by Lorenzo, DD
Dr. Rhodes settled his notepad on his lap and placed his elbows on the chair, clasping his hands together.
“So…” he said, waiting for the details. “How are the two of you? Are you getting together—back together—what?”
The prideful countenance fell from Declan’s face.
“We’re not back together yet. There are…complications.”
His evasiveness set the tone for the remainder of the session. He knew he was in for an interrogation. There was no way Dr. Rhodes was letting that comment slip by without a list of questions.
“Complications?” the doctor asked. “What happened? Did she think that she made a mistake?”
The doctor got his answer by the look of shock on Declan’s face.
“No. Yes—well, not really. It’s complicated,” he answered, and ran his hand over his face, settling back and crossing his leg uncomfortably. “Oh, hell! Just let me explain the whole thing.”
Dr. Rhodes chuckled low, sitting back himself.
“That would be good.”
Pushing up the sleeves of his sweater, Declan grinned and shook his head.
“How the hell do you do that?” he asked. “Make me feel like a kid in the principal’s office?”
The doctor laughed in response.
Declan continued, trying to explain.
“I went to Hawaii for work. A mutual friend of mine and Aria’s also went for the same reason. To make a long story short, what I didn’t know was that she asked Aria and another friend to come with her. One night, we ran into each other at a party and things got, well, a little heated,” he said, slightly embarrassed. “So…Aria and I did connect in Hawaii—really connect—emotionally and physically. The next morning, we started to talk about serious things. I wanted to tell her how I felt, how I wanted us to mend things—for us to be together again. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry and that I thought we could work things out—if she wanted to—but I need a little time to put some things in order. It started out okay…”
He paused, looking out the window, tight-lipped and shaking his head. Dr. Rhodes jumped in to assist, encouraging Declan to continue.
“But…”
“But there’s this woman—Marisol…”
A harsh tone entered Declan’s voice and he suddenly became serious.
Directing his gaze straight at Dr. Rhodes, he said the next words with one breath.
“The thing is…we think she may have killed my sister-in-law…She may still be a threat and I don’t want her to hurt Aria—so I need to keep a bit of distance between us right now.”
Dr. Rhodes said nothing. He waited for the words to settle, and for Declan to regain control of his thoughts.
When a few moments had passed, Declan was the first to speak.
“Say something!”
“Alright,” Dr. Rhodes began. “If you think this woman committed murder, why haven’t you gone to the police?” he simply asked.
An edge of sarcasm hinted in Declan’s reply.
“Gee. I don’t know why my brother and I didn’t think of that,” he said, giving the doctor a cocky look.
He continued, expecting the doctor would be against their plan.
“We’re letting Marisol think she has a good relationship with me, and that Aria and I aren’t getting back together. Look, I know this woman, Doc. She’s into me. I have to let her think that I’m into her too. If she was involved in Lacey’s death, eventually she’ll want to tell me about it. I don’t want to put Aria in her crazy ass way. She’s already put up with enough hurt from her.” He glared at Dr. Rhodes. “You, of all people, with all the shit I’ve told you, know how much hurt that actually is.”
Declan waited for the doctor’s overreaction to his, Carter, and Blake’s plan, but he was amazingly silent.
“So?” Declan prodded. “I’m waiting.”
“What do you expect me to say, Dec?” Dr. Rhodes asked. “It sounds like you have a plan, and you have your brother supporting you.”
“…and a friend,” he interjected.
“…and a friend.” The doctor continued. “…and if I remember correctly, isn’t your brother a cop?” he said in a semi-supportive tone, not waiting for an answer to the rhetorical question. “I also have to say, your plan is self-sacrificing—it puts your needs last. I have to admit, I’m impressed,” he said, surprising Declan. “A few months ago, you were pretty self-centered. It sounds like you’re looking out for your brother—and for Aria. I’d say that’s positive progress.”
Although he didn’t shock easily, at the moment, Declan was speechless. He was mentally prepared for a challenge. Adrenaline was steadily flowing, and in the absence of a verbal conflict, he did something unexpected—he burst into laughter.
Dr. Rhodes began to laugh as well.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“You. This. All of this.” Declan continued laughing, waving his hands in front of him, but more subdued. “I might have changed, but so have you, Doc.”
“Really?” Dr. Rhodes asked, a bit of confusion frowning his thick eyebrows.
“Yes,” he answered. “It’s the first time you didn’t handle me with kid gloves—like I had a handicap. You didn’t tell me to consider how it would affect me or make me feel, or consider my emotions—all that crap. You just treated me like a man.”
The doctor shrugged his shoulders, his salt and pepper hair hitting his collar.
“I’m still going to tell you to be careful, Declan, but I’m always here if you need to talk about anything,” he said, assuring him.
That was something Declan had come to rely on…
She had arrived without inconvenience. The directions to this particular property were competent and without incident. The driveway was very long and the route lightly trafficked. Of all the properties she’d had Mr. Dietz purchase for her, this one was the most perfect in her mind.
Marisol insisted on visiting each property after its acquisition, walking through the building to see if that particular space would meet her need. Her tolerance and patience had served her well in this regard, and the structure that met all of her desired requirements had finally presented itself for purchase. The irony was that Aria had amended and refined the exact setting of her own demise. This made Marisol smile poisonously, delighting in the hostile images that came to her mind of how she’d exact her retribution on Aria. Once she had disposed of her, Declan would be crushed, and any hope for the two of them would be gone. He’ll think Aria had abandoned him. Of course he’d then turn to her for comfort, and she’d take complete control of him—physically and emotionally. She’d demand that he live with her if he wanted relief and consolation—she’d tell him it was for his own good.
What man wouldn’t want me?
She fixated on the rush of physical pleasure at the image of manipulating them both.
It was perfect—at least, for this purpose. This was the location. That was, after all, what she had come to expect, wasn’t it? Perfection. Nothing more, nothing less, and it pleased her. An ocean view because he liked it, seclusion because she did. It wasn’t an enormous house, but would be adequate for her needs; she truly didn’t consider his. She had only picked the ocean view house due to the seclusion, and she could make him believe that she chose it for him. It was all an illusion, really—as were most things for her accommodation.
The furnishings had arrived earlier in the week. She didn’t inconvenience herself for their arrival—there were people who handled that sort of thing—and she hated mingling with those that didn’t matter. Money took care of them and what they did to suit her.
As she walked from room to room, she took in some of the mediocre choices she had made—all for his taste—so she could achieve her ultimate goal—him.
How did that beach bitch ever stand the look of this shit? she thought as she wrinkled her nose in distaste at the overstuffed sofa and chairs in the living room. It was a bit more elegant a display than was in Declan’s hom
e. Of course it would be—she was Marisol Franzi! Her taste was much better than Declan’s or his former plaything. That was evident to even the most mundane decorator.
Walking through the kitchen, she snickered at the coffeemaker, thinking it almost blasé.
Did he never think of cappuccino, espresso? Did the man even remember he had been all over the world?
The kitchen looked adequate enough, but no matter, she wouldn’t be there long enough to think about it—and she certainly didn’t cook! The idea was appalling.
As her stiletto heels made a clicking sound on the shiny hardwood stairs, Marisol ascended as a queen in a kingdom. The master bedroom suite at the top of the stairs held a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean, its iniquitous waters as black as the void in her soul. The dark night sky held not a single star, to spare her a flicker of hope in her malevolent beauty. An imposing full moon cast a sinister light into the room. It beckoned her to walk up to the large window, which could be seen from the massive bed, the wood expertly carved in the four posters.
“Oh…the things you will see me do, Mr. Moon…” she said suggestively as she reached up, first one arm, then the other, behind her to unzip her dress.
Letting it fall to the floor, Marisol made her way to the bed and crawled like a cat into the middle of its grand size as a contemptible shadow followed her from the window.
Lying there, she stared out at the moon, reveling in the knowledge that she could hear nothing but the objectionable ocean, and that no one would be able to hear the screams and moans that would come from this house. The thoughts that crossed her mind gave her the most delicious sensation running through her veins. She closed her eyes to savor the mental pictures. She had been tolerant, compliant, and even passive until she felt she would scream, but for this she had planned every small detail. She shivered with the intensity of joy that flooded her, knowing that her efforts would not be in vain, and the time was coming soon. She’d finally get what she had planned and waited for. Nothing—and no one—could stop her. No one ever could.
When she had come to this country, and she, Marisol—THE supermodel—was created, they told her she’d never want for anything again—and they didn’t know how right they were.
She was invincible.
She had conquered everything.
She was a vencedor—a winner!
…and her plans would begin with the two of them in this house…
“What do you mean by you’re in love with her, but you can’t be with her?” Jeannie words slayed him as she slowly and forcefully pronounced each one with a machete-like slice. “You promised me that you wouldn’t hurt her again.”
For the first time in his life, Declan understood with complete clarity what people were talking about when they said mothers were like a lioness protecting her cubs. Jeannie wasn’t a large woman by any definition, yet the anger she projected in his direction caused a sizeable lump to form in his throat.
“I’m in love with her. I’m positive of that, and I think she loves me—but you can’t tell her,” he said, pleading with her.
This was going to be harder than he thought.
“Stop being so cryptic!” she said hatefully. “Spit it out, Declan! If you’re going to play games with my daughter, then I’ll leave here right now. I’ll find her and I’ll tell her myself that you’re no good for her. I’ll use any influence I have as her mother to persuade her to stay away from you to insure that she doesn’t get hurt—again.”
Her aggravation had peaked to a monumental level.
His concern was that she’d do exactly as she said, so he made a decision to reveal more to her than he had planned.
“Jeannie, you have to trust me,” he said.
Registering disbelief at the arrogance of his statement, she shook her head at him and rose to leave.
“Oh, no I don’t!” she said.
He quickly stood, blocking her way.
She looked up at him, furious, and said in a stern voice, “Move out of my way, Declan, or no matter how big you think you are, I’ll move you myself!”
“Jeannie, please sit down,” he pleaded. “I’ll explain as much as I can…as much as I feel is safe.”
Bewildered with his last words, she held her purse to her and backed up to the chair, gently sitting down.
“Talk,” she directed, skepticism written over her face.
“Do you remember my sister-in-law, Lacey?” he asked.
“Of course I do,” she briskly said. “What does she have to do with you and Aria? She loved Aria.”
Declan nodded his head. “You’re right; she did. Listen, Jeannie”—He paused, not quite sure how to explain, so he just spit it out—“Carter and I think Marisol might have been involved in Lacey’s death.”
He saw the air leave Jeannie’s body in unison with the color that drained from her face.
“Oh my God…” she said, dumbstruck.
Barely a moment passed and she lifted her eyes, realization mixed with panic and they both hit her simultaneously. She looked up at Declan, clarity beginning to seep, and he saw fear in her eyes.
“Do you think she’d hurt Aria?” she asked him with panic in her voice.
He reached across the table for her hands. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to take the chance until I know if she was involved in running Lacey down or not. I have to do whatever I need to do to keep Aria safe.”
Overwhelmed with fear that her daughter could be in danger, and indignation that Marisol could disrupt so many lives, Jeannie was at a loss for words and struggled with her emotions.
Never taking his hand from hers, Declan saw her concern going out of control with all sorts of imagined scenarios.
“Jeannie,” he said reassuringly, “I do love her—am in love with her. It might take a little more time, but I’d rather wait to have her back in my life forever, when I’m sure that she’s safe, than take the small chance that Marisol could be capable of murder.”
Jeannie’s eyes shot to his in terror.
“It’s just a chance. The police don’t have any evidence.”
“Then why? What would make you believe—” she asked, but he cut her off.
“I don’t know, but my brother believes it. He has a photograph of a woman who—I have to admit—looks a lot like Marisol. She rented a car on the day that Lacey was killed. A car hit Lacey—left her for dead in the road. This woman in the picture turned in a washed car, with a dented front end, saying that she hit a deer. She paid cash to the rental car company to have the damage repaired. The rental company was small, and the car was fixed before any further investigation could be done. It’s a small town, so no one put the two things together—but it’s possible.”
His explanation sufficed. Jeannie wasn’t happy about his method, but she was content in his desire to have Aria remain safe and protected.
“Are you going to make a public spectacle out of this farce of a relationship with this woman? Just know that, if you do, I won’t have Aria crushed again. I will tell her everything that you’ve just told me. I won’t keep anything from her if it means having her hurt.” She was adamant in her resolve.
“No. There will be no public displays of affection. You won’t see me hanging all over her. It’ll be the way it is now. The same way that the press has always spun stories of the two of us. Aria was used to that, so she wouldn’t think anything was out of the ordinary.”
He tried to console her further, to convince her that he had Aria’s best interest at heart.
“Marisol thinks she has a chance of getting closer to me—she’s always wanted to. She likes the way it looks in the tabloids, and she likes to think that she’s won. She looks at Aria as competition for me, my attention, and my affection. She hasn’t made any secret of her dislike for Aria. I can’t take the chance of putting Aria as closely as I’d like her to be—especially if Marisol is guilty of murder—and have Aria possibly be on the wrong side of her. Right now, Marisol thinks that Aria and I a
re through. I’d rather keep it that way—at least for a while.” He looked tortured.
“That’s an understatement,” Jeannie said.
Declan laughed at her comment and she shot him an icy look.
“At first, I was letting her into my life, not knowing she was spinning her lies. Then, as my memory returned, I’d been letting her get comfortable to watch and see what her game was. She’s been operating in my ‘inner-circle,’ so to speak, with my friend, Blake and incorporating herself at The Studio with my work. When Carter told me of his suspicions, it all just seemed to fall in naturally with this plan,” he explained.
“We—Carter, Blake, and I—seem to think that if we give her enough rope, she’ll hang herself. Eventually,” he continued, looking at her hopefully, “she’ll slip up and disclose something to incriminate herself. At that point, Carter—and the law—will take over, and I’m presuming, I’ll get my life back—with Aria.”
Jeannie studied his face. He was walking into a dangerous situation, yet she could find no indication of reservation in his features. The maternal instinct within her rose up, and compelled her to insure that he not trivialize the circumstance he was presenting for himself.
“Why, Declan?” she asked. “I need to know why.”
The answer was important. It was imperative for Jeannie to understand his motives. At one time, Aria suspected his priorities were becoming money and publicity. She had to assure herself that her concerns were unfounded.
“Because it could be my fault,” he solemnly said.
Giving Jeannie a tender look, she could see no hint of manipulation or exaggeration as he took her hands into his. She knew from the tone of his voice that Aria, and his brother, were his primary concern.
“Marisol has caused misery to people that I love. If it’s true, Jeannie, if she hit Lacey and left her to die, it’s on me. I was the one who brought Marisol into everyone’s lives”—his intentions becoming clearer with his smile—“and I’d like to be the one to take her out…”