by M. S. Parker
I thanked Henley and we went through a couple other things before he gave the detectives the go ahead to come back in. After that, things went exactly how he predicted. The cops asked questions and I gave the same answers I'd given a million times before. When they started to repeat their questions again, Henley intervened and told them that I was done.
I spent the rest of the day and the night in what Detective Rheingard called a holding cell. I didn't know what made it different from any other cell, but I really didn't care. Fortunately, the only other people in the cell were a drunk woman who snored, and a thirty-something woman who was wearing a dress that made me believe she'd been arrested for prostitution.
I didn't sleep well that night, but at least Henley brought me clean clothes to change into for the arraignment, so I was able to make myself presentable before I was escorted into the courtroom. It helped me keep my head up and my shoulders squared as I was put behind the defendants' table.
“What are you asking for?” The judge sounded almost bored as she spoke to the prosecutor.
“Mrs. Lockwood is charged with the premeditated murder of her husband in order to seize his assets and continue her affair with her husband's best friend.”
“Miss Donaldson is presenting information that has no evidence to support it,” Henley interjected.
“Get to the point, Miss Donaldson,” the judge said.
“The defendant has no local ties and the means to flee the country. We're asking for remand.”
“My client has a job and a home here, and is more than willing to surrender her passport.”
“A job that she's been suspended from,” Miss Donaldson interrupted.
“That's enough.” The judge held up a hand. “Two million, cash or bond and the defendant will surrender her passport.” The gavel banged. “Next.”
Jasper was waiting for me when I walked out, the bags under his eyes telling me he'd slept as well as I had. He wrapped me in his arms, and I sighed as I pressed my face against his chest. He kissed the top of my head.
“I've got you.” His voice was low. “It's going to be okay.”
I squeezed him tight. “Take me home.”
He pulled me back far enough to kiss my forehead. “Of course.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and turned us towards the doors. “Let's go.”
Chapter 16
“You did what?” I stared at Jasper as he drove us home. I had to have heard him wrong.
“I used the clinic as collateral for your bail,” he repeated. “I didn't want you to find out from Henley.” He reached over and took my hand.
“Why didn't you use the vineyard or put up whatever the percentage was from my bank account?”
Jasper's mouth tightened. “The Lockwoods managed to do some legal shit I don't understand to make it so you couldn't put the vineyard up for collateral, and to freeze your savings account. You still have enough in checking to be fine for a while, and I'm sure Henley will be able to get the rest reversed in a couple days, but there wasn't enough for bail right away.” He glanced at me, his expression dark. “And I wasn't about to let you stay in there a minute more than you had to.”
“You didn't have to put up the clinic though,” I protested.
“Are you planning on running?” he asked, one side of his mouth tilting up in a partial smile.
“No,” I said, but couldn’t help it. My lips curved into a tiny smile.
“Then I don't have to worry about it, do I?” He raised our hands and pressed his lips against my knuckles. “Do you really think I would've let you sit in jail for days while Henley sorted this all out?”
“I don't know,” I said, half-teasing. “Maybe you were getting tired of me.”
“Never.” His fingers tightened around mine. As he slowed to a stop at a red light, he looked over at me, his gaze intense. “I'll never be tired of you.”
I squeezed his hand, trying to let him see on my face all of what I was feeling, everything I felt for him.
“We're going to get to the bottom of this,” he said as he drove on. “I promise. You and me. We're in this together.”
We didn't say anything for the rest of the ride and after how loud the drunk in the cell had been snoring all night, I was glad for the silence. The quiet lasted until we reached the door to the house.
“I cleaned up as best I could, but...” Jasper let his voice trail off as he opened the door and took me inside.
The living room was trashed. Couch cushions flipped, drawers opened, dvds scattered on the floor.
“The whole place was like this when I got home,” Jasper said. I could hear the anger in his voice. “The cops tore up everything.”
“It's okay,” I said softly. It wasn't okay. It was far from fucking okay, but I couldn't let Jasper feel like this was his fault in any way.
“It's not.”
I looked up at him, surprised at the intensity in his voice.
“It's not okay that they were able to do this.” He turned until he was standing in front of me. He put his hand on my cheek and I leaned into his touch. “I hate that they can treat you like this and there's nothing I can do.”
“You're doing enough,” I said.
He sighed. “I started putting things together again based on the rooms I thought you'd need the most when you came home.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning our room is put back together, and so is our bathroom. I got most of the kitchen taken care of too.” He gave me a rueful smile. “I didn't sleep much last night.”
“Me either,” I said.
“So let's get something to eat and spend the rest of the day in the bedroom. We have a lot to talk about.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That too.” He grinned. “But first, food.”
I didn't even want to see the rest of the house, but there was one thing I need to check. While Jasper went into the kitchen to get us something to eat, I went to the office. It was still a mess and I knew it would take days to even get close to being organized again. I wasn't sure what the cops had been looking for, but they'd gone through everything.
And my computer was gone. So was Allen's laptop.
I sighed. Neither one was really a surprise, but I'd been hoping that at least my computer would've been left. I'd have to go down and check the vineyard office at some point. I hadn't had enough time to read the search warrant to see if it had included anything there. I hoped not since that was where I'd moved my copies of Allen's letter and the email after my previous encounter with the police. I didn't think the cops here were corrupt, but I'd definitely wanted to have copies of my own for safe-keeping. Besides, the letter had sentimental value.
“Why don't you get cleaned up?” he called from the kitchen. “I'll bring the food to the bedroom.”
I wave of gratitude swept over me. More than I wanted to eat, I wanted to be clean. I stepped under the hot spray and closed my eyes, letting it work into my stiff muscles as I began to scrub away the grime. By the time I stepped out of the shower, my skin was practically glowing, nearly raw. But at least I felt clean.
I pulled on my robe, sighing at the feel of the soft cotton against my skin. When I went into the bedroom, Jasper had a plate waiting for me. I climbed onto the bed and he handed it to me before taking the seat next to me. We ate without speaking, letting the sound from an old movie fill the silence. It was one I liked, an old black-and-white about a rabbit. I'd seen it more than a dozen times, which made it a good choice since I didn't exactly have to concentrate on it to be able to follow what was happening.
As the credits began to roll, Jasper spoke, “I didn't just spend yesterday cleaning up.”
I moved closer to him and he put his arm around me, pulling me close to his chest. I put my hand on his stomach, my fingers tracing lazy patterns as his muscles twitched beneath his t-shirt. “What else did you do?” I asked.
“I went down to the vineyard office to see if they'd searched there. Jacques was still ther
e. He said he'd come in to check the wine just a few minutes after the cops arrived and figured he'd better stick around. It was a good thing he did because they did try to get into the office, but he read the search warrant and it was only for the main house.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I'd been holding.
“He also found a copy of Allen's letter and a print-out of what looked like an email between Allen and me.”
“I made copies and took them to the office, just in case,” I admitted. “I just wish I would've copied that medical file too so you could see it.”
“That would make things easier,” Jasper agreed. “But I did read the email and I don't know who wrote it, but it wasn't me.”
“I believe you.” I looked up at him so he could see my face. “And I should have believed you before.”
He kissed my forehead. “Forgiven and forgotten.”
“Do you know who could've written it?” I asked, returning my attention to the firm muscles under my hand. I was tempted to pull up his shirt so I could feel his skin, but I didn't want to distract him.
Yet.
“I'm not sure,” he said. “I mean, it was sent from my email account, so I suppose someone could've hacked it. I just don't know who.”
“Do you think the Lockwoods could've hired someone to do it?”
“I thought about it,” he said. He wasn't exactly frowning, but he had that little crease between his eyes that he got when he was thinking hard about something. “But there's something about it that I can't put my finger on, like I should recognize it even though I didn't write it.”
I reached up and took his hand in mine. “We could tell the cops that you didn't write the email and they should be able to do some techie thing and figure out where it actually came from, right?”
“I suppose,” he said. “But they might want my laptop for that.”
I looked up and was surprised to see a flush creeping up his neck. I pushed myself up so that I was sitting. “Would that be a problem?”
His thumb was making circles on the back of my hand, and he was watching it intently. “Since I didn't send it, there wouldn't be anything on the hard drive, and they could check my email account from anywhere. They wouldn't need the laptop.”
“But you don't want them to have it?” I pulled my hand away from his and gripped his chin, bringing his face up so I could see his eyes. “What, do you have porn on your computer?” I teased, wanting him to see that I wasn't accusing him of anything.
His flush deepened.
“Seriously?” I laughed. “I'm sure they'll find some on Allen's too.”
“No.” He shook his head. “That's not it.”
Now I was intrigued. “What then? Why wouldn't you want the cops digging in your laptop?”
“I write things.” His eyes slid away from mine. “It's not a journal or anything – or maybe it is – I don't know. When I can't think, I write stuff down to clear my head.”
“Okay?” I'd never seen Jasper this uncomfortable before. “I still don't understand.”
His gaze came back to mine, carefully guarded. “You've always been the reason I can't think clearly.”
My hand dropped from his chin. “Oh.”
He tucked my hair behind my ear. “From the moment I met you, you've been in my head. And since I could never do anything about it, I wrote. Wrote about you. How I felt.”
My stomach tightened. He'd recently admitted how he'd been in love with me even when Allen and I had been together, but hearing it this way...it was different.
“There are files in there all the way back to the beginning,” he said. “Places where I write how jealous I was of Allen and how hard it was pretending that all I felt for you was friendship. How torn I was because I loved Allen, and knew what a great guy he was, how much he loved you, but that I wanted you for myself.”
He twisted a strand of hair around his finger, his expression taking on a faraway look. I stared at him, unable to imagine how I could've missed it. Had he been that good at hiding or had I really been that blind?
“So, I think the cops will see what I wrote as evidence that either I killed Allen because of how I felt about you, or that the two of us were having some sort of affair. More than that, I don't want them reading the things I wrote about you.” His finger stroked down my cheek.
“I understand,” I said softly. He was right. If the cops read anything about how he wanted me before Allen died, they'd think the same things I thought when I first found out how he'd felt.
“No,” he said. “You don't.” His fingertip traced my bottom lip. “I don't just mean how I felt – how I feel – about you. If it was only that, it'd be different because it would only be me being exposed. The fantasies I used to have about you would have been bad enough...”
Something clicked. “You have new entries.”
He nodded, looking away again, his cheeks suffused with color. “I write down everything. Every moment with you because I never want to forget it.”
I thought about the first time we'd had sex. When he'd gone down on me in the living room. Making love outside. Me taking him in my mouth. The different positions...blood rushed to my face as I remembered how his cock had felt in my ass.
“Hey.” Jasper cupped the side of my face. “Don't worry about it. I'll get rid of it. All of it.”
I shook my head. “We'll figure out a way to keep those files away from the cops, but I don't want you to throw them away.”
His eyebrows went up as I got onto my knees. I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his.
“I believe you said something about fantasies you'd had?” I gave him a wicked smile. “I think I'd like to hear a bit more about those.”
His eyes darkened as his mouth curved into a grin. “Well, there's this one I had involving whipped cream...”
“I think we have some left over from last week.”
Chapter 17
Jasper offered to stay home with me until this was all worked out, but I told him to go back to the clinic. He'd already taken off the day I'd been released and I knew I'd want him there if the DA decided to take this to trial. Home by myself would be a lot easier than going to trial by myself.
I didn't want to think about that though. I knew if I stayed in bed late, that's what would happen. I wouldn't be able to stop thinking, and then I'd start to wallow and I'd be miserable.
When the alarm went off for Jasper to get up, I let myself doze a bit, but as soon as he came out of the bathroom, I forced myself up and into the shower. He was gone by the time I got out, but he'd left a heart drawn in the steam on the mirror. I was still smiling about it while I made myself breakfast.
It was funny, I thought, how I'd known Jasper for nearly a decade and never realized what a romantic he was. Because he'd never brought a lot of girlfriends around, and rarely the same girl twice, I always assumed he preferred to play the field. Yesterday, however, I learned that the real reason was that he'd never been able to find a girl who'd made him forget me, and he'd felt it wasn’t fair to them to be in a relationship with someone whose heart was somewhere else.
Heat swept through me as I remembered the other things we'd talked about yesterday. Talked about and done. The whipped cream had only been the beginning and I had the aches and bruises to prove it. He was much more imaginative than I ever realized.
Once we'd showered and made our way back into the bedroom, I told him that he hadn't needed to share anything with me he wasn't comfortable having me know, but he'd pulled out his laptop and had let me read everything. More than once I'd been moved to tears by the things he'd said, the way he'd seen me. Then there had been the entries where he'd talked about how he was grateful I'd found someone like Allen, how I deserved someone so much better than he was. My heart had broken at the way he saw himself, and I promised I'd do everything in my power to make sure he understood how special and amazing he was.
One way I'd decided to do that was to give Jasper every fantasy he'd
had over the years, sexual and non-sexual. It would take a while to get to them all – eight years was a lot of time to fantasize – but we'd gotten a start last night. The whipped cream had been first, but it hadn't been the last. He'd taken me in a couple new positions, and had made me scream so loud that my throat was scratchy this morning.
A couple of his fantasies would have to wait until summer since they involved things like making out on the beach and skinny dipping at midnight, but there were a few that had involved Christmas and New Year's, and that was where I was determined to go next.
First, that meant seeing how much decorating I could handle. Step one to that was going into the attic and taking a look at the boxes up there. It was a full attic, complete with heat and air so it could be used as an extra bedroom. Allen and I hadn't really needed the extra space for anything specific, so we'd used it for storage instead of the smaller crawlspace attic above the garage.
A dusty love-seat still sat against the wall, its fabric worn and faded. It had been the first piece of furniture we'd bought together for Allen's apartment near UCLA, and when he'd moved in here, he'd brought it with him even though his uncle had left all of his furniture to Allen along with the house. We'd come up here more than once to make love on it.
I picked up one of the boxes of decorations and carried it over to the love-seat and sat down. I opened it, bracing myself for the tide of emotion, but when it came, it wasn't as strong as I'd feared.
I pulled out garland, smiling as I remembered the first time Allen and I had tried to wrap it around the hand-rail leading up to the second floor. I still wasn't entirely sure how we'd managed to get it so wrong, but we'd ended up sitting on the stairs, tangled up in garland, laughing so hard that tears had been running down our cheeks. And then we'd had sex right there on the stairs.
I set the garland aside. I could use it.
I reached back into the box and found the wreath we'd hung on the front door of the vineyard office. It was hideous, a gift from May Lockwood after she'd made some comment about our taste in décor. Allen hadn't wanted to offend his mother, but neither one of us had wanted it on the house, so we'd put it at the office and Allen had told his mother that he'd thought it was perfect to greet his clients.