Razed

by Shiloh Walker

  Stop it. She told herself that as she waited with Paul in the elegant, quiet waiting room of the law offices. Howie was speaking softly on the phone. She wondered who he spoke with—Alice? Somebody else?

  “Sir, you cannot go back there—”

  The voice from the front caught Keelie’s attention and she turned her head just in time to see a tall, slim man push past the receptionist with careless arrogance.

  His head was averted. “He’ll see me. Why don’t you bring some coffee back?”

  “Sir, he’s in a meeting,” the receptionist said and her tone dripped with cool professionalism.

  “Is he now?”

  Even before he turned to look at the room, Keelie knew.

  Drawing her shoulders back, she braced herself.

  His eyes glanced off her without really seeing her. He looked at Paul, eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, haven’t seen you in a while, Jenkins.”

  Then he shifted his attention to Howie.

  “Howie, man. You’re not returning my calls.”

  “Mr. Vissing. If you want to speak to me, it’s best your attorney set up a meeting.” Howie stared at him, his eyes sharp as a blade, although his tone was just . . . smooth. Slick and full of Southern-boy charm.

  “No reason for that. Yet.” Price smiled and then looked around. “Are you wrapping up here? We really do need to talk.”

  Keelie stared at him, hard, seeing past the slick exterior, the polished suit, to the arrogant son of a bitch. Her heart kicked up harder, her hand curled into a fist.

  Don’t. Don’t.

  She had to be careful, she knew it.

  She wasn’t going to let him ruin this . . . again.

  The Vissing family had ruined enough.

  Don’t. Don’t.

  But she couldn’t stop herself from staring at him.

  That must have been what did it.

  His gaze slid to her, away.

  And then back again.

  His eyes widened.

  His mouth opened in shock.

  “Katherine.”

  Howie said something, but the words were lost in the roar of blood crashing in her ears.

  Paul caught her arm. She glanced at him, smiled. All the years of hiding everything, locking it all down inside, rushed to the fore and saved her.

  Turning her head back, she studied her stepbrother through narrowed eyes, let a faint, dismissive smirk dance around her lips for a moment before she looked back at Howie. “You’ll let me know if there’s any other way I can help, won’t you?”

  “Of course.” Howie inclined his head and his eyes gleamed with what she could only describe as a predatory sort of glee.

  She’d faced Price.

  Faced him, and she hadn’t folded.

  He wouldn’t—couldn’t—bend her.

  “Wonderful.” With one more nod, she looked at Paul.

  He held out his arm. “My dear.”

  “Katherine,” Price said again, his voice low, but the command there was unmistakable.

  She slid him a curious look. He would never know she wanted to hit him. Could even see herself doing it. It would feel so very good.

  But that wasn’t the ultimate satisfaction. He’d go down . . . for a few minutes.

  She wanted to see him go down, publicly, and for so much longer.

  “You’ll have to excuse us,” she said as they walked around him. “Paul and I have so much to discuss.”

  He shot out a hand to catch her arm.

  She’d been prepared and edged back, lifted a brow as their gazes connected once more.

  His smile was strained. “I’m sure we do as well. It’s been a long time. We should do dinner. My treat.”

  “That . . . wouldn’t be a good idea,” she said, shaking her head. “Paul, if you’re ready? It’s been a long day.”

  That didn’t even touch on it.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Late that night, she sat on the bed in her hotel room, staring out over the twinkling lights.

  There really wasn’t that much to Lexington, she realized. Small, really. She’d lived in Dallas for a year, then moved to Tucson.

  Knees drawn up to her chest, she continued to stare outside, willing her mind to stay blank.

  Paul had called Howie once he had her tucked in the room he’d booked for her. She’d insisted he let her know what Howie said. Howie was a little irritated over Price’s unexpected appearance in his office, but he wasn’t too concerned.

  Yes, now he knew—in advance—that she’d be coming, but the lawyers would have figured that out soon anyway.

  Price would go to court.

  Alice Reyes wasn’t going to give up.

  The date was already set.

  So far, nothing Price had thrown at her had shaken her determination and, now with the information Keelie had provided, it was just going to be another strike against the asshole.

  No, they might not get a conviction and Reyes seemed to get that.

  But she wasn’t looking just for a conviction.

  She was looking for vindication and she wanted the world to know what Price Vissing was, wanted the world to understand before people helped put him in office.

  The scandal alone would do him considerable damage.

  Keelie was betting on it.

  Resting her chin on her knees, she closed her eyes. “I wish I could have done the same for you, Toria.”

  Wherever Victoria Kingsley was, this wasn’t going to offer her any justice, but it was the only thing Keelie could give her.

  You tried to help her. Both of you had done enough to save each other, and yourselves.

  Zane’s words drifted to her, and she felt terribly, terribly alone in that moment, in that luxurious suite, surrounded by soft light, sitting on a bed that felt softer than a cloud.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the phone and she reached out, touched it.

  Slowly, she traced the edge with her finger.

  She needed to see him.

  Needed to hear his voice.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she rolled onto her belly.

  She didn’t dial his number though.

  She initiated that annoying FaceTime thing. She needed to see him.

  Not just hear his voice. She needed to see the elegant lines of his face, those cool, blue green eyes.

  Seconds ticked by. Her heart slammed.

  Her hands started to sweat.

  She almost broke the connection—it was taking so long.

  And then, there he was.

  Her throat locked up.

  Her voice was a tight wheeze when she finally managed to say, “Hey.”

  A slow smile curled his lips and just like that, the knot inside her chest started to unravel.

  * * *

  Zane’s day had been shit.

  The past few days had been shit.

  But none of that mattered at the sight of her.

  Especially once her lids drooped over her eyes and she gave him that slow smile she seemed to save just for him—almost shy, almost nervous. And it wrapped a fist around his heart every single time.

  He stared for a few seconds, let the tension inside him drain away before he even bothered trying to talk.

  “You changed your hair,” he murmured, stroking his finger over the screen of his iPad, wishing he was touching her instead of that cool, lifeless surface.

  “Yeah.” She shrugged, a deprecating look on her face. “Doing something where people seem to think it’s better if you don’t have two-tone hair. It’s going to be boring for a little while.”

  “Nothing about you could ever be boring.” If anything, the pale strands, the delicate cut seemed to accentuate her skin, the fine bones of her face. “One of these days, I’m going to get you in front of my camera.”

  She made a face at him. “Find a better model. I hate pictures.”

  “You’ll break my heart. I’m dying to get a couple of pictures of you . . . just you. Naked.”


  She caught her lower lip between her teeth, a slow blush rising up her neck before staining her cheeks. A self-conscious laugh escaped and she muttered, “You’re a damn pervert.”

  “No.” She had shadows in her eyes. Too many of them, and all he wanted to do was pull her against him, make those shadows go away. He couldn’t hold her now. But he could make her laugh. Leaning forward, he craned his head like he was trying to see outside the monitor. “If I was a pervert, I’d be doing things like asking you to take off your shirt.” He waited a beat, then smiled. “Keelie . . . would you take off your shirt?”

  He could hear the sharp intake of breath, watched the spike of her pupils. “I knew you were a pervert.” Her tongue stroked across her lower lip. “Just why would I do something like that?”

  “Because it’s been a little too long since I’ve been able to put my hands on you. Way too long since I’ve seen you naked.”

  She laughed, the sound breathless. “You just saw me naked a few days ago.”

  “See what I mean?” He focused his attention on her mouth. “If I was there, I’d already be working on taking your shirt off. And kissing you. It’s been way too long since I kissed you.”

  “Zane . . .” His name was a ragged burst of sound on her lips, needy and broken.

  Then that need exploded through him as well as she leaned back and reached for the hem of her shirt, a skinny-strapped tank top. She peeled it off, slow, oh so very slow, and Zane’s cock started to pulse in time with his heart.

  Son of a bitch.

  This was a game that he maybe shouldn’t have started.

  She tossed the shirt aside and he groaned. “I can’t see you,” he muttered.

  She glanced down and then shot him a wicked smile. “I can see me.”

  “Evil little brat.” He could see the upper slopes of her breasts, her face. That was it.

  It was torture.

  It was bliss.

  “I want to see you,” he said, demand edging into his voice.

  She lifted a hand, trailed it across one of the rose vines that climbed up her breastbone. “I miss you,” she murmured. “How did that happen?”

  Caught between staring at her fingers, so slim and pretty, and looking back at her face, Zane had to clear his throat before he could even speak. “I’ve been having that problem for the past couple of years, angel. I spend fifteen minutes around you and then I’m gone for a couple of months—the second I walked away I was already missing you.”

  Her mouth parted.

  “Fuck, I need to kiss you,” he rasped. “When are you coming home?”

  “I . . .” She swallowed, her lashes sweeping down low. “I don’t know. I . . .”

  Her hand dropped and she looked around, grabbing her shirt.

  Her face disappeared from his view for a minute and when she was again on the screen, she’d pulled the tank back on.

  “I guess I should tell you what’s going on,” she said, her voice subdued.

  The shift of emotion in her eyes, on her voice was enough to cool the heated pulse of his blood. Cool, not erase. He shifted on the couch, braced his back against the arm as he watched her face. “I wouldn’t object,” he said. Please. I’m going out of my mind.

  * * *

  She watched his face the entire time she spoke, waited for some sign that she’d messed up, leaving him for this.

  But when she finished, he just looked down for a minute, then he shifted his gaze upward, a faint smile on his face.

  “As much as I hate you not being here, I gotta say . . .” He blew out a breath. “I’m proud of you. This all has to suck, but if you’re going to cut those chains you talked about, you’re doing it in fine style.”

  Something warm and sweet shifted in her heart.

  I’m proud of you.

  How sappy was it, that it made her feel so warm inside to hear that?

  She was a grown woman. She shouldn’t need anybody’s approval.

  And she didn’t.

  But hearing those words meant something. It touched something deep inside and for a moment, she couldn’t even speak around the ache in her heart.

  Clearing her throat, she waited until she thought she might be able to talk without her voice wobbling. Then she said, “Yeah. Well. Part of me feels like it’s years too late, but it’s something. I don’t know if he’ll do time, but regardless, this trial is going to happen, and it’s going to happen really close to the primary.”

  “The primary?”

  She licked her lips and then met his eyes. “My stepbrother is running for the state senate in Kentucky, Zane.”

  He was silent a moment, processing that. “Damn. Hopefully this will hurt his platform, huh?”

  “Yeah.” She chuckled and shifted on the bed, rolling onto her back, holding the phone in her hand. With her free one, she reached up, touched his cheek. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you.” His lids drooped low. “Come home. Soon. I know you have things to do, but once you can . . . come home.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  She left Lexington with about as much fanfare as before—telling nobody.

  On her way to Louisville International Airport, she put in one last call to Paul, told him her flight number, when she’d land.

  “You’re sure I’m okay to go?”

  “I’ve told you a hundred times,” he said, his voice patient. “You’re fine to leave. We’ll call you when we need you.”

  “I know . . . I just . . .”

  “You’re not running away,” he said gently. “You’ve got a life, one that’s not here. You can make trips back and forth if we need you to and when it’s time, you’ll come back. It’s not time yet.”

  “Yeah.” She eyed the signs ahead of her and nodded. “Yeah. Listen . . . I . . . uh. Maybe it’s time for me to take control of that life. A little more on my own. Ah, I mean . . .”

  “I’ll get started on transferring the funds over into your name.”

  She didn’t even have to say it. He just knew.

  “You were the first friend I had, Paul. I don’t know if I ever told you that, but you were. You don’t know what it meant to me.”

  His voice, when he spoke, was husky. “Sweetheart, you were, and still are, one of the sweetest, bravest young women I’ve ever known. It’s been an honor to be your friend.” Then he cleared his throat. “You let me know if there’s anything you need. J. P. and I are always here when you need us.”

  She hung up before she started to blubber.

  She had enough things on her mind that she couldn’t handle the emotional storm of a crying jag.

  It would be hours still before she was in Tucson, but between then and now, she had a lot of stuff to think through.

  Some decisions to make.

  * * *

  She had to linger in baggage pickup even though when she’d left, she’d only had a carry-on. The shopping trip in Lexington had left her with more clothes than she usually bought in a year.

  For the first time, though, she didn’t let herself feel any guilt.

  Not at the suitcase, not at the nice clothes inside.

  Her father had been a man who’d made himself out of nothing.

  When he died, he’d left that money to her.

  It wasn’t money that made people into conscienceless monsters.

  People without conscience just did conscienceless things—and if they had money, they’d use it to cover those sins up.

  Living like the little cretin her mother had accused her of being right before she’d left the Vissing household for the last time hadn’t solved or fixed anything.

  As far as her mother was concerned, Keelie considered it both poetic justice and irony to donate some of the money toward things Katherine Vissing Price would loathe. She’d done it before—it had been a small thing, really. But it had brought Keelie so much satisfaction. When she’d become Zach’s partner, giving him the money to help expand and upgrade the shop. Other things . . . the
rape crisis center. Splurging on sparkling rhinestone boots or funding a group of high-schoolers to go to a workshop in Washington, DC.

  She might even set up a couple of funds in her mother’s name—having Paul handle everything, of course. And if there were cards or letters that came in, he could forward them on to her darling mother.

  The thought made her smile as she lugged her suitcase out. The smile turned sardonic as she tried to figure out how to get the suitcase into the Bug, though. It wasn’t going to fit all that well. Zane’s smaller suitcase and his camera equipment had been one thing.

  This, though?

  She managed, after some clever maneuvering.

  Then she sat in the car and debated.

  Home?

  Zane’s?

  Flipping the mirror down, she studied her reflection for far too long.

  * * *

  The sight of the car sitting in the parking lot of Zach’s old building had Zane’s heart jump up into his throat.

  He sat in his Jeep for a long, long moment and then he climbed out, looking up at the soft glow of the lights.

  Tugging out his phone, he eyed it. She hadn’t called.

  She hadn’t texted or emailed.

  But Keelie was home.

  He managed, barely, not to rush the place and kept his steps slow and measured as he headed inside. He even managed not to race up the steps. He took the elevator. Nice and cool.

  All of that nice, cool calm shattered though when he unlocked the door and found her sitting inside, flipping through a magazine.

  Her gaze slid up to his.

  His heart stuttered to a stop.

  I missed you.

  I have something to tell you . . . I’m in love with you . . .

  Those words tangled in his throat as he crossed the floor.

  She sat up as he lowered himself to sit on the low, square chunk of polished wood that served as a coffee table. Keelie met his eyes, that familiar smile quirking her lips.

  “How did you get in here?” he asked.

  Yeah. Smooth, man. Real smooth.

  She shrugged. “I’ve had a key for ages. Zach? Great guy. A little scattered.” Her grin widened. “He locked himself out about once a month. I have a set of keys. Abby. I think he was going to make up a set for Javi, but never got around to it.”