Between the Lies (Between the Raindrops #2)

by Susan Schussler

  “You were right. We should have sent the luggage over early,” Jon acknowledged. As the group took off toward the gate, the crowd of press swarmed around them, like wet sand filling in a hole when the tide comes in.

  “What are your plans in Minnesota? Getting married?” a photographer questioned. Click, click, click, click—the cameras kept spluttering. “Jon. Jon. Over here, Jon. Jon.”

  “So where are you staying? Spending some time with your in-laws?” asked a baby-faced guy with blond hair. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen. A shout came from the crowd as the photographers pushed and scrambled to stay in front of Jon, “It’s the wedding weekend. Tell us about the wedding. Where are you going for the honeymoon?”

  The three remained stone-faced as the group walked quickly toward the security gate. Sam spoke up every once in a while when the paparazzi got too close. “Back up,” he commanded in his deep voice. “Out of the way.” He put his arm out in front of Jon and Sarah, trying to keep the vultures back, but there were so many pushing to get the perfect shot that they were being overwhelmed. Sam kept changing the direction of their path just to throw the paparazzi off, like a border collie redirecting a flock of sheep. It bought Sarah and Jon just a little space, while the press scurried to catch back up to them.

  They were about halfway to the security station when two guys appeared in front of them. They whispered to each other as they strategically maneuvered their way in next to Sarah. They hovered around her, trying to question her. “It’s pretty intimidating thinking about Mia getting her claws in your fiancé, isn’t it? She’s clearly fighting for him. I bet you would do just about anything to keep him, wouldn’t you?” the baby-faced blond asked, while the other paparazzo videotaped. Sam stepped in front of Sarah and wrapped his arm back around like a cage to keep the encroaching guy back, clearing a path through the dense press herd.

  Sarah squeezed closer to Jon, as a third guy with greasy dark hair in a ponytail stepped up and started to verbally attack Jon. The guy wore a backward Lakers hat and held a camera a foot in front of his chest, glancing at the LCD screen occasionally as he walked. “I heard Mia Thompson wants you back, Jon. I wouldn’t mind tapping that, if you know what I mean. I bet your fiancé would do a threesome. She looks like the type. I can record it for you if you need someone.” Click, click, click, click.

  Jon was losing his composure. His body stiffened and his fist clenched. He wanted so badly to knock the guy to the floor and pummel his face. The guy in front of Sarah was quiet now and had started taking pictures, so Sam moved in front of Jon with the same caging technique he had used to protect Sarah.

  The ponytail guy backed off, but now the blond guy moved in on Sarah again, walking backward in front of her. He didn’t bother to watch where he was going and kept bumping into other vultures as he rambled. “Is that why you went to the plastic surgeon…to keep your man? Steve over there thinks those are fake,” he said, pointing to her chest. “But I told him if someone paid for them, they would make them bigger.” He reached out, cupped Sarah’s right breast, and squeezed. “I’m right. They’re—”

  He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Jon’s fist connected with the guy’s jaw with a loud crack. The force of it penetrated every bone in his body. Jon shrugged off his bag and guitar. He needed to hurt this guy. The roar of the blood in his ears silenced the noise around him. The world moved in slow motion. The guy hadn’t even hit the ground yet, but he was on his way. Jon sucked in a breath when he felt giant hands grip his shoulders. He turned readying to take another one out. It was Sam. The grip tightened holding him in place. He could see Sam’s lips moving but couldn’t hear him. He looked over to Sarah, her appalled expression morphed to concern. He looked down at his hand, the pain finally breaking through the thunder in his ears. Blood oozed from a tear in his skin and dripped down between his fingers making them stick together. He lifted his T-shirt, wiping off the blood the best he could.

  Jon looked around—the fog in his head starting to clear. The mass had stopped moving. The paparazzi stood silent, except the incessant clicking of the cameras. Sam asked, “Are you all right?” His grasp loosening on Jon’s shoulders as his eyes inspected Jon’s hand.

  Jon nodded and wrapped his pained arm around Sarah’s shoulder.

  “Good. As much as I would like to join you in bloodying these asses, I don’t think it is the best idea.”

  As Sam backed away, Jon spotted the culprit sprawled on the floor, his legs twisted in an awkward position. With his hand caressing his jaw, the baby-faced guy called to his friend, “Did you get it, Steve?” Then he looked to Jonathan. “You’re going to pay, pretty boy. That punch is going to cost you big time. Someone call the cops.” He winced as he spoke, and Jon found some satisfaction in his pain.

  “You all saw that, right? I was just taking pictures and he goes all postal on me.”

  “I don’t know what made him go off. You were just taking pictures,” said the young skinny guy, whose name was apparently Steve. He looked like he was about fifteen, but his voice was deep like a man’s.

  That was the last straw. Jon was going to take him out, too. He looked at Sam, hoping for the OK, but Sam shook his head. He was on the phone, probably with airport police.

  “If you ever touch my wife again, you’ll be dealing with more than just a broken jaw, asshole,” exclaimed Jon. Jeers rose from the crowd. Click, click, click, click, click…

  “It’s probably best if you let me handle this, Jon.” Sam spoke calmly and concisely

  Jon nodded, glaring at the guy on the ground for several seconds. Then he looked over to Sarah. Her arms were wrapped protectively across her chest. She was wearing the dark glasses that used to be on top of her head and had pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up as well. Jon’s heart sank. He wished he could keep her safe, but he knew he couldn’t. He apologized with his eyes and asked, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. He deserved it,” she declared, but he could tell she was traumatized. Jon pulled her to him, burying his now-swelling hand in her hair, and kissed her head.

  “Should I call Remi?” she whispered. She waited for his nod before she took out her phone to make the call.

  Jon glanced around the mob. Several of the paparazzi were uploading their photos onto their phones. What was taking the police so long? The security checkpoint sat a mere forty feet away.

  Four airport police officers finally surrounded the group, and the person in charge started making demands. “I want all cameras turned off and on the ground,” he boomed in a loud voice. “If I find any that are still recording, I will confiscate them and the owner will be arrested for disrupting Homeland Security.” His experience showed in his actions. But still most of the photographers slipped away into the crowd and moved to a position on the edge to escape quickly if needed as he spoke. “Who can tell me what’s going on?” the officer in charge asked.

  The guy on the ground declared, “He broke my jaw. I want him arrested.” He dramatically cupped his jaw and cried out in pain.

  Sam spoke up, “Lieutenant,” he glanced at the man’s nametag, “Menendez. We were just trying to catch our flight when that idiot there—”

  “He punched me and broke my jaw. We have it on tape,” the baby-faced blond interrupted, pointing to the camera in Sam’s grasp.

  Sam continued, “When that guy there blocked our way and started fondling my client’s breast.” He gestured toward Sarah as he handed the camera to the officer.

  “You’re not the one that punched him? It was Mr. Williams?” Officer Menendez questioned. He recognized Jon and seemed to be untangling the incident in his head. “All right, you recorded it?” he questioned the videographer. The officer quickly ran through the footage as he stood in front of the group. Then the lieutenant gathered the licenses of the five people involved. He handed the camera and licenses to another officer and stated, “File this in evidence and copy the IDs.” He looked around the growing crowd and announced, “Le
t’s take this somewhere private. Anyone with a video camera needs to follow officer Rodrigues.” He pointed to the officer to his right. “Except you.” He pointed at the guy whose camera he possessed.

  “Come on, Officer. I want my camera back. I was just filming. I wasn’t even involved,” claimed the mousy-looking man-boy.

  “You’re coming with me and the rest of the video stars. If I have your license, you’re mine.” All of the press had vaporized into the bustling airport by this point, even the guy with the Lakers hat, so Officer Rodrigues was left with no one to lead.

  “Can we deal with this later? We’re going to miss our flight,” questioned Sam, though Jon could tell the question was just a formality. They all knew the answer.

  “We have to fill out an incident report, and if either of you wants to press charges, we have to take statements. I’m sure he doesn’t realize that if he pushes the charges, he will end up with a sexual assault conviction on his record. He obviously hasn’t thought it through.” He paused and turned to Jon, “I know it’s not fair these guys can harass you and you just have to let them, but consider yourself lucky.”

  “Lucky?” Jon questioned.

  The lieutenant glanced over at the paparazzo who was still holding his jaw and stated loudly enough so he could hear, “Yeah…you got to deck the idiot…By the looks of the swelling, you broke his jaw, and it’s not going to cost you a thing. No one wants a sexual assault record.”

  “Well, I don’t feel very lucky,” uttered Sarah. “I want to punch him. At the very least…I should get to kick him in the groin.” She turned and glared at the guy.

  “You’re right, Sarah, you should get to…I’ll hold his arms,” Sam said, pinning the guy with a very menacing death stare.

  “Officer, did you hear that? They’re threatening me,” whined the blond.

  “So the hundred-and-ten-pound woman is intimidating you now? What about when you groped her, were you scared of her then?” asked Jon. He so wanted to pound him back to the ground.

  The lieutenant tapped his ID badge on the access pad next to the door’s entrance. The LED turned from red to green and he pulled open the steel-and-glass door. He held it for the group to enter and then led them to a clutch of rooms, motioning for the videographer to sit in the first room and the baby-faced blond in the second. The lieutenant closed the doors to the rooms and addressed Jon in a soft voice, “It looks pretty cut and dried, so I’m going to try to convince this guy not to press charges. If he refuses you’re probably going to want your lawyer here.” Then he yelled down the hallway to the front desk, “Bloom, bring the guy in room two an ice pack and get someone from the team to come look at his jaw.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” returned from the end of the hall.

  He looked down at Jon’s hand and asked, “How’s your hand?”

  “Fine.” Jon was lying. He didn’t want this to take any longer than it had to. A trip to the ER would add three hours.

  The officer turned back to the group and said, “Rodrigues here can get you coffee, if you like. You can make yourselves comfortable in there,” pointing to a larger room about halfway down the hall, “and I will see if I can make this go away.”

  Jon followed Sam and Sarah into the room and closed the door. “The officer must be pretty confident the guy won’t press charges or we would be in separate rooms at least until the statements are given,” said Sam. “But…he is going to press charges. There would be no other reason for doing this. He wants the publicity.”

  “I shouldn’t have hit him. I know I shouldn’t have hit him,” Jon lamented as he gingerly wrapped his arms around Sarah’s waist from behind her. He snuggled next to her ear and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  He wasn’t apologizing for the actual act of hitting the guy, but for being in the situation in the first place. He could see her emotions catch in her throat as she swallowed hard. She leaned her head back against his shoulder and touched her cheek against him, holding it there as if to gather strength. “I love you, Jonathan Williams…Don’t ever be sorry. It was the right thing to do.”

  “It did feel good. I never get to hit anyone. I’ve got the ‘just missing’ down for filming, but it felt really good to make contact on his smug little face. I wanted to disfigure him. It was a setup though. He didn’t even pull away.” He squeezed her tighter. He hated being manipulated by the paparazzi.

  “Is Remi coming?” he asked. He definitely needed her to do her PR magic.

  “Yes…She’s calling the lawyer,” Sarah answered. “I should probably call my parents and let them know we missed our flight.” She turned around and met Jon’s eyes. Oh god. What would they think? He slowly released his hold on her, wishing Sarah didn’t need to make the call.

  “So now what do we do?” Jonathan asked Sam as he watched Sarah cross to the other side of the room.

  “Let’s just hope he doesn’t press charges.” Sam paused. “But he will. Then they’ll arrest you for battery. You’ll be booked at the Pacific station—fingerprints, mug shots. They’ll take your statement and release you on bail. It will take hours. A court date will be set, but by then the charges will probably be dropped. You were clearly defending Sarah. Judges hate the paparazzi wasting court time. We’ll need to press the sexual assault charges, though—to emphasize the defense.”

  Jon glanced up and met Sarah’s eyes briefly. Though he had worked to mend his relationship with her parents, he worried what they would say. Jon needs to protect you better. What was he thinking going to the airport with only one security guard?” He could practically hear her father’s voice.

  Sarah sat on the edge of a metal desk turning her back to him. Her arms wrapped tightly around her as she began the call.

  “Hi, Dad.” Sarah almost sounded perky, but Jon knew it was an act. She paused.

  “Actually, Dad…we missed the flight. I was just calling to let you know we won’t be in until tomorrow.” She paused again.

  Sarah’s voice started to reverberate, and Jon could tell she was crying. “One of the paparazzi at the airport grabbed me and Jon punched him. Now we’re just trying to figure out if the guy is going to press charges.”

  Another pause. Jon looked down at his hand. The pink skin across his knuckles stretched taught, but there wasn’t any fresh blood.

  “Dad, there wasn’t anything we could do. There were at least thirty of them. Jon was just defending me. He didn’t mean to break the guy’s jaw.”

  “It’s broken, isn’t it?” Sam asked, nodding toward Jon’s hand.

  “Probably. I’m not dealing with it right now, though.” He had broken his hand once before on the set of a movie. It felt about the same.

  “I’ve got to go,” said Sarah. “I’ll call later when we know more. And tell Mom not to worry.”

  Jon watched Sarah shove her phone into her purse and wipe her eyes with her middle finger before turning.

  “So…what’s the plan?” she asked, her arms still wrapped tightly around her chest. Her eyes were red and her makeup blotchy. She had definitely been crying. Jon’s hand touched the small of her back and pulled her in. As his fingers grasped her, the tension in his muscles released just a little. She rested her head against his shoulder and took a deep breath, as if she found comfort in his arms as well.

  “When they arrest me, Sam’s going to take you to a hotel, because we can’t go back to the house if we want to avoid the press. I’ll meet you there after I make bail and then we’ll figure out our new flight plans.”

  She nodded with understanding. She looked so sad.

  “If you have anything in your pockets, you should have Sarah put it in her bag. It will just make it easier if they arrest you, but keep a credit card and your license, when you get it back,” declared Sam.

  So Jon emptied the change from his pocket out onto the round table they were standing next to and handed Sarah his phone and wallet, minus a credit card. “Don’t go rifling through my bag. Your graduation present is in there and I
haven’t wrapped it.”

  She smiled, and he ran his fingers through the end of her ponytail. How could he let this happen?

  Just then the lieutenant entered the room with a younger officer behind him. The lieutenant scratched his head with a look of frustration. He handed back their licenses and stated, “Well, the good news is…the videographer admitted to conspiracy. He admitted he and Mr. Davis planned to provoke you into violence to get a good shot. He wouldn’t admit that he knew Davis was going to molest your wife, but just admitting to the conspiracy is a misdemeanor.”

  Jon looked at Sam, and Sam added, “Five hundred-dollar fine. It’s nothing compared to what they can make.”

  “I think they had a third accomplice with a camera that got the actual sellable material. That’s how it usually works. The footage these two clowns got won’t get picked up. Since we have the film on record, you can sue anyone who buys it because they deliberately provoked you. The bad news is that Mr. Davis won’t drop the battery charges and wants his lawyer before giving his statement. This means I’m going to have to arrest you. It’s just a formality,” he announced. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to meet with an attorney and have one present during questioning. If you are unable to afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as I have presented them to you?”

  “Yes,” said Jonathan feeling exasperated. He dug his hands into his jacket pockets and looked toward Sam. He knew his mug shot would get plastered all over the news. Eventually, the story would fade and no one would remember why he was arrested. All they would remember is that he was.

  The officer led them into the hallway to a large open room with metal desks. Several of the desks were occupied with officers, and most of them were on the phone with papers in front of them. “Mr. Williams, you can call your lawyer from the phone at that desk over there, if you haven’t already called him, and have him meet you at the pacific station.” The lieutenant pointed to his right at an open desk. “We’ll be heading there next.” Jon walked toward the desk and sat down. He called Remi’s cell.