senator?”
“I’m here to honor the life of a friend of many years, that’s all.” He went forward to the sink and turned on the water.
“Ahh, that’s what you call it. I’d say it was more of a campaign stop, wouldn’t you?”
“Tom Bennett’s death was a tragic shock to me, and to everyone. Brynne is a very sweet girl. She always has been. The loss of her father must be a terrible burden for her to bear. I know how much Tom loved her. She was his world.”
I just stared at him, quite impressed with his dramatic dialogue. He must be in training for all the political speeches he had in his future.
“Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials and forthcoming child,” he said as he washed his hands at the sink.
“So you’ve read the announcement already.” I tilted my head in a bow and planted myself in front of the door. This motherfucker wasn’t leaving until I was ready for him to go. “This is how it works, Senator. You listen, I talk.”
He pulled down a hand towel and methodically began to dry his hands.
“I know everything. Montrose is dead. Fielding went missing in late May. I’ll bet he’s dead too and will remain missing. I know you had your son stop-lossed by the U.S. army. I can connect the dots. Everyone is disappearing. When the autopsy report is filed on Tom, I will read it. Wonder what it’ll say?” I shrugged dramatically.
“It’s not coming from me, Blackstone.” His light-brown eyes bored into me. “Not me.”
I stepped a little closer. “That’s good to know, Oakley. Make sure it is true. I have taped depositions, documents, records . . . everything. Tom Bennett did too.” Couldn’t know for sure on that one, but it sounded good. “And if you think you can take me down to get to Brynne, you’ll unleash a political shitstorm that will make Watergate look like an episode of The People’s Court.” I took another step forward. “My people know what to do if I disappear.” I whispered. “They pop the party balloon and it all goes . . . poof.” I flicked my fingers out for emphasis.
He swallowed imperceptibly, but I caught it. “What do you want from me?”
I shook my head. “It’s not what I want, Oakley. It’s all about what you want.” I gave him a moment to absorb. “You want to run for your vice-presidential office and sleep in your comfortable bed at night as opposed to a prison c
ell with a roommate who wants to get to know you better.” I cracked a small grin. “You want to do everything in your power to make absolute certain that Brynne Bennett, soon to be Blackstone, leads a charmed and very peaceful life with her husband and child in England, with no threats or worries about anything that went on in the past.” I spoke my words more harshly. “A shameful event of which she was the victim. Of. A. Heinous. Crime.”
He’d started to sweat. I could see the sheen breaking out at his temples.
“You want to make sure of it, Oakley. Do you understand me?”
He didn’t move his face, but his eyes agreed. I know the look, and he said yes to me with his eyes.
“Good. I’m glad you understand because this is the only warning you’ll get. If anything happens to either one of us . . . well . . . it all explodes. I’m talking British Parliament, the Washington Post, the London Times, Scotland Yard, M6, U.S. congressional inquiries, the whole enchilada, as you might say.” I tilted my head and shook it slowly. “And with the Olympics in London, and all that goodwill between the U.S. and Britain?” I held my palms up. “There’ll be no hole deep enough for you to hide in.” I wafted one hand for emphasis. “Think . . . Saddam Hussein . . . if you will.” I moved to unlock the door. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you about shit running downhill either.” I went to leave the men’s room and turned back one last time. “Best of luck to you in the upcoming election. I wish for you a long and successful career, Senator. Cheers.”
Oakley’s security ape pushed past me and entered the bathroom, looking a tad confused after overhearing my friendly departing comment.
I gave him a nod and went out to find Brynne. The love of my life, the mother of our unborn child, my sweet girl, had been out of my sight for too long, and I needed to get back to her side.
17
♥ I was relieved when Ethan returned to me from wherever he’d been. I needed him, and everything seemed easier to bear when he was near. It made me very weak, which I despised in myself, but I couldn’t help it, and was too exhausted to care. He was the only lifeline I had here. I wanted to go back home. London—home.
He had two plates of food with him when he walked up.
“I brought you a little bit of everything,” he said.
“Oh, thanks . . . but I’m not hungry at all. I can’t eat that.” I looked at the fruit and the croissant sandwich.
He frowned and set his jaw. I knew I was in for an argument. “You have to eat something. What’ve you had today besides a little tea?” He whispered. “Think of the baby . . .”
“You can’t force someone to eat. Trust me, I know from experience.”
My mother’s disdainful voice broke into our exchange. No sentiment of “Ethan’s right, Brynne, you need to eat because your baby needs food even if you don’t feel hungry.” No “You’re eating for two now, dear” comment. Yeah . . . what did I expect?
I saw Ethan’s head turn and peg my mom. I think there was a little smoke rising from his ears too, but he didn’t lose it as I thought he could have. He just turned glacial and ignored her.
“Come sit with me and have a little something,” he said to me with a gentle voice paired with some serious intent to see it through.
How could I turn him down? I never could. What he did, he did out of concern for me. I did need to eat, even though my appetite was nonexistent. Ethan was right. I had someone else to consider besides myself. Especially now.
I looked at my mom and roamed my eyes over her perfectly coiffed and dressed presentation today for her ex-husband’s funeral. Why in the hell had she even come to the service? She’d barely spoken to Daddy after I moved away to London. She certainly couldn’t have any true grief for him. Could she? I had absolutely no idea. It saddened me to realize that I couldn’t tell because I didn’t know her well enough to tell. My mother and I weren’t close like that. We didn’t share deep feelings or secrets. I never knew why she suddenly divorced my dad, or if she’d ever even loved him. I didn’t know why they ever got married in the first place. How had they met? Where had he proposed? Stories of them dating? I had nothing.
I turned away and went with Ethan to a table, my heart closing off from her a little more with every step I took.
“You are so very beautiful,” Ethan said softly as I tried valiantly to ingest some of the food he’d gotten for me, “on the inside as much as the outside.”
I tried to swallow the honeydew melon that must surely be a hunk of wet sawdust from the way it tasted on my tongue, and told him, “I want to go home.”
“I know you do, baby. I want to take you home. There’s not much left to worry over now. Since your dad had everything in a trust . . . we can come back in a few months and see to things then. Mr. Murdock said it’s best to wait a bit anyway . . . you don’t want to make decisions about something so personal right at first.” He put his hand over mine.
Yes. Pete Murdock was Daddy’s business partner in his law firm. Or . . . he had been. Living trust was the way to go, Dad always said. I now controlled a house in Sausalito, all my dad’s money and investments; everything of material possession he had acquired in his fifty-one years now belonged to me.
I didn’t want any of it. I just wanted my dad back.
A friendly voice interrupted my thoughts. “Brynne . . . oh, honey, here you are.”
I turned to find Jessica with her arms open. I went into them and hugged my friend tightly. Jess and I went back to elementary school. First grade, Mrs. Flagler’s class. Nearly inseparable all the way up till our senior year of high school, Thanksgiving break, to be exact.
Yes, Jessica had been with me the night it happened. She had been a true friend in my time of need, but I had been too sick for friendships after the event. I’d needed to go away. A necessary component to my recovery process. We’d kept in touch over the years since I’d been in London, but hadn’t seen each other in more than four years. She still looked tanned and athletic, her blond pixie haircut the perfect complement to her petite shape. I was touched she showed up here today to pay her respects to my father.
“I’m so sorry, Brynne. Your dad—he was just the sweetest man—l enjoyed our conversations every time we saw each other at the gym. He loved to talk about you.”
“Oh, Jess . . .” I felt my eyes go wet and the emotions come pouring out. “Thank you for coming—it means a great deal to me to see you here. He really liked you too. Thought you were very sweet.” We hugged again and I really looked at her. “It’s so good to see you again.” I turned to Ethan. “Jess, this is Ethan Blackstone, my fiancé.” I held up my hand and showed my engagement ring. “Ethan, meet Jessica Vettner, my friend since the first grade.”
“It’s a pleasure, Jessica,” Ethan told her as they shook hands. I wondered if he remembered that Jess was the one I went to the party with on that ill-fated night of my life. If he did remember, he didn’t show any signs of it. Ethan was smooth as silk in these situations.
Jessica turned to her companion then, and made introductions. Another face from my past. Karl Westman stood beside Jess. Wow . . . so many emotions there. I needed a moment to take it all in, I was so overwhelmed. Seeing Lance Oakley’s father earlier had been crazy enough. I had been in such a fog, though, I barely registered whatever it was he’d said to me. My mom had spent more time talking to the senator than I had. Now Karl was here too?
“Brynne, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Karl said and moved in to hug me.
“Hi, Karl. It’s been a long time.” It felt awkward, but I know it had to be for him as well. We had a small past together, but it wasn’t really that which made my broken heart feel like it was being squeezed from the inside out. It was that all four of us standing here together knew about it. They had either seen the video of me or they had knowledge of its existence.
I really wanted to go home more than ever now. “Thanks for coming today. It was very kind of you.”
“My pleasure.” Karl ended the hug and I searched his
dark eyes. I didn’t see anything hurtful in them. Just some kindness and maybe a bit of curiosity. That had to be normal, right? We’d met at a track meet the season we were juniors, and then ran into each other at the beginning of my senior year. We’d gone out on dates that ended as all my dates had back in those days—covert sex in some private location. I’d liked him a lot. Karl was a cute boy then, and a handsome man now. We both shared a love of Hendrix and had had many discussions about his music. Jess was absolutely right about Karl still being “hawt” in her message on Facebook. He had always treated me well. Not a bit like Lance Oakley had treated me.
Lance had been away at college, and I had been young and stupid. A long lifetime ago. Another world ago. Did Karl know he was the reason Lance became angry enough to drug me, and then film his buddies using me on a pool table? If I’d never gone out with Karl, maybe Lance and his friends wouldn’t have made the video of me at the party that night. The scenarios were endless. Woulda, coulda, shoulda . . . Yeah, did me absolutely no good to go there.
“I heard about it from Jess, of course,” he said, reaching an arm around her shoulders in a familiar affectionate gesture, “and I wanted to pay my respects in person.” Jessica looked up at him with stars in her eyes. It didn’t take a genius to see that my old friend had fallen hard for Karl Westman. He seemed very into her as well. I sincerely hoped it worked out for the two of them. They made a great couple.
I forced a smile and did the best acting performance of my life. “I’m so happy to see you both. It’s been far too long.”
Ethan drew me against his side as we made small talk with the two of them. It was a possessive move on his part, and one I was well familiar with by now. He rubbed his hand slowly up and down my arm as he gave Jess and Karl his full attention. Especially when Karl told us how his company was sending him to the Olympics for a research trip and that we should get together while he was in London. Um . . . probably not going to happen, Karl.