My mild headache intensifies. At first, I try to ignore it, but it quickly develops and within minutes, I am in excruciating pain. I don’t remember my headache being this bad ever, not even when I woke up at the hospital. I slip my medication from my purse and take something for the pain.
“Hey, you okay?” Jonathan asks.
“My head is pounding… I feel nauseous.”
“I should take you home to get some rest.”
“No, finish your food first.”
“You need to rest.”
“Please, spend time with your family. Your mom misses being with you.”
He reluctantly agrees, but for the next fifteen minutes, instead of my head getting better, it progressively worsens. We were supposed to head back to San Francisco after brunch, but I’m not sure if I can survive the long drive back.
After saying our goodbyes, Caroline, Megan, and Pierce leave. We are paying the bill when I feel dizzy.
“Johnny…”
“What’s wrong, Babe?”
“I need to lie down. I feel dizzy.” He quickly signs the bill and helps me over to the car. As I lie back into the car seat, the pain is so agonizing, tears run down my cheeks.
“I don’t like seeing you like this. I’m going to take you to a doctor friend who lives nearby.”
I close my eyes and try to relax. I hear him talking on his cell phone.
Sometime later, the car stops and I open my eyes. We are home.
“He’s not home right now,” Jonathan says. “He’s going to come by in a while.”
He carries me out of the car and up the stairs. I feel paralyzed by pain. Even the slightest movements cause it to worsen. He sets me down gently on his bed, and then carefully removes my sandals. He leaves the room for a moment, but quickly returns with a small pitcher filled with water and a glass, then pours me some. The dogs bark. Although the noise is somewhat muffled, it still bothers me.
“Tomas must be here. I’ll be right back.”
Minutes later, he returns with a man probably in his mid-fifties. He introduces himself, asks me some questions, then checks my vital signs and blood pressure. He steps out of the room momentarily to call and confer with Dr. Dubois. Soon after, he returns.
“Look, I’m going to give you a very small dose of morphine. I’ll check in with you in twenty-four hours to assess your condition. You need to rest. That means you need to be in bed for the next forty-eight hours. After that, you should still be careful. Your injuries were serious. Johnny, if you see no major improvement within a few hours, call me back, and I’ll increase the dosage.”
“Great. Thank you so much for coming by.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
They both exit the room. Ten minutes later, Jonathan returns.
“Once I feel a little relief, we can leave. I know you have to get back for work tomorrow,” I say.
“Actually, I don’t. I don’t return to court till Tuesday afternoon. Get some rest. I don’t want you to worry about a thing. Can I get you anything else?”
“No. I’ll be fine, thanks.”
My cell phone screams through the air.
“Can you answer that, please?” I ask, covering my head with a pillow.
“Hello,” he answers.
After I hear the third hello, I realize it might be another one of those threatening calls coming in. Moments later, he ends the call.
“Who was it?”
“It was nobody,” he replies, his temple twitching. “Get some rest, Babe. I have some work to do on my laptop. I’ll be right out on the mezzanine. If you need anything at all, call me… okay?”
“It was a threat again, wasn’t it?”
“You don’t need to worry right now. You need to rest. Go to bed.”
I know it was, but I don’t have the energy to force it out of him. I let it go. He kisses me on my forehead then exits the room. For hours, I toss and turn with minimal relief. It feels like my brain is loose in my skull, and even with the slightest movement, it feels like it’s shifting. Pounding from one side to the next inside my skull. Somewhat like when an avocado seed is loose inside the fruit. I will do anything for some significant relief. I try to sleep the pain away, with no luck. I feel miserable.
I turn on the TV to occupy my mind. The volume is off. It helps for a while. My mind focuses on something else…
* * *
I hate seeing Jada this way. I’d do anything to take her pain away. In too many ways, I feel responsible for her being like this. I still haven’t heard from Phillip regarding Chris Hostin. I suspect he’s purposely not communicating with me because he’s afraid I’ll take the law into my own hands. I admit, the thought has crossed my mind… I’m not going to go out looking for Chris Hostin, but should he happen to approach Jada again or even cross my path, I’m afraid of what I might do.
I’m also furious about that phone call, but I need Jada to get back on her feet. I’ll let the FBI handle this. At some point, this fool is bound to make a mistake.
She was supposed to start physical therapy tomorrow, which would include ultra sound therapy. I’ll have to see if Tomas knows someone he can send over here tomorrow.
This week most probably may be my last week at the office. I am hoping to wrap up my final two cases by next weekend. Once I’m done, I’ll have my work cut out for me at the firm. First on the agenda, try to get back the clients we lost since Dad died, and find a way to entice some new lucrative ones. Even though Dad’s gone, perhaps I can save his legacy, and it will, in some way, make up for his disappointment in me.
Thankfully, the one thing I won’t miss is the workload. I’ll have a huge part of my life back, and while I won’t be a public official anymore, I’m sure for a while, I’ll still be faced with questions when I meet people, supporters or otherwise, out in public. It will also mean more time, time I’d like to spend with Jada. I hope this issue in her life will be over soon.
There is much I’d love to do with her. So many places I’d like to take her. It would be great if we could do some travelling together. However, sometimes, I still get the feeling that if I push her too hard, she will back away.
I have to admit she’s like no other woman I’ve dated. I’ve never been with a woman who has no problem putting me in my place. In the past, I’ve managed to have my way with most of my exes most of the time, but with Jada, it’s different. I feel like I’m always pushed and challenged, and she forces me to have discussions and compromise, which is completely new to me. What’s intriguing, however, is I like it. A bit of resistance every now and then has certainly led to some spirited exchanges with her. Exchanges I enjoy.
My phone rings, disturbing my thoughts. I don’t recognize the number.
“Hello.”
“Johnny. Hi, it’s Sophie.”
“What do you want?” I ask coldly.
“I was hoping we could meet for a drink or something. I think we should talk.”
“Sophie, there’s nothing to talk about. You need to get that through your thick skull.”
“Please?”
“No. Whatever it is that went on between us is over. You need to understand that. You can’t keep calling me like this. I know you were here last night. If you keep this up, I’ll file a restraining order against you.”
“So you’re fucking her now? Things must be pretty serious with you two for you to be sharing weekends with her and your family.”
“I’m not doing this with you. Don’t call me anymore. Don’t force me to get law enforcement involved. And trust me, Sophie, when I tell you I will if you don’t stop this.”
I hang up on her, ending the call.
Minutes later, Jada’s phone that sits on the coffee table rings. I look at the screen, and I’m shocked to see the same number that appeared on my phone now appears on hers. Sophie is trying to call her.
“Sophie, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“I… I…”
“Stay away from Jada.
Don’t touch her, don’t call her, and next time you see her, don’t look her way.”
“I think she needs to know what kind of a snake she’s dealing with.”
“Seriously, Sophie? Are you fucking kidding me? Consider yourself warned.”
I end the call.
I can’t believe the extent this woman, who I’ve known for five years, is going through to try to interfere with my relationship with Jada.
For the next hour, I prepare the paper work and send it to Cooper so he can get a protective order against her.
After all this, I am feeling a little tired myself. I join Jada in bed. I am thankful that she’s managed to fall asleep.
* * *
My brain tilts once more and crashes with a loud and resounding bang onto my skull. The pain wakes me; my headache is back. It’s not as bad as it was this morning, but it’s not significantly better either.
Jonathan sleeps next to me, his arm attached snugly to my waist. I must have been asleep for a while. The room is now filled with the warm light of the setting sun.
I feel nauseous. I grab my crutches and head to the bathroom, and before I know it, everything I ate this morning is in the bathroom sink. I never realized throwing up was so painful. I hurl once more, but nothing is left in my stomach. Now, on top of everything else, I feel completely drained.
I rinse out the sink and brush my teeth. Washing one’s face on crutches is harder…
“Jada. Babe, you okay?”
He’s not shouting, but his voice rings in my head.
“I’ll be out in a few minutes.”
After much effort, I succeed in washing my face and stagger back to the bedroom.
“Do you feel better?” Jonathan asks as I pull one of his black T-shirts off the chair nearby.
“I puked everything I ate this morning. I feel miserable. I’m so sorry about this.”
“Don’t apologize,” he says as he helps me into a T-shirt. “I’ll call Tomas. In the meantime, lie down. I’m going to order us some food. Would you like some chicken soup?”
“Sure… thanks for taking care of me.”
I lie still in bed and watch the images flicker by on the TV screen. Within an hour, I eat, I’m medicated, and I lie in complete silence. Jonathan’s taken the dogs for a walk, so I appreciate being quiet and still. I’m not certain, but I’m almost sure I heard him arguing with someone earlier. He sounded very angry, but he seems in good spirits now, and frankly, I don’t have the energy to process anything, so I leave it alone for now.
I wake the next day only to go to the bathroom. The headache’s getting better, but not nearly as fast as I’d like. That said, Jonathan needs to be in court tomorrow. After a long and exhausting talk, I convince him that I’m well enough to take the drive home, and we leave.
It isn’t until Tuesday morning, sitting in my penthouse, that I remember I’ve had my phone shut off. When I glance at my phone, it’s only then I see numerous text and voice messages from my demander. All are very angry. I don’t have the energy to listen to them all.
There’s one from another number that came through while I was asleep on Sunday. Jonathan must have answered it. I’ll talk to him about it later.
I pushed myself too hard after I returned from the hospital, and now I’m paying for the consequences of my actions.
Jonathan walks into my room, fully dressed in a grey suit carrying a tray.
“Hey, Babe. I got you something to eat. Feel better?”
“Yes. A little, but it’s still lingering on. I feel so exhausted.”
“That’s because you need to eat.”
I take a bite out of the croissant on the plate.
“Have you heard from Phillip at all?”
“Just sporadic text messages. Why?”
I hand him my phone.
“Jada, I don’t want you to take these calls. Your health is more important.”
“Jonathan. He’s threatening to make me regret it if I don’t.”
“I’ll call Phillip. They need to figure out a way to handle this. You shouldn’t be dealing with this right now. You were almost killed in that accident. It’s not your responsibility to keep this prick happy.”
“Well, get Phillip here. I have no clue what this man is capable of, and honestly… I’m not trying to find out.”
He calls him.
“It’s me. What the fuck is going on? Jada is sick; she cannot be doing this. Fine… fine… I’ll see you soon.”
“Was that really necessary?” I ask. “I know you’re upset, but this is not Phillip’s fault. I don’t want to alienate the very people that are trying to help me out of this mess.”
He stares at me in silence for a few moments.
“Maybe I was a little harsh. But they need to wrap this up soon. They’re going to be here shortly.”
Jonathan apologizes to Phillip when he and Douglas walk through the door.
“So what have you all found out?” Jonathan asks.
“Chris Hostin has dropped off the radar. He hasn’t been seen at his apartment in weeks. He was fired from his job in early December,” Phillip says.
Douglas continues, “It looks like when he approached you, he had already been fired. That supports what you thought Johnny, that he approached her because of you. He had no reason to be questioning you for any story.”
“I don’t understand why,” I respond, “we weren’t seeing each other at the time.”
“Is there any possibility that the two of you might have been seen together in public before then?” Phillip asks.
“Yes,” Jonathan and I chorus.
“When?”
“The second Sunday after Richard’s death,” I reply. “My brother was returning home to Miami. Jonathan drove me home from the airport. He was driving my car.”
“Did either of you see Hostin that day?”
“I didn’t,” I reply.
“Neither did I,” Jonathan concurs, “but it’s one of the few times we were together for an extended period of time.”
“We ran into each other casually a few times in Lake Tahoe, and maybe twice here, but our meetings weren’t very long,” I say.
“Where?” Phillip asks.
“Twice at the Café Rus in Lake Tahoe.”
“Do you remember the dates?”
We both shake our heads.
“Then one time at his dad’s office, and later that same day at his dad’s house.”
“I also dropped her home that night, but I was driving my mom’s vehicle.”
“Date?”
“I can’t remember the date, but it was well documented because I collapsed in front of all those reporters when they came after me, and it made the nightly news.”
Jonathan continues, “On New Year’s Eve, we were together; that was also the same night someone tried to break into her house at Lake Tahoe. But we were at a private party that night. Chris Hostin was not there.”
“You know, there is a possibility that he saw us at your dad’s burial… I didn’t see him, but it was in a public place.”
“I’d forgotten that.” Jonathan nods. “I suppose that’s a possibility.”
“He could have seen you all together at any one of those times and assumed you were a couple,” Douglas says. “Then after you recused yourself from her case, it concretized any suspicions he might have had.”
“Could be,” I agree.
“We’ll research any camera evidence or credit card records we can pull from those places and dates and see if we can place him at any of those locations,” Phillip says. “We don’t need it, but it would certainly help explain things.”
“So what else is being done in the mean time?” Jonathan asks.
“We’ve pulled some DNA from his apartment. We’re trying to see if we can make a match from any samples that might be in the vehicle.”
“Any prints?”
“No. If it’s him, he was very careful. We zoomed in on those pictures; he was wearing gloves
. It looks like he made every effort to cover his tracks.”
“That’s one issue. What about these messages?” I ask, handing them my phone. “My lawyer says none of the charges have been dropped, but they’re now demanding money?”
My landline rings, interrupting our conversation.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Jada. It’s Ian. There’s been an explosion at the downtown property in the kitchen.”
Chapter 1 3
What? Was anyone hurt?” I exclaim.
Jonathan, Phillip, and Douglas instantaneously look my way.
“Yes. Two sous chefs.”
“Who?”
“Allan Reynolds and Patrick Bennoir.”
“Are they going to be okay?”
“I don’t know. They’ve been rushed to the hospital.”
“See to it that they get the best possible care. How did this happen?”
“I don’t know. They passed their inspection just yesterday.”
“Do me a favor and get the driver to come pick me up at my penthouse in an hour.”
“Okay. But you should know, someone alerted the media. PR is trying to handle things right now.”
“Okay. Have a representative sent to the hospital, and I want no expense spared. I want Allan and Patrick to be cared for. Meet me at the hotel by noon.”
“I’m already here.”
“Do you know who is on the scene?”
“Right now, the fire department and EMS.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon then.”
I end the call. I’ve never had any of my staff injured on the job in a significant way.
“What happened?” Jonathan asks.
“There was an explosion in the kitchen at the downtown location. Two of my employees are injured.”
“What’s their condition?”
“I don’t know… I have to get down there.”
My cell phone vibrates on the kitchen island. It’s a private call.
Love, Lies & The D.A. Page 31