Capital Wives

by Rochelle Alers

  “There has to be more to Richard Douglas than his wanting to blackmail you into sleeping with him for John to get that involved.”

  “Do you think John will tell you?”

  Marisol shook her head. “No, and I’m not going to ask him. The maggot is gone and you’ll never have to worry about him contacting you again.”

  “What did I miss?” Bethany asked as she entered the room.

  Deanna smiled. “Marisol was telling me how much she enjoyed her stay in Puerto Rico,” she lied smoothly.

  Marisol gave Bethany a level stare. “I thought you told me you can’t grow flowers. The ones here are beautiful.”

  “That’s Mrs. Rodgers’s handiwork. I spent all morning cooking, so y’all better eat up.” The three friends dined on Southern fried chicken, collard greens, macaroni and cheese, fluffy, buttery biscuits, tossed salad and sweet tea.

  “I’ve got to give it to you, Bethany,” Marisol said, swallowing a forkful of mac and cheese. “You can really cook.”

  Bethany raised her glass of iced tea. “Thank you very much.” She set down her glass, leaned back in her chair and stared at Marisol, then Deanna. “I have something to tell you, Deanna.”

  “Well, what is it, Bethany?” Deanna asked when Bethany focused on the food on her plate.

  “A source just told me they have information that Spencer was sleeping with a woman, got her pregnant, then paid someone to attack her so she lost her baby.”

  “Get the fuck outta here!” Marisol shouted.

  Deanna couldn’t say anything as she shook her head. “I don’t believe it,” she gasped once she’d recovered her voice.

  Marisol threw her napkin on the table. “You’re lying, Bethany.”

  The blonde closed her eyes. “Would you prefer to read about it in the Dish or hear it from me?”

  Deanna slumped in her chair, unable to believe what she’d just heard. She and Spencer were making love around the clock to make a baby; meanwhile he’d had an extramarital affair where he’d gotten another woman pregnant.

  “Who is your source?” she asked.

  Bethany opened her eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

  “What do you mean you can’t tell me? I’d like to talk to your source before I confront Spencer.”

  “Try and understand that I’m a journalist, Dee. We don’t have to reveal our sources even in a court of law.”

  “Cut the phony crap,” Marisol snapped angrily. “Have you forgotten that we’re your friends?”

  Bethany chewed her lip. “I’ll never forget that. Go home and tell Spencer what you know. Either he’ll admit or deny it. But I’m going to warn you that the shit is about to hit the fan.”

  “Can you stop it?” Marisol asked. “Call in a favor, Bethany, and have them squash the story.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Deanna ran a hand over her face. “When does the rag hit the newsstands?”

  “Not until next Thursday.”

  “See if you can pull the story, Bethany. I’ll talk to Spencer. Tell your source if the allegations are false, then be prepared for a helluva lawsuit. If this woman can’t prove that Spencer paid someone to attack her, then she’s going to jail for perjury.”

  Bethany nodded. “Go talk to your husband and I’ll get in touch with my source. I’m so sorry about this, Deanna.”

  Rising, Deanna pushed back her chair and hugged Bethany. “Thank you for the heads-up.”

  Marisol also stood up. “I’m going to drop Deanna off at home.” She hugged Bethany. “Thanks, friend.”

  Bethany sat at the table, knowing Mrs. Rodgers would show her friends out. It wasn’t often Nathan Nelson left his hovel, but what he had learned he didn’t trust to be said on an unsecured telephone line. Jenah Morris had contacted the editor of the Dish to out Spencer Tyson. Cheating on his wife wasn’t a crime. But Bethany did overhear Spencer threaten Jenah that if she didn’t get rid of the baby he would make her regret she ever drew breath.

  She knew Nate wouldn’t pull the story because it was something that would be talked about for a long time. And the bigger the scandal the more papers he sold. But Spencer wouldn’t be the only casualty. The fallout would also affect Deanna. Bethany stood up and picked up the cordless receiver off a table, then closed the French doors. She dialed her husband’s number, waiting until his personal assistant connected her.

  “Damon, can you come home?” she asked as soon as she heard his voice.

  “What’s the matter, baby?”

  “You need to come home—now!”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Bethany sat next to Damon in the sitting area of their bedroom, holding tightly to his hand. “You have to do something. If the story gets out, then Deanna’s going to wind up as collateral damage.”

  Damon looked at the slender fingers entwined with his. He’d underestimated Jenah Morris. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. He exhaled an audible breath. “I’ll call the editor and see what he wants if he’s willing to kill the story. Ms. Morris is another matter.”

  “If Nathan does kill the story, there’s no guarantee Jenah won’t go to another paper.”

  “That’s true, but perhaps I can make her an offer she can’t refuse.”

  “Is it true Spencer paid someone to attack her?”

  “I doubt it, Beth. I don’t believe Spencer would jeopardize his license to practice law by putting out a hit on someone—especially his paramour.” Damon kissed Bethany’s hair. “I’m glad you called me. I’ll try and get this straightened out before the end of the week.”

  She kissed his ear. “I’ll walk you out.”

  Damon slipped into the back of the sedan, closing the partition between him and the driver. He punched speed dial. “I need you to go by Nathan Nelson’s office and ask him how much he needs to retire in the Caribbean. I also want you to let the police know they’re going to need a warrant to search Jenah Morris’s apartment for a shipment of cocaine and counterfeit handbags. D-Day is Monday night.”

  He ended the call, not wanting to believe what he’d been drawn into. Deanna Tyson had protected his wife’s reputation, and now it was his turn to protect her husband. Jenah had miscarried when she’d been injected with a drug used to precipitate labor, and she’d blamed her lover when he had nothing to do with it.

  Damon knew it would be easier to cut a deal with the newspaper editor than it would be to deal with Tyson’s spurned lover. He would set her up like she’d planned to set up her former lover. Ms. Morris had come to Washington as a wide-eyed aide to a popular Pennsylvania congresswoman who insiders had identified as one to watch closely, but unfortunately she hadn’t followed the rules when sleeping with a married man: keep a low profile and never confront his wife.

  Jenah would have a lot of time to reflect on her short-lived affair and her attempt to bring Spencer Tyson down after she was arrested and Mirandized.

  Deanna averted her head when Spencer leaned over to kiss her, his mouth brushing her jaw. She hadn’t been able to say a word during the drive from Falls Church, and when Marisol dropped her off she could only manage to mumble thank you.

  “What’s the matter, Dee?”

  She patted the mattress. “Please sit down.” Spencer sat on the side of the bed. “Instead of asking what the matter is, you should be asking what’s wrong.”

  A frown creased his forehead. “Okay. What’s wrong?”

  “You are wrong, Spencer. You’re wrong for lying to me, you’re wrong for sleeping with other women, and you’re doubly wrong for getting another woman pregnant while telling me—your wife—that you’re still not ready to father a child.” Reaching under the duvet, Deanna pulled out the small automatic handgun. “Now the only thing that remains is where I shoot you.”

  Spencer stared at the registered handgun he’d kept in the house for protection. “Don’t, Dee!”

  “Don’t what, Spencer? Don’t shoot you? And why not?”

  “Because we can
talk about it.”

  “Not we. You. You’re going to tell me about all the women you’ve fucked during our marriage and when you’re done then I’ll decide what I’m going to do with you.”

  Deanna couldn’t believe she could sound so calm when all she wanted to do was cry. She’d come home and run up and down the staircase until she felt as if her heart was going to explode. Even when her lungs were burning, her leg muscles were hurting and her knees threatened not to support her body she’d continued to run up and then down. Then she stumbled into her bedroom, retrieved the handgun from a locked box in the walk-in closet and collapsed on the bed.

  Numbed, it’d taken her hours to debate whether to shoot her unfaithful husband if he did lie to her. In the end she decided that he wasn’t worth her losing her freedom, but hadn’t bothered to put the gun back. One thing she did know was that she could never hurt Spencer Tyson the way his whore could. Outing him in the Dish would undo everything he’d struggled to achieve. And if the woman could prove her ex-lover was responsible for her losing her baby, then a judge and jury would decide Spencer’s fate.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you, baby.”

  Deanna palmed the handgun. “I don’t want an apology. I just want the truth.”

  She’d asked for the truth, believing Spencer had slept with one, maybe two women, but when he told her about the other five, all of whom were married, Deanna felt like sliding off the safety and shooting her husband at point-blank range. But she couldn’t—not now. Not when she suspected she was pregnant with his baby.

  “I know I was wrong, but I’m not going to ask you to forgive me.”

  “What do you want?” she asked, staring at the man she thought she knew. He looked as if he’d been carved from stone.

  “I want you to give me a chance to prove to you that I can be a faithful husband.”

  “Can you, Spencer?”

  “I have been.”

  “I’m sure you have. But only when your ho told you she was swole the fuck up.”

  “Please don’t talk like that, Dee.”

  “What! When did you become my daddy, Spencer, telling me what to say?”

  “You know I can’t stand it when you curse.”

  “And I can’t stand a cheatin’ ass husband.”

  “I told you I stopped.”

  “You’re going to do more than stop, counselor. Your ho is ’bout to out you in next week’s Dish. She’s claiming you paid someone to mug her and she wound up losing her baby. Remember, you’re not the only one in this baby-mama drama.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I have my sources, Spencer. I know someone who’s going to try and kill the story. Even if he does, you’re still not off the hook, because I know too much about you.”

  Spencer’s face flushed a deep red. “What are you going to do? Blackmail your husband?”

  “Yes. I want you to write me a check for one point two mil for a property I want to buy in Reston. There’s an eighteenroom abandoned farmhouse set on four acres of land I want to renovate and turn into a bed-and-breakfast.”

  “How long have you planned this?”

  “Not as long as you’ve been whoring, Spencer.”

  “You’re leaving me.” His question was a statement.

  “I’m starting up a new business, and because I’m hands-on I’ll have to relocate from Alexandria to Reston. Whatever you decide to do is your business.”

  Resting his hand on Deanna’s, Spencer moved it and picked up the gun. “Would you really have shot me?”

  She gave him a direct stare. “I’d thought about it, then decided you’re not worth me going to jail for. Fucking a man in our bed would be the ultimate payback.”

  “You do that and I will kill him.”

  Deanna shook her head. “No, you won’t, Spencer, because then all your sordid affairs would be aired for all of D.C. to see. For you it’s always been about image, ego and your ten-inch dick.” Sliding off the bed, she walked out the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

  “Now we’re even,” Deanna whispered as she took the staircase to her third-floor office. She’d cheated once, while Spencer was a serial cheater. He’d claimed he’d stopped, but only time would tell if he could.

  But for her it was time she turned a page in her life. She would buy the house and land in Reston, turn it into a B and B and hopefully raise her child in an environment away from the drama of the D.C. political scene.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Mr. Tyson, I know you didn’t want to be disturbed, but there’s a Damon Paxton on the line for you.”

  Spencer’s head popped up. He stared at the young woman who substituted for his executive assistant whenever she was out of the office. “Please patch him through.” She closed the door and seconds later his phone rang. He picked up the receiver. “Paxton.”

  “Tyson. This will be the last time we’ll discuss this. Make certain you watch the local news tonight.”

  “Why…” A click indicated Damon had hung up. The lobbyist’s reference to this had to have been Jenah Morris. After Deanna’s disclosure, Spencer had gotten his affairs in order. He’d given her the money she’d requested to buy the property in Reston and he’d drawn up his letter of resignation; he’d updated his will, leaving Deanna Tyson everything. If he was going to be named in a conspiracy, then he didn’t want Jenah Morris to get one penny from him. He’d rather serve time than give her anything.

  Deanna dropped the wand into the bathroom wastebasket, then washed her hands. What she’d suspected was confirmed. She was pregnant!

  The joy she should’ve felt was missing. She still hadn’t been able to process the reality of Spencer’s cheating. If it had been one woman she knew she would’ve been more forgiving. But five or six! It would take her a long time, if ever, to recover from his duplicity, and Deanna knew she had to tell Spencer that he was going to become a father.

  She walked into the kitchen to find him sitting on a stool at the cooking island, watching the local news. Their relationship was strained, both sharing a bed but sleeping with backs to each other.

  She stopped when breaking news flashed across the screen. A woman, surrounded by police and agents with badges hanging from chains around their necks, was led out of an apartment building. The young woman had been under surveillance for trafficking in cocaine and counterfeit designer handbags. The reporter stated that more than half a kilo of cocaine, over a hundred thousand in cash and counterfeit bags worth half a million on the street were found in a closet in the D.C. apartment of an aide to Congresswoman Earline Canton.

  “Oh, shit!” Spencer gasped.

  Walking slowly into the kitchen, Deanna stared at Spencer. His hands were shaking. “She’s the one, isn’t she?”

  Spencer jumped up as if someone had shocked him with an electrical rod. He met Deanna’s eyes. He’d promised himself he was done with cheating, and he’d also promised himself he would never lie to Deanna again.

  “Yes, she is.”

  “Did you know she was dealing drugs?”

  He shook his head. “I never had a clue.”

  Crossing her arms under her breasts, Deanna rested a hip against the countertop. “You dodged a bullet, Spencer.”

  For the first time in his life Spencer Tyson was humbled as his eyes filled with tears. He’d been prepared to give up everything he’d worked to achieve when the news about his affair with Jenah Morris was made public. Deanna was right. He had dodged a bullet. He’d been given a second chance to become the husband she deserved.

  Spencer knew Damon Paxton had something to do with Jenah Morris’s fall from grace, and that meant he owed the man. “Yes, I did. I thought about you running a B and B and realized it would be nice to live in the country.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I was thinking of putting this house on the market, handing in my resignation and becoming a country lawyer.”

  Deanna’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that re
ally what you want?”

  He smiled. “I want whatever it is you want. I know you never really liked this house, but you compromised. Now it’s time I do some compromising. Whatever you want, wherever you want to go, I’ll be there for you.”

  “It’s not so much about me anymore, Spencer.”

  “If not you, then who?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Spencer felt his knees buckle, and held on to the edge of the countertop to maintain his balance. “Are you sure?”

  Deanna nodded. “I just took the test.”

  Walking on shaking knees, Spencer folded Deanna to his chest. “I love you so much.”

  Anchoring her arms under his shoulders, she pressed her face to the column of his neck. “You’re lucky I love you, too, because you’re going to get another chance with me, Spencer Tyson.”

  Bending slightly, Spencer picked her and swung her around. Throwing back his head, he bellowed as if he’d lost his mind. “Yes!”

  Bethany walked into Nathan Nelson’s office and stopped suddenly when she saw dozens of cartons stacked along two of the four walls. There wasn’t a piece of paper anywhere. “What’s up, Nate?”

  A clean-shaven Nathan held out his hand. He looked dapper wearing tan slacks, white shirt and navy blazer. Extensive dental work had restored his trademark smile. “Give me the netbook and flash drive and I’ll tell you.”

  She handed him the canvas bag. “What brought on this transformation?”

  Nate beckoned Bethany. “Come in and sit with me.” He patted a corner of the desk. “I’m retiring,” he said when she sat beside him.

  “You are retired.”

  “I’m retiring again. This time for good.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m moving to a little bungalow on St. Thomas.” Nate smiled when he saw Bethany’s stunned expression. “I don’t want to give up my American citizenship.”