Bonnie did not speak at first. Rhianna suspected she was coming to grips with the idea that Kate did not exist. “Rhianna. That’s pretty.” Bonnie studied her curiously. “And your hair. Is that your real color?”
“It’s close,” Rhianna said.
“I knew you were a platinum blonde.”
“I used to wear it long.” Rhianna set her tea down on the occasional table near the sofa and pulled her journal down from the bookcase. She extracted the photographs she’d tucked inside the cover and handed them to Bonnie. “This is me, two years ago.”
Bonnie’s mouth parted in astonishment. “That’s incredible. I wouldn’t have recognized you.”
Rhianna looked down over her shoulder. “It seems like a long time ago. I don’t feel like the same person.”
Bonnie handed the photos back. “Why did you go to Denver?”
“The man I told you about…he was on trial for raping me.”
“Oh, my God.” Bonnie went pale and some of her tea spilled. She put the cup down and wiped her lap. “I don’t know what to say. Oh, my Lord. You should have told us.” She hesitated. “That came out wrong. Obviously, it’s entirely up to you what you say about your private business.” She stopped talking again. Her shoulders shook. “Oh, Kate…Rhianna.”
“It’s okay.” Rhianna found a box of tissues and sat down again, giving Bonnie a hug.
“This is nuts.” Bonnie blew her nose. “Here I am crying, and you’re comforting me, and you’re the one who had to deal with this. I’m sorry. Just give me a minute. Okay?”
“I apologize for not telling you the truth,” Rhianna said. “I intended to. I just wasn’t—”
“Don’t even start down that track.” Bonnie raised her hand in protest. “You did what you had to do. I know what it’s like. I helped women change their identities and relocate when I was working at the refuge.” She shivered. “These men don’t know when to stop.”
“He stalked me for nine months, then he raped me,” Rhianna said. “And when they finally got around to arresting him, they let him out on bail. Now he’s been found not guilty.”
Bonnie’s color changed from white to red. “There’s something wrong with that picture.”
“His family is rich. They hired a fancy defense team. That’s the other thing.” Rhianna tried to say the words evenly, but her voice fractured. “Jules…the woman who sent me the flowers. She was his defense attorney.”
“No!” Bonnie gasped. “I don’t understand. How could she—”
“It’s a long story,” Rhianna said. “I made a mistake.”
“She represented the man who raped you?” Bonnie squeaked.
“She didn’t know. At least I don’t think she did. I’m not sure about anything, anymore.”
“You need a stiff drink.” Bonnie set aside the herbal tea in disgust. “Come on. I’ve got a new frozen-margarita recipe I want to try out.” She dragged Rhianna into the kitchen and set up the blender.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Rhianna said as Bonnie upended a bottle of Cointreau into a measuring cup.
“It’s the best idea I’ve come up with all day, apart from blowing up old man Entwhistle’s truck with him in it.”
“He still hasn’t covered that pit?” Rhianna perched on one of the high stools at the counter.
“Lloyd thinks he wants us to buy him out.” Bonnie measured some triple sec and sloshed it into her mix. “The irony is, if he would make us a realistic offer, we’d be willing to negotiate. Instead he thinks he can force our hand by making a nuisance of himself.”
“I saw the barricade,” Rhianna said.
“It’s the best we can do for now. I wanted something there since we’ll be away next week. You shouldn’t have to worry about Alice falling into a hole at the end of the yard. And there’s Hadrian. He can’t see three feet in front of him and his hearing’s gone.”
Rhianna glanced into the den where the mastiff was snoring on his dog bed. “He doesn’t come when he’s called.”
She hated to see the big, noble dog bang into furniture and jump with fright when he was touched unexpectedly. But he still had quality of life and he was dearly loved. She knew Bonnie was going to have a terrible time when she had to let him go.
“I feel bad about us going, with what you’ve been through,” Bonnie said. “You could come if you want. We can get another room.”
Rhianna shook her head. She didn’t want to be stuck in a hotel taking care of Alice for a week while Bonnie and Lloyd were at their convention. The little girl would be bored after a day, and they would both be miserable.
“We’ll be fine,” she said. “And besides, it’s too hard on Hadrian being in an empty house. Percy can’t be here all the time.”
Bonnie turned on the blender and they both covered their ears, then she filled a pitcher and poured their cocktails. They tapped glasses but made no toast.
“Was it serious?” Bonnie asked after a few sips. “With Jules, I mean.”
“We only saw each other a couple of times.”
Bonnie swirled her cocktail. “I was serious about Lloyd after our first date.”
Rhianna had the impression her face must be revealing the emotion she sought to hide. And her throat felt sore, which made her voice husky. She wished she could stop it from wavering. “I thought we might have something,” she confessed. “I’ve never been with anyone quite like her.”
“So you were—”
“Sleeping together. Yes.” Rhianna tried for a dismissive laugh, but all that came out was a sob. “When it was all over she tried to give me money.”
“Money!” Bonnie flared. “Guilty conscience, I suppose. I’d like to meet this woman and give her a piece of my mind.”
“I slapped her face. We yelled at each other.” Rhianna jammed another scrunched tissue to her eyes. “Now I’ll never see her again.”
“Drink your margarita,” Bonnie advised.
Rhianna gulped down half the icy liquid without tasting it. Her teeth hurt and her nose ran. She wailed, “I’m a mess. Just look at me. What am I going to do?”
“That depends.” Bonnie took her question at face value. “What I always say is don’t get mad, get even.”
“There’s no getting even for any of this.”
Rhianna could hear her own defeat in the weary sorrow of her voice. She was tired of fighting, she thought. But she was also tired of running away and having no life. She was tired of being afraid, of looking over her shoulder and lying paralyzed in her bed, listening to bumps in the night. She’d had enough. Maybe Bonnie was right. Maybe she wasn’t looking at her options the right way.
Toying with that notion, she murmured, “Are you saying I’m thinking like a victim?”
Bonnie shook her head emphatically. “You’re a strong, brave woman or you wouldn’t be here. You are not a victim, you’re a survivor. You should be proud of yourself.”
“I keep thinking I’m weak,” Rhianna admitted. “There are so many things I could have done differently.”
“It’s not too late. Let me tell you something. I believe in fighting back. Do you think this creep is going to come after you again?”
“I know he is.”
“Then you can’t just sit around like a basket case waiting for him. That’s playing by his rules.”
Rhianna drained her glass. She could feel the alcohol rocketing through her system, making her emboldened. Forcing herself to tap into her common sense, she demanded, “What am I supposed to do? I have a restraining order against him. I’ve changed my name. I testified, for God’s sake. I put myself through that whole ordeal for nothing.”
And then there was Jules. Perhaps she was fooling herself to think they might have been able to build something. If so, the delusion was mutual. Jules had begged her to come to L.A. and had promised to take care of her. Was the offer motivated only by guilt? Would a woman like Jules Valiant ask someone to live with her for no reason other than to right a wrong?
Rhianna
could not convince herself of that possibility for a minute. Neither could she forget the distress and desperation on Jules’s face. “You know what I hate?” she said, thinking out loud. “I hate that I care about that woman. I hate that I keep on making excuses for her.”
Bonnie replenished their glasses. “We’re talking about Jules again?” she inquired dryly.
Rhianna cradled her head in her hands. “You’re right. I need to stop thinking about her. She betrayed me and I’ll never forgive her for what she did.”
“Can I get something clear?” Bonnie asked. “Did she know? I mean beforehand. Did she know you were the one he attacked?”
“No, we found out when I took the stand.”
Bonnie swirled her cocktail thoughtfully. “Do you think she has feelings for you?”
“I don’t know.” Liar.
“Well, if she does, that guy Werner hurt her, too.”
Rhianna was silent. She hadn’t considered that angle at all. “I’m not a vigilante,” she said.
“No, but you have a right to defend yourself. And if that means going on the offense, why rule it out?”
“Because we’re both intoxicated?” Rhianna suggested.
“Doesn’t mean we’re wrong.” Bonnie lifted her glass. “Bottoms up.”
Feeling a little queasy, Rhianna asked, “What do you mean by going on the offense?”
“We have to turn the tables on him somehow.” Bonnie frowned. “What’s he like?”
“Physically, he’s pretty nondescript. Sandy blonde and thinning a bit at the temples. He’s tall and he’s carrying an extra forty pounds. You wouldn’t notice him in a crowd.”
“What about the attitude. Is he belligerent?”
“He’s polite. Egotistical. Very arrogant. He has this whole fantasy going on and I’m supposed to play a role in it. We get married and live happily ever after. He thinks he’s offering the perfect life and I’m a fool for not accepting him. I don’t even know him.”
“So, he’s genuinely crazy as well as dangerous,” Bonnie noted succinctly.
“Yes, and cunning. I wasn’t allowed to see him testify in the trial, but my parents were there. Mom said if they hadn’t known what he was like, beforehand, they would have felt sorry for him.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Apparently, he told the jury he didn’t care if he was convicted. He said he’d made the most terrible mistake of his life and offended the woman he adored, so nothing else mattered.”
“They fell for that crap!”
“Mom said several female jurors ended up crying. And it gets worse.”
Bonnie groaned. “Of course it does, because they turned the trial into a soap opera.”
She was right, Rhianna thought. Even her own testimony and cross-examination had felt like a stage show. Filled with helpless rage, she concluded her story. “Apparently, when Jules gave her closing statement, people were nodding all the way through and staring at her like she was a movie star. Dad said that’s when he knew Brigham would walk.”
“I guess he thinks he can get away with anything, now,” Bonnie remarked.
Rhianna nodded. She had the same impression. “You know…I’m so sick of having to think about him. He walked into my life and hijacked it. Since then I haven’t had a single day I can call my own. It’s like having a disease. Even when you can’t see it, you know it’s there. You live in its shadow. He’s eating away at me, Bonnie, and I can’t stop him.”
“You know where he lives, don’t you?”
“Yes. I’ve been to his house.” Rhianna grimaced. “All part of my brilliant plan. Did I tell you about the guide I’m writing?—Twenty Ways to Lose Your Rape Trial.”
Bonnie ignored her bitter self-mockery. “Remember those people I told you about before you left?”
“Lloyd’s friends in low places?”
Bonnie nodded. “I think it’s time I made a couple of calls.”
Rhianna stared at her. “Are you going to put out a contract on him?”
Bonnie smiled slyly. “It’s time he changed his attitude. Maybe some forceful persuasion would help.”
“I don’t want you getting in any trouble.” Rhianna bit her lip. “He’s the type who’ll go to the police.”
“These guys are professionals,” Bonnie said. “They’ll sort him out.”
Rhianna thought about how it would feel to wake up and know Brigham had been expunged from her life. “Why not,” she said. “What do I have to lose?”
Chapter Fourteen
Jules couldn’t breathe. She could see nothing. When she tried to cry out only the tiniest croak bled past her frozen lips. She started clawing around her body and realized that she was buried alive. A thin wail careened from her throat and she bolted up in bed. Panting, she groped for her lamp and spilled a feeble yellow haze into her room. Her alarm clock showed three a.m.
Jules did what she always did when she pried herself free of this nightmare. She got out of bed and went to the kitchen to make hot chocolate. If she tried to go back to sleep immediately, she would drift into her bad dreams once more.
She knew what they were about, and over the years, she had paid shrinks to make them go away—with little success. When she was ten, she’d suffered a fall at a school camp in the canyons. A walking bridge had collapsed during a rock slide, sending her and six other children plummeting into a chasm. She had regained consciousness, buried in debris, a dying classmate on top of her. Hours passed before the rescue team arrived to dig them out. After someone heard her cries for help, an air tube was fed down and she was gradually unearthed with machinery and shovels.
A man had spoken to her throughout, urging her to stay awake. Eventually, all she’d wanted to do was close her eyes and surrender to the silent mercy of sleep. She was cold, she couldn’t move for pain, and every breath was an effort. The time finally came when she let the air creep from her lungs and did not fight for her next breath. She released the limp hand of her dead schoolmate, letting go because she had no power to hold on. A fog closed over her and she fell into in a dark vortex, a whirling, mindless oblivion.
Jules was never sure if the loud voice she’d heard then belonged to God, or to the man who pulled her out, or to the woman she would one day become. If you let go now you will die.
With nothing left, she had reached for life and a big warm hand seized hers.
More than two decades had passed since that childhood trauma, and she still had trouble falling asleep. She still feared the dark and avoided the unknown. She also suffered from claustrophobia, a condition she kept in check by force of will, medication when she had to fly, and conscious choices about her surroundings.
Her survival, labeled “miraculous” in the press, had instilled confidence. Jules knew how strong she was and that she was incredibly lucky to be alive. She knew she could beat the odds. Of the children who fell to the bottom of the chasm that day, she was the sole survivor.
She made a point of understanding her own strengths and weaknesses. There were times when she felt she lived her life too cautiously, sticking to the well-lit paths she had carved out for herself. She liked to think she took risks, yet all she really did was gamble, and her gambles were carefully calculated. She avoided unpredictable outcomes.
To outsiders, her choice of career probably seemed absurd for a woman who needed certainty, but Jules found it the opposite. For her, knowledge was power. Case law provided precedent and interpretation. Jury consultants took care of a potential weak link in every trial process. Judges could be second-guessed. Statistical likelihood could be measured, and Jules left little to chance. That was one reason she worked for Sagelblum; her personal philosophy was a perfect match for the firm’s business model. Carl sometimes joked that if he wasn’t married to his job and she wasn’t queer, they were made for each other. Her ruthless logic and his killer instincts made for a lethal combination they exploited to the max. She seldom questioned the choices they made, the cases they fought, or the
clients they accepted. In the past, she had been guided by a single ethic she truly believed in—that everyone had a right to the best possible defense. No exceptions.
In a perfect world, the accused was perennially innocent and the lawyer defending him was a hero on a quest for the truth. But in reality, someone had to do the dirty work. Guilty, remorseless assholes stood in courtrooms every day of the week, and so far nobody had come up with a surefire means of identifying them. Such a litmus would be nice, a color code to flag the bad guys in every case.
Perhaps that would make it legitimate to dole out a different quality of defense for different people. Certain categories of undeserving offenders could be denied any defense at all. What did society owe those who betrayed it—the serial killers, child molesters, rapists? But where would the lines be drawn? Was a sliding scale possible in a justice system inherently flawed by its human component? Would gay people get defended?
Despite high-minded goals, an enviable constitution to uphold, the checks and balances of an appeal-court process, and the presumption of innocence, the playing field would never be level. Some people would always receive more “justice” than others, especially those with cash or celebrity. Attorneys stricken with occasional bouts of conscience because they sold their services to the highest bidders could do penance by working pro bono and donating to legal-defense funds for the deserving. Jules did not feel noble or self-righteous about her own forms of “giving back.” She did not kid herself that making a few minor sacrifices would maintain karmic balance or score points with the man upstairs. Sometimes it was just easier to do the right thing than to know she hadn’t.
She took her hot chocolate from the microwave, poked some marshmallows into it, and sat down at the small Shaker-style table in the windowed recess next to her kitchen. She did not turn on the floodlights in her garden, but stared out into the velvet darkness and thought about Rhianna.
Justice had served her poorly. In a case like Rhianna’s, where hard physical evidence was virtually absent, the facts could not speak for themselves. The trial was little more than an adversarial contest between prosecution and defense played out in front of an audience who voted more on emotion than on reason. For her part, Jules could have backed out and faced the professional consequences. But she had only wounded Rhianna; Carl would have obliterated her.
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