Red Consumed

by Allyson Lindt

  Her laugh was filled with disbelief. “Use to? Is this another I got drunk at a frat party story?”

  He liked that she remembered the first one. “Not exactly.” The words stuck when he realized what he was about to admit. “Promise me you won’t freak out until you’ve heard the whole story.”

  “So... no, I can’t promise that. But I will hear you out.” The amusement was gone from her voice.

  “I say I used to because the record was expunged after I served my probation. And I wasn’t guilty, but I was young and was convinced pleading down was better than going to trial and risking losing.”

  “You don’t want to tell me.” Was that accusation?

  He twisted his mouth. “I do.” But he was scared of her reaction. The realization left a bad taste in his mouth. Things like that didn’t scare him. He stowed the weak reaction. “I was charged as an accomplice to felony stalking and assault.”

  “That’s what Tim is charged with.” Her tone was unreadable.

  “It is. But in my case it was several counts, and most of them were worse.”

  “I see.”

  He wished he could watch her face.

  “I promised to hear you out,” she said. “Why accomplice?”

  “I was dating a guy...” He’d told Parker this story but left out the details. Delving deeper into his own naïveté was going to suck. “Open relationship. We liked variety.”

  Fiona snorted. “You? Can’t imagine.”

  He let the sarcasm slide. Six months ago, it was still true. Now? His tastes had become distinctly focused. “We’d help each other pick up girls in bars. One of us would be the unwanted creep, and the other would sweep in as her knight in shining armor and save her.”

  “That’s tacky.” Emotion bled into her voice, raw and tinged with disgust.

  “It was. I’m falling back on the I was young and didn’t know better excuse. If he was interested, I'd crank up the overbearing, aggressive asshole to an eleven. If he was helping me, he’d be clingy and sweet and rattle on about how more girls should give the nice guy a chance. I’d step in and be confident and scare him off.”

  “Tacky with an extra side of gross. You could have—you know—stood on your own merits, rather than being the less disgusting choice in a shitshow taste test.”

  “Ouch. But fair. I’d like to pretend I was never that guy, but I was, and I’d rather you know.”

  “Why?”

  “Your opinion matters to me.” That was on odd thing to confess. Typically only the clients’ opinions mattered, and only until they signed the contract. “What you said the other day, about wanting to be seen for what’s under the surface? I don't ever want that. With anyone. Or I didn't, until you and Parker.”

  When she chuckled, it was dry, but the harshness was gone from it. “You still haven’t explained the police record.”

  “Right. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that's what a lot of Devin’s hookups became. If he ran into rejection before he was done having his fun, he turned obsessive. A couple of accusations came back to me, because I was the person the women remembered as the asshole. My... preferences made me easy to profile. The guy who likes his girl tied up and begging must be the sick fuck doing the drugging and raping, right?” He winced at the bitterness that slipped out.

  She sighed.

  He waited for more. “What are you thinking?” he prompted when she didn’t say anything.

  “I can’t see it. Not from you.”

  The basic assurance nudged away some of the cloud inside. “So they arrested me, I figured out what Devin had been up to, my testimony got him put away for several years, and I already explained the rest.”

  “I believe you.”

  Ego insisted that of course she did. It was the truth. Experience said that didn’t always matter. “Thanks. So... no dinner?”

  “It’s not good idea.” Her disappointment was almost tangible. “I'm worried that, if the police keep bringing me in for questioning, that will lead to needing to prove alibis, and that will hurt us both.”

  “I wish I didn’t understand, but I do. I’ll show you a night you’ll never forget, once this is wrapped up.”

  “You always do. Talk to you at work?”

  “Yeah.”

  As Wyatt disconnected, mixed emotions raged inside. He liked opening up more than he should have. But having to keep his distance from Fiona and Parker didn’t sit well with him.

  Nothing to do for that. He dove back into his work, grateful for the distraction, despite hating the bombings.

  He’d been working for another hour or so, when his cellphone rang again. He didn’t recognize the number, beyond know it was from out of state. “This is Wyatt Lindberg.”

  “Mr. Lindberg, this is Agent Landry, Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’d like to sit down with you face to face, and ask you some questions.”

  Logic said that asking if he needed a lawyer would make him look guilty. Experience pointed out that didn’t matter. “Should I bring my attorney?”

  The silence that followed wasn’t reassuring.

  “You’re not being charged at this time, but I’m required to tell you that yes, should you want one present, it would be advised,” Landry said.

  Wyatt clenched his fist until his knuckles ached. He had no idea why this was falling back on him. Maybe it wasn’t, and Fiona read the situation wrong. Either way, he refused to let things go down like last time. “I understand. Let me get a hold of him. Then, we’ll talk.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  WYATT DIDN’T LIKE THE clawing inside, as he and his attorney sat across from Agent Landry in a small box of a room. He didn’t care for the memories associated with this. But he wasn’t that naive guy anymore, and he didn’t break anymore.

  He had this under control.

  Charles Martin was a friend of a colleague, and seemed like a professional, collected lawyer. Wyatt was supposed to nudge Charles’s shoe if he wanted the questioning to stop.

  It wouldn’t be an issue, because Wyatt hadn’t done anything. The thought echoed one he had so long ago, and would have made him snort at his own ignorance under difference circumstances.

  “Do you recognize this convenience store?” Agent Landry showed him a printed photo he pulled from what appeared to be a folder full of them.

  Wyatt nodded. “It’s a few blocks from the home offices, in Atlanta. I’m in there a couple times a week, when I’m not traveling.”

  “Have you ever purchased a prepaid debit card there?”

  “A what? You mean those Visa gift cards? They make good gifts.” Wyatt should be able to figure out where the conversation was headed, even with so few questions. He didn’t have any guesses. He tucked away his concerns.

  Agent Landry scribbled on the pad in front of him. From where Wyatt sat, it didn’t appear to be more than random scuffs with the pen on paper. “Is that a yes?” Landry asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Have you ever purchased a prepaid cell phone?”

  Wyatt resisted the desire to shift in his seat. The metal frame wasn’t that uncomfortable; the situation just made him think it was. “Not anytime in the last decade.”

  “I see.” Landry pulled another sheet from his folder and showed it to Wyatt. “Do you recognize this?”

  It was Fiona. From the background, it looked like it was taken in the vineyard they’d visited. And he certainly remembered that dress and what she hadn’t been wearing underneath it. “I know who it is. Fiona Walters is the implementation resource for a vendor we’re working with.”

  “Do you recognize where it was taken?”

  The answer stuck in Wyatt’s throat. How much could he say? It was hard to know, without having an idea why they were asking.

  Charles cleared his throat, and Wyatt gave a slight shake of his head. He grabbed the photo and squinted. “Hard to tell with the low resolution. The wine bottles make me think... in a place that sells wine?”

  “Have you eve
r visited the vineyards in Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania?” Agent Landry had to be one hell of a poker player. If Wyatt weren’t inching toward concern for his future, he’d buy the guy a beer and ask how he kept such an impassive mask in place.

  “I have. There’s a stunning place out there I drop by when I’m visiting their local offices. The owner is friendly, and the wine is good.” The owner who he’d personally pulled strings with, to let Parker film there. Fuck. A few pieces tumbled into place.

  Landry slid the image back into his folder. “When was the last time you visited?”

  This was a bad direction for the conversation to go. Not because Wyatt was worried about his guilt, but he couldn’t damage Fiona’s career. The vehemence of the thought caught him off-guard. “I suppose one of the last times I was in Philadelphia.”

  “Were you there with Ms. Walters?”

  Wyatt nudged Charles’ foot. He’d deflect for himself all day long, but he wouldn’t hang Fiona out. Especially for something she didn’t know at the time.

  “We’re done with the questions,” Charles said.

  “The vineyard owner remembers the last time you were there.” Apparently, Landry wasn’t. “Acting as a tour guide for Ms. Walters and her boyfriend, while he filmed for his YouTube channel?”

  “We’re not answering anything else.” Charles’s tone was firm.

  Wyatt kept his expression blank, mirroring Landry’s. He didn’t like the chaos that bubbled inside. This was making him look guilty. He didn’t know if admitting where he’d been would add fuel to whatever Landry thought he had.

  “According to your company’s records, as well as hers, she wasn’t in communication with you at that point as a vendor.” Landry had another fucking photo of Fiona. “Do you recognize this one?”

  Wyatt didn’t have to squint or guess. The stained glass in the background was from the cathedral he’d taken them to. Where the hell did these images come from? They weren’t the right angle to be Parker’s, and they were distinctly only of Fiona. No other people in the background. He kept his mouth shut. They’d passed the point where he could say anything.

  “What kind of deal did you negotiate, to have your felonies stricken from your record?” Landry asked.

  Wyatt’s mask almost slipped.

  “Stricken from the record means they no longer exist. Felony expunging is common so many years after the sentence has been served.” Charles stood. “I don’t know what you misunderstood about no more questions.”

  “How about I offer a little information, then you do the same?” Landry’s tone shifted to conversational. Wyatt was impressed. The guy would make a hell of a salesman. “The photos are from a memory card we found in a pre-paid cell phone, which was in the box containing the unexploded device. The fingerprints on the card match those on file with an arrest record from more than a decade ago, belonging to Wyatt Lindberg. The phone was purchased at the convenience store in Atlanta. The shipping slips were purchased on local networks with the company, using a prepaid card purchased at the same store.”

  Well, fuck.

  “All circumstantial.” Charles didn’t hesitate.

  Landry shook his head. “Except the fingerprints. And the several eye-witness reports placing Mr. Lindberg where he didn’t need to be. The statement from a Grammie’s Administrative Assistant, that Wyatt went out of his way to grab Fiona’s schedule long before she had anything to do with his employer. The lack of his alibis. The previous conviction—”

  “Which is inadmissible, since it no longer exists.” Charles’s voice was tight.

  It didn’t matter. Wyatt’s future had flashed before his eyes, and it was a repeat of the last time he was arrested. He had no idea where this all came from. Tim? The photos maybe, but not the memory card. Or the bombs.

  This was so very bad.

  PARKER KEPT HALF AN eye on his camera and the rest of his attention on Fiona, as they strolled through the outdoor mall someone had recommended. He had to get his filming hours in, but he wasn’t feeling it.

  “Ooh, I love these.” Fiona tugged him toward a boutique with a table of hats out front.

  He wanted to give her his focus. He wanted to not have to stick to a schedule. He didn’t want to be the spoiled child, who complained about the fact that his self-made job was requiring a little discipline.

  “What do you think?” Fiona wore a hat with a broad brim, in a green that matched her eyes.

  Her smile drew one from him. “I’m biased. I think you’re stunning regardless.”

  “Fair point.” She set the hat back with the others, then kissed him on the cheek. “You lead, I’ll follow. Where do you need to be?”

  Here. With her. He wouldn’t mind if Wyatt were here, too. It was a sentiment he didn’t like understanding, but the more time they spent with Wyatt, the more Parker liked him. It wasn’t the same trying not to fall and failing that Fiona struggled with, but the friendship was growing. Parker liked hanging out with him. Partly because it made Fiona happy, but there was more to it.

  A month ago, Parker would have sworn that would never happen.

  “Handmade candy?” Fiona asked.

  “No. God, no. I never thought I’d get sick of seeing someone pull taffy, but seriously.”

  She nodded toward a park that sat at the end of the street. “Peace Gardens?”

  “Perfect.” He followed her, keeping the camera trained anywhere else. He wanted to film her. Capture each smile and laugh when she pointed something out or tried another thing on. He also wanted to put the camera down until there was footage worth recording, and join her in appreciating their surroundings without a lens in the way.

  She tangled her fingers in his and stepped in his path, stopping him. “You look miserable.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Which is bullshit, and we both know it.”

  He let out a flat chuckle. “Okay. I’m not. But it’s a lot to put into words all at once.”

  “I get it. Or I can make a couple of educated guesses.” She pressed closer until her body molded to his, and held his gaze. “Advice a friend gave me a few months back, adapted for the now. If you could be doing anything, right this very minute, and not have to worry about obligation, what would it be?”

  He recognized that question. It was the logic he’d used to persuade her to come on this trip. “This.” He circled an arm around her waist and kissed her.

  She draped her arms around his neck and yielded to the hungry press of his lips. Her sigh was tantalizing, and she tasted like coffee and mint.

  He broke away reluctantly but didn’t let her go. “Beyond that? I don’t know. I want to have fun. See everything. Not be tied to a production clock.”

  “So do it.” She snagged his camera before he realized what she was up to, and skipped ahead. “Go mingle. Talk to these people. Be the charismatic guy who landed a spot in this competition to begin with. I’ll be an extension of your arm.”

  He grasped her wrist and pulled her back to him. Fingers covering hers, he slid her hand down to his jeans, to cup his shaft. “If you’re acting as an extension of my arm, I’ve got a different suggestion.”

  “Earn it.” She twisted away with a playful smirk.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m still making you do your job. Go be the Parker your viewers love. Have fun. And then you can use my hand however you’d like.”

  It was silly. It was simple. And for the next couple of hours, it was the most fun he’d had filming, in ages.

  The sun was dipping below the horizon, and he was debating if he had enough footage to cut into a video, when Fiona said, “Hang on. Text from Nick.”

  She handed Parker’s camera back, then read the message aloud. “If you’re not ignoring me, get current on the bombing news, then call me.”

  “That sounds ominous.” Parker led her out of the flow of foot traffic, while she jabbed her phone screen.

  “The headlines say they arrested someone.” She scanned the display
as she spoke. “No names are being released at this time, but the police will be holding a press conference later, and they’re glad they brought the suspect in so quickly.”

  That sounded like a good thing, which didn’t explain the twisting in his gut.

  “I’m calling Nick.” She held the phone to her ear. Her half of the conversation was brief, but as she listened, her face went pale. “I’m here. Call me with whatever you need me to do... I will be. Talk to you soon.”

  She dropped the device in her purse and turned a blank stare on Parker.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “The shipping company is putting our implementation on hold. It’s not a cancel, but it is for an undetermined amount of time. They’ll pay my expenses and cover any costs associated with the reschedule.” She frowned.

  “That’s not what’s wrong.” The gnawing inside grew.

  “They’re figuring out how to frame things for the public. Getting statements ready for when the full story hits the media. Preparing for the backlash.”

  “Fiona? Details.” Though he wasn’t sure he needed to hear them.

  She finally focused on him. “Wyatt’s the suspect they arrested.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  FIONA WISHED SHE COULD be numb—send a rush of ice through her veins and put a halt to everything she felt. She couldn’t stop worrying about Wyatt. About whether or not she’d said something that led to his arrest. About the fact that the real bomber was still out there.

  She should be focused on things she should control. Would this delay hurt them? Could she meet her development deadline with so much going on in her head?

  No matter which angle she approached things from, her thoughts came back to Wyatt.

  She couldn’t go visit him, for the sake of their jobs. There was no way to find out what was really going on. Did he have family this was about to unleash hell on? She wasn’t worried about a wife or a girlfriend. Maybe she should be, but this stupid trust of hers had a long reach. Siblings, though? Friends? Parker and Nick would rain fury down if she was the one in jail.