by Lexi Hart
Travis comes in the room forty minutes later with a smug smile and a piece of paper that is a lawyer equivalent of a hard-on. “Mistrial.” The intern beside me jumps to his feet, and Travis looks like he’s either going to hug me or kiss me and right about now I think I’ll probably let him do either.
“Do I need to testify again in court?”
Travis shakes his head. “You’ve been struck off the witness list, but a new trial could take months.”
My stomach knots. “I’m going back to jail ‘til then?”
He still looks puffed up, but he doesn’t sound as confident. “There’s the matter of Evelyn’s trial and your involvement. It complicates things.”
I exhale in a rush of air. “Just answer the question.”
Travis takes a seat and places his laptop on the table. “I don’t know. Evelyn has given her video testimony, but you should know that the media has gotten wind of your involvement in her case. You’re turning into a rock star. I’m fielding calls left and right. Everyone wants a piece of this.”
“I’ll bet they do,” I mumble.
“I got a call from Evelyn’s lawyer a few minutes ago. She’s working on a deal. Evelyn drops the charges if Myers drops his against you.” Travis opens the browser on his laptop and punches in the local rag’s address. A photo of a school and Myer’s grinning face is plastered over a headline for a charity event. “Myers can’t afford for this to go wrong. He’d be an idiot not to take the deal.”
The intern squirms besides me. “He’s a school teacher?”
Travis nods and a flickering of disgust crosses his face. “Was. He’s been suspended. And police are investigating an alleged assault from a former student who’s come forward after seeing the news, but there’s a chance he can still salvage the situation if he agrees to drop the charge against you.”
“Settle out of court, you mean?”
Travis nods and looks about as disgusted as I feel. “He may walk for this one, but you will too, and like I said, it looks like he has a history, and you know how it goes. More will crawl out of the woodwork now that this is public.”
I run a hand over my face, not sure whether I should be celebrating the fact a rapist isn’t going to go to jail for what he did to Evelyn, but if I did half as much damage to his face as I think I did, he’ll have a lasting reminder of what’ll happen if he tries it again every time he looks in the mirror.
It’s not enough recompense, but I figure if the police don’t prosecute him soon, I make one quick call to O’Reily, and Rick Myers’ won’t be physically capable of pissing, let alone raping a woman.
Chapter 14.
Wednesday 6.35pm
Evelyn
I don’t know what I expected to happen when I saw Connor take the stand, but seeing him in a suit and tie has been more than enough to make my already scattered concentration ten times worse. My nerves are already shot to bits. Rebecca, my lawyer, and I rehearsed four times beforehand, but my hands are still carrying a tremble.
The drink was her idea. A drink to settle my stomach and to debrief after going on the record as spending the weekend with Connor. She’s talking to me as I run a finger around the rim of my wine glass, but even talking about Rick isn’t taking away the anxiety that’s curling through my body. I still don’t know if it’s enough to keep Connor out of jail. And after seeing him in a suit and tie, my hormones are in overdrive again.
I keep picturing him standing beside me on the beach, me in a white gown as we exchange vows in front of my family. Every time I get to the part where we kiss, all the guests fade into a blur, and I start slowly unbuttoning his shirt. I run my hands down his chest, unbuckle his pants, slide my hands down...
“Evelyn? Are you listening to me? This is important.”
I snap out of it and take another gulp of my wine. “Sorry. You were saying?”
Rebecca sighs. “If Myer’s lawyer keeps pushing, we’re lined up and ready to go with an interview.”
I nod and scan the upmarket bar for any of the reporters who’ve taken to following me everywhere I go. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this. The last thing I want is more exposure by being interviewed. I’m receiving so many emails; I’ve had to stop checking them. Thankfully, my home address isn’t public, so the only messages of support I’ve received at home are from friends or friends of the family.
I did receive a sternly worded letter from my old Sunday School teacher, and there have been a few noses put off joint when I visit the store in Sanctuary Cove. I can only imagine how many more whispers and asides are to come when summer brings back the other residents whose houses share the beach with mine, but my mother is right. The gossip will die down, and the haters will move on when someone else does something they think is scandalous.
“He’d be a fool to push for a trial. According to my contact, they’re close to bringing more charges. He needs this to go away and fast,” Rebecca says.
I should feel happier that this looks like it might be resolved without me having to go to court, but my mind keeps circling back to Connor in his suit and what I plan to do to him when this is all over.
“Oh brother, you really are smitten, aren’t you?”
Heat creeps over my cheeks as I take another sip of my wine. “Sorry. I’m being ridiculous. I promise to pay attention.”
She chuckles and drains the rest of her club soda. “It’s okay. You’ve had a brutal day. We’re done here, anyway. I have a deposition in the morning. I’ll walk you to your rental.” She leaves a generous tip which makes me antsy I’m going to be footing this bill along with the others piling up. I still don’t know how I’m going to pay for all of this. The longer it drags on, the more my savings account dwindles.
Rebecca’s heels clip-clop down the sidewalk along with mine as I slide my handbag over my shoulder. “I’ll contact you the second I hear anything, but I’m hoping we can have this wrapped up by the end of the week.” I dig around in my purse for my keys and pull out the car keys the rental agency gave me. She pulls out her cell and dials. “You did great today. You kept your cool. Didn’t let him get to you. You’re a great study.”
I can’t find a smile when she walks away and starts talking legal speak to her assistant. With a weary sigh, I get in my car and pull the door closed and sit for a while. My new cell chirps and I groan. I’ve stopped answering numbers I don’t recognize. I know the digits of the phone Connor uses when he calls, and he hasn’t got a new cell yet, so I just let it go to voicemail. I put the borrowed car in drive, and swing out into traffic, not sure I’m ready to go home to an empty house just yet.
The wine is sitting in my empty stomach, so I swing by a drive through and order a burger. I reach out my hand to pay, and the girl’s bored expression switches immediately.
She nearly squeaks at me. “OMG. You’re the woman on TV.” Whatever professionalism she has crumples when her expression hardens. “Myers was my teacher senior year. I hope he rots in hell.”
I swallow, no longer hungry. “I’m sorry.”
A car horn beeps behind me, and the girl scowls. “I heard your boyfriend beat the shit out of him?” She grabs my sack of food and soda and hands them to me.
“Um, yeah. He did.”
The horn honks again, and the girl rolls her black-rimmed eyes. “Is the food for him?”
I shake my head. “He’s still being held in custody while I try to clear his name.”
The girl’s eyes pop. “You mean like, your boyfriend has been falsely accused?”
The car behind me honks twice, longer, and drawn out. I throw the food into the passenger seat and try to shove the drink in the cup holder and open my purse.
“Come on!” someone yells from behind.
I grab a card and hand it to her. “This is the number of my lawyer. She’s collecting the names of girls and women who are willing to lend their support so we can build a case against Rick Myers.”
She takes the card and stares at it. “I know a coup
le other girls who he felt up.” She extends her hand through the window. I have to stretch to clasp it, but she shakes it and bobs her head. “I’m Amber. Tell Connor he can eat for free as long as I keep working here.”
She tries to hand me my ten-dollar bill back, and I shake my head. “I don’t want you to get in trouble. I’ll be sure to tell Connor when I see him.” I wave and drive away, leaving my window down so my hair blows around my face and fills the rental with icy winter air.
I drive home with a smile on my face. Rick Myers may not go to jail for what he did to me, but justice is going to be served for the girls who weren’t so lucky to have Connor Slade around. My beach house is dark and cold when I arrive so I sit in the garage and eat my cold burger and fries, all in an attempt to delay going inside.
I stumble into the hallway, turning lights on as I go. With nothing else to do, I drag myself to where I keep my laptop and decide to wade through all the emails I’ve been receiving. By the time I’ve read a third, some of which are critical, my eyes are blurry. I delete the vindictive ones written anonymously and take my time replying to the kind ones who sympathize and tell me to stay strong.
There are several emails from women’s magazines. Half seem to think I’m a heroine and want to share my story so that I can empower women and warn of the dangers of date rape. The other half are trashy magazines who all want to interview me and sensationalize my weekend with a hot ex-con, also in the guise of empowering women.
One magazine is willing to pay for any additional nude photos of Connor or myself. I delete that one and all the others until I see a subject line with a bunch of seemingly random emojis including a monkey, a pair of shoes, and a dollar sign. I’m curious, so I click on it and hope it’s not a virus.
Ms. Jones,
By now, you’ll have a dozen emails asking you for your story. They’ll all be saying the same thing. We think you’re great; we think this story will resonate with our readers, blah, blah.
You seem like a smart woman, so I’m going to be straight with you. You are pretty much a Playboy pin-up, and Connor is the epitome of manhood. Put you two on a cover, and I can probably afford to pay off my house and go buy that pair of shoes I’ve been wanting to buy for a decade.
I can’t match all the offers you receive; we’re a small operation, and my staff are basically trained monkeys, but they love what they do, and they work for peanuts to put together a bloody great paper if I do say so myself.
I can offer you $5,000 for the exclusive distribution rights to your first interview without having to sell a kidney or put another mortgage on my house.
We attached the contract for you and your lawyer to peruse.
If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to contact me so I can at least tell the monkey’s I tried to get you.
Cherie White
Editor in Chief
Sanctuary South News
I don’t know why, but I start to laugh so hard my stomach muscles start to ache. I grab my cell and call Rebecca to see if I can reply.
“I was about to call you. I’ve been on the phone, and we have a verbal settlement. I’m on my way to the office.”
My own news slides away at the enormity of what she’s saying sinks in. “He dropped the charges against Connor?”
“Yep. And we’re looking at damages.”
My blood runs cold. “What?”
I can hear muffled voices. “I think we can get a reasonable amount out of him.”
I stare at the screen and the sum I’ve been offered. “How much is reasonable?”
“Well, I don’t want to talk it up before I get some numbers in front of his lawyer, but I think we’re in the range of 50K. Possibly more. I think some of his money is tied up in trust funds for his kids, but he has assets he can liquidate.” I’m so stunned I can’t speak. “Evelyn? You still there? I’ll need your signature on a couple things so we can move forward. I’ll start high and work backward ‘til he gets close.”
My stomach starts to churn. Kids. He has kids. “I don’t want his money. His kids shouldn’t be punished for this.”
Rebecca is quiet. “Is that what you want?”
I stare at the screen and nod even though she can’t see me. “It is.”
“Okay, then. I’ll have everything waiting for you to sign tomorrow first thing. I’ll put in a call to Connor’s lawyer and tell him the good news.”
I smile. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I hang up and stare at the screen for a couple seconds before I reply. When her reply comes back almost instantly, I chuckle and leave her message blinking on the screen while I go open a beer.
Looking forward to working with you.
Seriously, anything to get those shoes.
Cherie
Chapter 15.
Connor
Wednesday 11pm
I’m half dozing in my grey, depressing room in the halfway house when a text comes in on my new phone. I rub my eyes as I open a message from Travis.
He dropped the charges and settled out of court. Apparently, a girl called Amber started a social media campaign with a hashtag.
I hate texting so I call him, and he answers immediately. “Oh, you’re up? Wasn’t sure.”
“What happens now? When can I get out of here?”
I can hear him shuffling papers, then he chuckles. “You’ve made quite the impact. There are GIF’s being made with your mug shot. I’ll send you a funny meme that’s being passed around so you can see for yourself.”
I nearly growl down at the phone at him. “I don’t need to see that; I just want to know when I can get this stupid thing off my leg and get out of here.”
His tone changes to somber. “The halfway house is the closest thing to a home you have. That’s why your home detention has to be served there.”
My stomach knots at the reminder. “Yeah.”
“Of course, if you could prove you’re in a serious and permanent relationship, they’d consider allowing you to serve it out elsewhere.”
I rub my chin stubble. “It’s that easy?”
“I wouldn’t call it easy. It’ll take some doing, but as long as the homeowner has no criminal convictions and agrees to have sensors on the property and agrees to spot checks, drug tests, and you check in with Tessa, I think I can convince the court you don’t need to serve out your sentence in the HH.”
The idea is so incredibly tempting. “You sound like you’ve given this a lot of thought?”
Travis sighs. “I haven’t, but someone else thinks it’s a good idea—”
His voice goes faint before there’s a lot of muffled sounds, then a woman’s voice comes on the line. “Connor? It’s Tessa.”
I can almost hear Tessa’s smirk. “If we can get her on board, you might just serve out your parole sentence tucked up in a cozy beach house with a hot blonde.”
Travis’s voice is muffled. “Lucky son-of-a-bitch.”
I’m sure I hear a smacking sound and Travis’ protest before she asks me something I’ve been thinking way too much on over the last two days. “Is it serious enough to ask her?”
I sit up and stare at the grey wall. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is. She can come to your check-in on Friday. I just need to run it past my boss first. I’ll call him first thing.”
I shake my head. The parole department is hardly the place to talk for the first time. She’s been through enough. “Don’t call anyone—”
“And I’ll call her lawyer in the morning.”
The line goes dead.
A couple seconds goes by; then a text comes through from Travis’ number.
FYI I just read through Evelyn’s video transcript. Holy crap Connor.
She aced it.
Tessa
I should find that reassuring, but I’m more interested in the transcript of Evelyn’s video testimony I haven’t seen yet about the weekend I was missing. Technically Tessa didn’t need to see it. I’m it
ching to read what Evelyn said in my defense, so I flick Tessa a reply.
Can I get a copy sent here?
She doesn’t even bother to reply, just sends an attachment I’m not even sure I can read on my shitty phone. It takes an eternity to open the document. I sit up in bed and don’t bother to turn a light on as I scroll past all the formal introductions of Evelyn stating her name, address, and occupation until I get to the nitty-gritty. I’ve read enough of my own reports to know Evelyn’s answers are recorded by the stenographer and listed under the court reporter.
Court reporter: He asked me for help, so I took him back to my house.
Mr. Gunson: You weren’t afraid to take a stranger back to your house?
Court reporter: He gave me no reason to be afraid.
Mr. Gunson: Did he explain why he was on the beach?
Court reporter: He said he was in a boating accident.
Mr. Gunson: And you believed him?
Court reporter: Why wouldn’t I believe him? He was clearly injured, not to mention he was soaking wet, and he was on the beach.
Mr. Gunson: Still, a woman living alone with no neighbors close by, should anything go wrong...
Court reporter: Is that a question?
Mr. Gunson: No. It’s an observation.
Ms. Kelly: That is irrelevant.
Mr. Gunson: I’m merely trying to establish Ms. Jones’s state of mind on the weekend in question.
The Court: Mr. Gunson is this leading to a question?
Mr. Gunson: Yes, your Honor, I was going to ask Ms. Jones if she intended to call the police.
Court reporter: I couldn’t call anyone. He was bleeding to death, and I couldn’t use my cell phone to reach anyone.
Mr. Gunson: But did you even try to call anyone?
Court reporter: I told you. He was bleeding. By the time I realized I needed help, the storm had started.