Dangerous Consequences

by Lisa Renee Johnson

  “Mrs. White, let’s be real. If you suspect your husband is cheating, you and I both know the odds are that he is. But if you need concrete proof, hire a private investigator,” he said, giving her the business card.

  A private investigator? Of course. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

  “Call that number. I’m sure Holsey will be able to help you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling awkwardly and shaking his free hand.

  “Now, once you get the proof you need, make sure you come back here and let me help you with your divorce.” He grinned. “But between now and then, remember your husband doesn’t know you came to see me today and I suggest you keep it that way.”

  When she’d reentered the reception area, the receptionist sat in horror as a sea of decapitated action figures littered the floor. She’d scolded the boys more times than she could remember about taking better care of their toys. Those figures cost money.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Don’t worry, Mommy,” Terrance, the older twin said. “We were just playing a game. We can fix them again. Look.”

  Joi looked on as the twins struggled vainly to reattach a head to a body. Sweat began to bead on their foreheads. She glanced back at the receptionist and smiled.

  The younger twin said, “I can do it, Mommy. I’ve done it before.”

  “That’s not the point, Taylor. You shouldn’t have pulled their heads off in the first place.”

  “It’s not my fault; they were trying to kill Thor,” he said.

  His expression was so adorably earnest; it was a struggle for her not to laugh.

  With a newfound direction, Joi was relieved as she left the law office. She fastened the boys in their booster seats and couldn’t wait a moment longer to use her cell phone to dial the number listed on the business card. She stood outside the SUV.

  “Curtis Holsey,” a voice said in a smoker’s baritone.

  “Uh, Mr. Holsey, I was referred to you by my attorney, Chase Morgan. I’d like to hire you for some personal business—”

  “I charge a five-thousand-dollar retainer and I don’t give refunds—”

  “Five thousand dollars? What do I get for that kind of money?”

  “Peace of mind and answers to your questions,” he said, his voice scratchy and hoarse. “Before I begin work on your case, I need the retainer in cash, a picture of who you want investigated, his vehicle license plate number, and the address where he works. Can you meet me this afternoon?”

  “Hold on a second, let me check my calendar.” Joi paused, thoughts flashing through her head. There was no way she could access that kind of cash without Tyrese questioning her about it. She could borrow it from her brother, but that would take a few days. Suddenly, an idea popped into her head. She would take the money out of their savings account, and when Tyrese asked, she’d say her mother couldn’t pay her property taxes and needed a loan.

  “Call me back when you’re serious,” he croaked into the phone.

  “No, wait! Can you meet me in Concord in an hour?” she asked, still hoping to make her eleven o’clock Aspire Pilates class.

  “Meet me at the Willows Shopping Center, in the front lot closest to Claim Jumper. I’ll be in a dark blue Toyota Corolla.”

  A little over an hour had passed when Joi turned her Mercedes G Wagon into the Willows Shopping Center parking lot. She’d dropped the boys at preschool, stopped at the bank to withdraw the cash, and made a quick stop at home to grab the items Holsey had requested. She immediately spotted the navy-blue Toyota Corolla, parked a few spaces away, and approached with caution. When she reached the driver’s side window, a pair of pale-blue eyes looked up, eyeballing her all over. He was holding a camera and beckoned her toward the passenger seat.

  “Get in,” he barked.

  Clutching her tote bag, Joi reluctantly moved around the car. This wasn’t at all what she’d expected. Curtis Holsey had dishwater-brown hair and leathery, worn skin, and his shoulders were hunched forward, making his back look like he was hiding something under his shirt. When she opened the passenger door the seat was littered with empty coffee cups before Holsey swept them to the floor. A stained cloth seat stared back at her. Her apprehensions grew. Who knew what dangers awaited her in this man’s car? What if he was a murderer? Then she remembered he’d been referred to her by an attorney and she relaxed. If this man could help her get actual proof that Tyrese was cheating, this was worth it. She eased into the seat but left the door slightly ajar.

  “I’m Joi White. I think my husband is cheating on me,” she said, coughing from the overpowering smell of second-hand cigarette smoke.

  “Well, who else would you be? Did you bring the stuff I requested?” He raised the camera and aimed it at the Hilton Hotel across the street. His stubby right index finger pressed the button and snapped a picture.

  Without letting the tote bag out of her grasp, Joi reached inside and pulled out a manila envelope. “Everything is right here. The pictures of Tyrese, his license plate number, where he works. All the items you asked me to bring. Are you going to follow him and take pictures?”

  “The money?” Holsey questioned, never moving his gaze away from the camera lens or bothering to answer her last question.

  “Yeah, I have that, too,” she said, fishing out the size-ten envelope that contained fifty crisp $100 bills. She extended the money in his direction.

  “Place the envelope in my glove compartment,” he said before he snapped another picture.

  Joi opened the glove box and stared at several other size-ten envelopes, all matching hers in size. She reluctantly placed hers on top, then gently closed the glove box, careful not to disturb the ashtray full of cigarettes and ashes. She stared at the disheveled man, her curiosity getting the better of her.

  “Are you really a private detective?” Joi asked, actually sounding vaguely interested.

  Holsey looked away from the camera and made eye contact with her for the first time. His beady eyes, now ice-blue, unnerved her. He nodded. “Pays the bills and besides, I’m only spying on the bad guys . . . and girls,” he said, focusing his attention back toward the hotel.

  Joi anxiously looked down at her watch. “I have to go,” she said, fully opening the car door. She hesitated before she placed her feet on the asphalt and then turned to look at him. “Will you call me?”

  “Is the number you called me from earlier a good one to reach you?” he responded, still focused on his task at hand.

  Joi nodded.

  “Well, if your husband is doing anything—and I mean anything at all—I’ll get you what you need to nail the son of a bitch.”

  Joi exited the Corolla, pleased by his last response. She prayed that beneath the cigarette-hazed exterior, the man who looked like he was the one who should be followed was sincere in his promise and closed the car door behind her.

  CHAPTER 12

  By the time Sydney made it to the front of the security line at the Oakland International Airport, she was willing herself not to panic. In thirty minutes her flight was scheduled to depart from gate twenty-nine, and if she missed it, she wouldn’t make the Chicago Bulls basketball game. She handed the TSA agent her boarding pass and identification, then waited impatiently while he performed the verification. The car service had picked her up a half hour earlier than recommended; otherwise, curb service or not, there’d be no way she’d make this flight to Chicago.

  After passing through the metal detector and reclaiming her belongings, Sydney hurried toward the departure gate like she was running the Nike Women’s Marathon. When she arrived at the gate, she was confused by the lack of passengers boarding but relaxed when the gate agent told her the flight had been delayed about twenty minutes. She slipped into the ladies’ room to freshen up. When she returned to the gate, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Donathan’s number.

  He’d come home late last night, after she’d gone to bed, and had left this morning at the crack of dawn. It w
as ridiculous that she lived in the same house with Donathan but, over the last few days, the only way she could actually have a conversation with him was to call him on his cell phone. She walked over to the window, gazed out at the sea of airplanes parked at the gates, and listened as the phone rang and rang. She checked her watch. This was the time he usually left the radio station for his office, but he left a note saying he was having breakfast with his mother before work. Her call went immediately to voice mail and she was about to leave him a very nasty message but thought better of it and ended the call. At that very moment she decided there was no reason for her to wallow in negative thoughts because of Donathan’s unusual behavior. He was acting strange, but maybe he really was just under the weather. Whatever it was, she refused to let it keep her in a foul mood. The truth was she was on her way to Chicago and her plan was to have a good time.

  As soon as Sydney boarded the airplane, she noticed a white woman with piercing blue eyes and strawberry-blond hair waving to her. Shit, Sydney thought, taking a deep breath as she staggered toward the waving woman. It was Julia Stevens, a colleague of hers. The last thing she wanted to do was sit next to chatty Julia on a four-hour flight to Chicago. She was seated near the window, looking as if she’d just stepped out of the pages of InStyle magazine. She wore a crisp white button-down, starched khakis, and patent leather loafers.

  “Sydney, darling, I saw you step into the ladies’ room, so I took the liberty of reserving you a seat. I hope you don’t mind,” Julia said. She placed an elongated white capsule in her mouth and chased it with bottled water. She returned the cap back to the water bottle and fished around in her carry-on bag, which rested on the middle seat.

  “That was an antihistamine,” Julia said, neatly tying a silk scarf around a travel pillow. “Whenever I fly, I get these terrible sinus pressure headaches. The good news is the antihistamine works wonders. The bad news is it puts me into an immediate sleep coma.”

  “Well, I’m sure you’d prefer sleep over a headache,” Sydney said, excited to learn this little arrangement might not be so bad after all. She took the aisle seat, removed her book, and slid her bag beneath the seat in front of her.

  “Absolutely.” Julia yawned. “I was up half the night packing, which I used to do purposely so I’d be able to sleep on the plane. But now with the pill I don’t have to worry about sleep. I guess old habits die hard,” Julia said, sliding her carry-on under the seat in front of her. She fluffed the silk-covered pillow, pulled a satin mask over her eyes, and shifted her body to rest against the covered airplane window. “Wake me when we land in the Windy City,” she said, and then pulled a cashmere blanket up over her shoulders.

  After buckling herself in, Sydney stared at the cover of the erotic novel she’d started reading a few days before. She’d found herself craving the story like the sexual addiction of the woman she was reading about. In fact, the things they did in Pleasure aroused her so much she’d masturbated three times over the course of the past few days. Sydney realized it was only partly because of the hot-and-sensual content on almost every page; it was also the lack of sexual activity between her and Donathan. They hadn’t had sex in almost a week, which was highly unusual.

  Sick or not, she felt there was something going on. She shook her head and fought off the feeling of dread threatening to alter her mood again. Not more than fifteen minutes ago she’d vowed to let this go, and here it was creeping up again. She pressed her back into the seat, opened the book, and vowed once again to deal with Donathan and his nonsense when she returned.

  * * *

  Donathan sat behind his glass-topped desk, trying to mask his distress. It had been two days since he’d left the first message on Austyn’s voice mail and, to his chagrin, many more had followed. He still hadn’t heard from her. He sifted through the patient files, stopping at the name that matched the one listed next on his schedule, and scooped the others back into a disheveled pile. He’d only seen one patient this morning, but he hadn’t been able to concentrate. A light rap at the slightly ajar door was followed by his receptionist, Elaine, poking her head in. He looked at her, then back to the file in front of him.

  “Yes?”

  “Dr. James, there’s a woman out here named Austyn Greene to see you. She doesn’t have an appointment but insists you’ll see her. I told the young woman we were very busy today and I’d be happy to make her an appointment for tomorrow, but she won’t take no for an answer—”

  Donathan nodded, his nerves momentarily soothed by this development. Finally he could put this madness to rest. He wanted to jump up and give Elaine a high-five. His little problem had found her way to him. It didn’t get any better than that. He stood and adjusted his gabardine slacks.

  “I’ll see Ms. Greene now. Send her in.”

  A few seconds later Donathan greeted Austyn at the door. He grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into his office, closing the door behind her.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he said, his voice angry and low.

  Austyn tossed her head back and laughed. “Well, I thought you’d be happy to see me and I guess I was right because this rough shit is turning me the fuck on,” she purred and held his eyes. “If you want me to, I can just go away and—”

  Donathan couldn’t believe she had the audacity to glide into his office like nothing had happened. But he needed to get a hold of himself. “Have a seat,” he said before he released her arm and watched her turn on her leopard-print platforms and saunter toward the leather sofa. His eyes lingered on the skin-tight pencil skirt palming her ass and cursed at himself for noticing. Austyn seated herself, crossed her legs, and stared up at him. After a few minutes of intense stares, he took a seat opposite her in his wingback chair.

  “Am I making you nervous?” she flirted.

  Hell yeah, he was nervous, Donathan thought, but he didn’t say it out loud. With Austyn he believed he would learn a lot more from listening than he would from talking.

  She gave him a daring look. “Well, they say sex is the best way to ruin a friendship. I hope it didn’t mess up ours.”

  Donathan cleared his throat and responded in an even tone. “So we had sex?”

  “Of course we did, silly.” She giggled and paused for a beat. “What? You don’t remember?”

  “Unfortunately, thanks to you, I don’t. What did you use to drug me?”

  Austyn stiffened. “Drug is such a harsh word. I just helped you relax a little. I thought your memory might be a problem, which is the reason I sent you the pictures. I know you couldn’t see your face in those shots, but I have others—”

  Others? What the hell did she mean? Donathan tried to get a read on her so he could decide what angle to take, but it was hard because he didn’t know her well enough. He knew better than to believe the only reason for the pictures was to make sure he remembered. And he was also clear that, no matter what she said, she definitely had a reason for the other pictures. He just needed to find out what that reason was.

  “What can I do for you, Austyn?” he said, leaning back in the leather chair, allowing it to envelope him in a familiar way that seemed to give him an unconscious power. He rested his hands in his lap, and for the first time since she’d arrived relaxed a bit.

  Austyn shifted and threw him a stony stare. “That’s what you should have asked on Saturday night.” After a moment of hesitation, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began, “I keep having this dream. At first, I’m running down this dark alley and my clothes are being ripped from my body by a bunch of faceless men. I hear their voices calling out to me, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I just keep running. Then the dream shifts and I’m in this large room, involved in explicit sexual acts with strange men.”

  Austyn moaned and cupped her breasts.

  Donathan was taken aback. He was unsure whether she was serious or if this was a part of her sick game. He picked up his notepad from the side table and decided to play along, as if he w
ere talking to one of his patients.

  “Is there anyone you recognize in these dreams?”

  He watched her brow furrow while she tumbled through her thoughts, recounting the details of her story in her head.

  “I-I don’t know. There’s also a woman . . . I can hear her laughing at me, but I can’t see who she is. She’s trying to punish me.” Austyn whimpered, tiny beads of sweat now visible on her forehead.

  It was hard for him to stay focused. On one hand, he wanted to psychoanalyze her, but flashes of the naked pictures she’d sent to him made Donathan cringe. All he wanted to do was wrap his fingers around her neck and choke the shit out of her, but he didn’t, simply because he knew it wouldn’t do a bit of good. He had to find out what she wanted from him and give it to her so he could get those pictures. He continued to play along a bit to see where it might lead him.

  He cleared his throat. “Who’s trying to punish you?”

  “I-I don’t know who she is,” Austyn stammered, fear evident in her voice. “She’s been after me since I was twelve.”

  “Who has been after you?” he questioned, the professional in him telling him her confessions were sounding more like real trauma and not made up, as he’d thought a few minutes before.

  “I told you, I don’t know. When the dreams first started, I used to fight and scream more when the men were touching me, but as I’ve grown older, I’ve hungered for them.”

  Donathan scanned his mental Rolodex, trying to find any similarities from previous cases that resembled this situation. He drew a blank. He’d seen instances where young women acted out sexually when they’d been raped, but he wasn’t sure yet if that was the case with Austyn.

  Everything about her was tense now. Her fidgeting fingers twisted the hem of her black skirt, drawing attention to her slender bare legs, which were now crossed at the ankles. She had only been in his office for ten minutes and he could tell there was a lot going on. He scribbled again on his notepad, observed her face, which was twisted, as if she was having an out-of-body experience.