“Sort of. That’s all I can tell you right now.” She kissed his cheek, then Anya’s. “If things go according to plan, you’ll know soon.”
“We can’t keep doing this, Stephanie. It can’t be like this.”
“That’s why I’m doing it. So it won’t be.” She tugged his ear. “I’ll be back soon.”
Stephanie laid the concentrator on the back seat floor and flipped off the woman crouched in the privet. A few mudslingers were hanging around despite the lack of movement in Alex’s case. She and Alex had discussed replacing the hedges outside the gate with Japanese barberry so the fuckers impaled themselves on the spines.
She drove a short distance down the street, around the corner and out of sight of the house, before pulling over and dialing the number Kevin had given her.
“Hello?” answered a tiny, diffident voice.
“Katherine Miller? I’m a reporter with—”
“I don’t care. One of you leaked my name, and now everyone knows who I am. I’m done talking to you people.”
Wasn’t that her objective, everyone knowing who she was? Unless it was all negative attention. She’d have lost control of the messaging as soon as the media released her name. Nothing was on her terms anymore. Stephanie, for her part, had been trying to avoid coverage altogether.
“Wait, don’t hang up. I’m sorry your identity was compromised. That should have never happened, and I can only imagine how difficult your life has become. But I’d like to talk to you about what happened that night. An exclusive story, from your point of view.”
Thoughtful silence. Then, “Really? About me?”
Got her. “Yes. Can we meet somewhere?”
“I’ll be at Fountain Plaza eating lunch. I’m wearing a blue and white striped T-shirt, a black cardigan, and a denim skirt. I have brown hair.”
“All right. Give me about twenty minutes. Thanks.”
Stephanie parked as close as possible to minimize walking, and left the concentrator in the car. Katherine sat on a bench facing the stone waterfall-style fountain beside a reflecting pool that transformed into an ice rink in the winter. A scrunched-up hoagie wrapper lay beside her. Nearby, M&T Center’s historic gold dome gleamed in the sun. Hundreds of office and hospitality workers droned through the park, ate their lunches here in the warm months. Stephanie observed them for a few moments, a sprawling network of lives she would never know, random passersby with existences as intense and multifaceted as hers. As they were to her, so she was to them, no more noteworthy than the blur of scenery from a train window. An extra walking through the frame in that particular scene.
Katherine stared at the flowing water, her face reminiscent of the stones as she sucked on the straw of a paper soda cup. Stephanie sat beside her. “Hi.” She extended her hand. “I’m—” Shit. I can’t tell her my real name. Not yet. “Rachel. We spoke on the phone.”
“Yeah. Hi. Nice to meet you.” Katherine shook it.
“Likewise. Will you be all right with me recording this?”
“Oh, sure. No problem. Where do we start?”
“Start at the beginning. Tell me about the night in question.”
Katherine pitched the hoagie wrapper at the trashcan beside the bench. It bounced off and landed on the concrete, but she made no move to retrieve it. Stephanie curled her lip. “You don’t want to know about me first? My background and stuff?”
Not really. “Yeah. Okay. Tell me about yourself.”
Instant regret. Past jobs, likes and dislikes, vague and superficial bullshit from a woman whose personality depended on impressing others and being the center of their world. Stephanie nodded in the right places, pretending to listen, but she was assessing Katherine’s exterior for what her vapid speech contradicted. A mouse of a girl, a clothes hanger for the outfit that was too large, an attempt to conceal her lack of curves but which only accentuated it. Perhaps a deception to make her appear innocent, worthy of Stephanie’s trust. Not a stitch of makeup, big black-rimmed glasses, and thin brown hair pulled into a ponytail. No way did she go out clubbing in that outfit, but she was striving to make a different kind of impression. A carefully manipulated ploy to draw attention to herself; she’d only modified the method.
Stephanie hated the woman on principle, but she’d get nowhere if she ceded to her loathing. If she lost objectivity, she lost everything.
“Anyway, so that night I went out like I usually do on Fridays—I bet you do too, right? I think everyone does, you know?—and I see him there. Aleksandr Volynsky. And he’s by himself. Which is weird, because you see pictures online and he’s always with people.”
Stephanie’s palms grew sweaty. Had she already been obsessed with him before that night? Hardly the first. Alex’s female fans were legion, and not a few were interested in his body more than his hockey skills. “Go on.”
“So I offer to buy him a drink. I mean, he’s super-hot, don’t you think?”
She could not have forced her smile more if she’d inserted hooks into the corners of her mouth and tugged them upward with wires, but Katherine remained oblivious. “He’s attractive, yes.”
“He says no, thank you and he wants to be alone. But no one really wants to be alone, right? So I insist. And he starts to get mean, like everyone says he is.”
Stephanie bit her tongue so hard, she was surprised the tip hadn’t lodged in her throat. “And you didn’t just leave?”
“He had no right to talk to me that way. I was trying to be nice.” Katherine emphasized her words with exuberant, dramatic hand gestures that brought to mind the death throes of a chicken.
“Fair enough. Then what?”
“He finally said yes. He got up to go to the bathroom, and I figured he needed to relax a little—he’s kind of uptight, did you know that? Maybe it’s a Russian thing—so I put a couple of my Xanax in his drink.”
Stephanie inhaled deeply, slowly, combatting the impulse to murder the woman on the spot. Xanax and Klonopin had lately replaced Rohypnol in many places as the date rape drug of choice, second only to that long-time favorite, alcohol. Easy to get when everyone was suffering some form of anxiety these days. She compelled her lips to flatten. “And then?”
“You know how once you pee when you’ve been drinking, you have to keep going? He got up a few more times, and I ordered a few more drinks.”
“And gave him more pills?”
Katherine shrugged. “Sure. He was finally starting to loosen up. I helped him into a cab, and we went to his place.”
“And you spent the night. What happened? He has no memory of it.”
“So he says.” The muscles around her eyes and mouth were twitching. “Listen, Rachel, he has everything, and people like him don’t deserve it. They think they can do whatever they want. They throw people away when they’re done with them. But you know what? There are consequences. There are always consequences.”
Keep. It. Together. “Why did you wait?”
“I didn’t remember until I saw him on TV a few months ago talking about his baby. I…blocked it out.” Too late. The chinks were all too evident, as was the instinct to cover her ass. Katherine slid her hands palms-down under her thighs. Classic deception.
“You weren’t getting enough attention in your own life, were you? You had to take it out on someone you felt had wronged you. Katherine, if you had sex with him after getting him drunk and drugging him, that is a felony.”
“And who would believe that? Look how big he is. Look at his reputation. Are you trying to say I raped him? Because good luck with that!” She uttered a loud, theatrical, borderline-hysterical giggle and girlishly covered her mouth.
“I am aware of your psychiatric history. You realize that will be used against you if the case ever goes to trial.”
Her lips twisted into an ugly frown. “Why?”
“Because that’s how rape cases are prosecuted. The defense will do everything they can to discredit you. And considering you didn’t even get a rape exam—”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, it isn’t. Especially to people who aren’t lying about what happened to them, which is what happens in most cases but not yours. So you should think about whether you want to continue this charade.”
Katherine scratched at her cheek. Her gaze clouded. “Charade?”
“If anyone learns what you’ve voluntarily told me today, you might find yourself as the defendant in a sexual assault trial. You won’t like prison, Katherine.”
“You’re threatening me!” Her breath whistled noisily through her nostrils. She stomped one foot on the concrete, her eyes protruding.
“I have no power to threaten you. I’m just a reporter.”
“With a recording of me!” She lunged for the bag; Stephanie leapt up and sidestepped so that Katherine landed face-first on the bench.
Stephanie, however, was the one wheezing. She rubbed her chest. Not now. Please. “Want to add theft and property damage to the list?”
“You tricked me, you bitch!”
“Let me leave you with something else to think about.” Stephanie opened her wallet and held out a photo. “That’s my husband and daughter. That’s whose lives you’re destroying.”
Katherine’s eyes nearly engulfed her face. Her skin had lost all color.
“Not to mention how difficult people like you make it for those of who actually are assaulted, most of whom never report it. I didn’t. You’re ill, and you need help. What you’re accusing my husband of is what you did to him.” Her blood pressure was rising, her chest tightening and a revolting heat churning in her gut. “And no, he’ll never admit it, so you’re off the hook there. But now I know, and I have the evidence. And if you don’t want me to turn it over to his attorney—and yours—I suggest you drop the allegation.”
Katherine peeled herself off the bench and adjusted her clothing. Her large brown eyes shone with tears. “Am I going to get into trouble?”
“You could get into big trouble. I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect my family, Katherine. But it’s your choice. Withdraw the allegation, or I turn over the recording. I advise you do the former so this whole thing doesn’t get any uglier.” Stephanie replaced the wallet in her bag. “Our daughter doesn’t deserve this. And neither does he.”
“I didn’t…” She burst into heaving, melodramatic sobs meant to engender sympathy, but Stephanie mustered only a low-grade disgust tempered with a pinch of pity. She was still learning how to be compassionate in her dealings with mental illness’ more onerous symptoms, and the curve was high.
“He’s sick too. None of this is helping him. I can recommend psychiatrists—”
“Please go away,” she sniveled. “I don’t want your help. I just want to die!”
“Don’t say that. If you do the right thing, this will be over soon, and everything will be fine.”
Katherine said nothing, only sobbed harder. Stephanie watched her for a moment. Maybe she should call someone. But if she delayed getting oxygen any longer, the help she’d call would be for herself.
And anyway, the most important repairs were awaiting her at home.
***
Alex sat in the nursery rocking chair with Anya cradled in one arm. In the other, he held a board book called Guess How Much I Love You; to Anya’s delight, he was performing the characters’ voices as he read. She squeaked and smiled, and slapped at the thick paperboard pages. Stephanie, standing in the doorway, pressed a hand to her mouth as he alternated between Little and Big Nutbrown Hare.
When he finished the book, he tucked it back into the bookcase beside the chair, then looked up. “Hey.”
“Hi. I wanted to let you know I was home before I jump in the shower.”
“You took one before you left.”
“Yeah, I just…need to wash it all away.”
“Where did you go? Tell me the truth, Stephanie.”
“I will. After my shower. We’ll have a long talk.”
Stephanie left the master and en suite doors open. She cast off her clothes, started the water, and stepped into the shower that, thanks to Alex, resembled the European wet room in his old condo. She grabbed the loofah and shower gel as he walked in. He set the baby monitor next to the sink and turned the volume all the way up.
Fully aware of his gaze on her, she rubbed the lather in languid circles over her body, the spray coursing over her breasts and down her belly. She arched her back, caressed her skin with bubbles and the loofah. She’d known he would follow. Not to do so signaled their arrival at the final act after all.
Alex stared at her, his green eyes asking their silent question.
“Come in,” she said, as though he were a vampire she’d invited to seduce her.
And seduce her he did, as he removed his clothing piece by piece until he stood naked before the glass partition, his cock standing at attention. She let her eyes slip shut.
He started behind her, washed her neck and shoulders first, her arms and back next. Then bathed her buttocks in slow circles, cupping each cheek, lifting, washing her thoroughly. Alex ran a finger between them, pinched them. He stroked her with his lips, probed her newly polished cleft with his tongue and worked it around the edge of her hole, up and down the insides of her cheeks. Her legs were forgetting how to support her.
Alex pushed her against the tiles, one hand holding her shoulder and the other grasping her hair. “Ty moy. You are mine. You have always been mine, and you always will be. Do you understand?”
She did, quite clearly. He was testing her. Alex had never before expressed the desire for domination, precisely because he knew it horrified and revolted her. Especially now that she had exposed the true extent of her father’s predations.
He was scared. All other conditions in which they might exist together had collapsed, leaving their only potential reality on life support. Each second counted. Each word, each signal must be the correct one.
“Only if you’re mine.”
The ice in his eyes thawed. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it over hers and let his tongue interpret for him. She reached for his cock, keeping him hard, focused on his craving.
Alex hooked his forearm under her leg and raised it, her back flat against the tiles, so he could sink into her. He moaned close to her ear and squeezed her ass. Hammered her. The rainfall showerhead unleashed an endless cascade, filling the room with steam. He moved his mouth to her neck, panting.
She wrenched her face away from his and gasped for air. “Stop,” she wheezed.
With a discouraged grumble, he pulled out and let her go. Stephanie swiped at her eyes and hurried into the bedroom where, dripping, she sucked in huge drafts of cool air. She inserted the cannulas into her nostrils, set the concentrator to pulse mode, and inhaled as she dropped onto the bed. Oxygen flowed in. Her unsated pussy throbbed like a fresh bruise. Longing for his cock inside her, for his hot skin and tempestuous kisses.
Her tears made dark spots on the comforter. She cried harder, oxygen pulsating through the cannulas with each ragged gulp.
Alex sat behind her. He said nothing, and she welcomed the silence. There was nothing left to say.
Chapter Nineteen
Alex
Her shoulders were shaking. He imagined that if one were to cut the wings off an angel, the large, prominent scar would look like this only in reverse. Shoulder blade to ribs instead of the other way around.
He laid a fingertip on it, and she stiffened. He traced the raised welt’s length. She was holding her breath, the worst thing she could do. He kissed the scar, lingered over it, drew its shape with his tongue. He hated what it stood for but loved it because it was hers. She had done battle and won.
“Breathe,” he whispered.
Her body heaved with the effort. She hunched forward with her face in her hands.
“I love you,” he said, because he did more than anything, and because he did not know what else to do. Because they were two broken things meant to repair each other’s
empty spaces, and he had somehow failed her. “Nothing else matters. It never did.”
She faced him, finally. A tear raced down her cheek. He wanted to sow her fallow body with kisses that would grow into love for herself, if his was not enough.
“We were perfect once,” she said quietly, as if revealing a tragic secret. “And everything ahead of us was bright and full of potential.”
“We were kids. We didn’t know any better.”
She sniffed and rubbed the heel of her palm against her chest, leaving a red splotch.
“Please tell me where you went this morning.”
“If I tell you, you have to promise you won’t get upset.”
She’d sworn she wasn’t going to see Brandon. Alex made a noise in his throat, teeth gritted. “All right.”
“I talked to Katherine Miller.”
“You…what?” He’d rather it had been Brandon after all.
“I’ve been doing a little investigation of my own. By the way, my contact told me you were fishing for her information. Do you have any idea what that could do? They’d put you away longer than for rape if they thought you were intimidating her.”
“I didn’t go through with it—”
“Thank God.” Stephanie shoved her damp hair out of her eyes and, staring at the ceiling, poked her tongue into her cheek. “I was right. She drugged you, Alex. And had sex with you, knowing you wouldn’t remember. She’s deep into her illness, and she believes you were ‘mean’ to her. There’s so little happiness in her life she wanted to take yours. So she decided, because you couldn’t remember what happened anyway, that you had raped her.”
Anya summoned them with a hungry cry through the monitor. Terrible timing. She reminded him of Danny, who he suddenly missed. He’d pushed him away precisely because of the intolerable pain Danny, a relic of his old life, represented. Alex had hired a manager instead, a middle-aged woman who reminded him of nothing.
“I’ll feed her.” Stephanie turned off the concentrator and yanked out the cannulas, then wrapped herself in her robe. At the door, she looked back over her shoulder. “Stay. Just like that. Please.”
What's Left Of Me (The Firebird Trilogy Book 2) Page 19