by T. E. Black
“We received a statement from the district attorney appointed to this case a few moments ago. He reassured us justice will be served for this woman’s death. He also assured us that while Rook Wallace was brought in for questioning, he is not being charged with any crimes at this time.”
“Oh my God.”
“Ryleigh,” Trent whispers, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.
The simplest gesture from him is enough to shatter me. The puzzle pieces of the situation click together. It crashes into me with a force no one would be able to bear.
I blink back tears while Trent nuzzles his face into the back of my hair. I want to thank him for his comfort, but I can't. I can't do anything. I can't speak. I can't feel. I can't move. I can't do this.
Ripping away from Trent, I dash back to the desk, I’m full of blind panic. They, everyone, is wrong. My Rook would never do something like that. Mac and Trent are trying to calm me, but it’s not working. I’m blocking them out. I have one thing on my mind, and I need to do it before I lose my shit entirely.
I grab my purse, turn it over, and shake everything out onto the desk.
I need my phone.
I have to call him.
I have to make sure he's okay.
“Where is it!” I cry, swiping through the pile of stuff, mixing some of it into the paperwork and sending more of it to the floor.
“Ry, your phone isn't in there.” Mac and Trent have moved to opposite sides of the desk. It’s as if they are both prepared to corner me if I try to run from the room.
“Here, call him, Ry. I'm assuming that's what you're trying to do.” Mac takes a step closer, holding my phone out to me.
“You have his fucking number?” Trent asks in disbelief.
“Yes. I have his number and don't give me shit for it right now, Trent. I'm serious. I can't deal with all this and you at the same time. So if you wanna start shit about me having your brother’s number, do it another time. You got it?”
Trent and I stare each other down, and now, not only am I worried, I'm pissed off. He needs to drop it.
He's not my concern now.
His brother is.
Trent breaks the staring contest first, moves forward, snatches my phone out of Mac’s grasp, and slaps it into my hand.
“Just fucking call him, Ryleigh. We’ll talk about it later,” he snaps before walking out of the office.
As he slams the door, I look to Mac, who's giving me a halfhearted smile. With a silent nod from him, I know he'll do damage control with Trent. He'll calm him down before shit gets out of hand between the two of us.
“I got him, Ry. Just call Rook and make sure he's all right.”
“Thank you.” It’s all I can give him as I stand on the edge of tears and fury.
He moves toward me and places a kiss on my forehead.
“Don't mention it, sweetheart. Let me know what Rook says.”
He pulls away and leaves the office. With both Mac and Trent gone, I clutch my phone in my hands so it doesn't slip away from me.
“Get it together, Ryleigh,” I chant reassuringly.
Pulling up the phone screen, my fingers hover over Rook’s name. I've never been so nervous to call him in my life, but I need to. I don't need to hear his voice because I still love him.
I need to hear his voice so I know he's okay.
Chapter Ten
Rook
The bright light beating down on my skin makes me drip with sweat. I've never been so damn uncomfortable as I am now.
“Mr. Wallace.” The detective clears his throat from across the table. “Let’s go over the details one more time.”
Gritting my teeth, I spit out, “We’ve gone over them five times already, detective. Nothing’s changed since five minutes ago.”
The cookie-cutter cliché of a man looks me up and down disapprovingly before shuffling his notes around on the table. “You said you knew the victim, yes?”
“Yes. I knew Lauren.”
“And you were having a sexual relationship with the victim although she was married?”
“Lauren. Her name is … was … Lauren. Her name is Lauren,” I correct.
He throws me a hardened glance before ignoring me altogether. “You were having an affair with the victim?”
“Where’s this going?” I clip, agitated. “This wasn’t part of the questions last time you asked.”
“Just making sure every detail is clarified, Mr. Wallace. It's instrumental to the investigation we don't miss anything. Even the smallest of things can crack a case wide open. Especially a murder case.”
“Excuse me? When did this become a murder investigation? I told you who smashed her head off a dumpster! Case closed!”
My breathing spikes ten notches, and the longer I sit in this damn room, the closer I am to exploding in fury. I told this man every single detail of Lauren’s death willingly. Even after giving that information, he still looks at me as if I'm the one who killed her. It should be clear as day to anyone who looks that I lost someone important, yet I'm still being treated like a criminal.
“If I recall, you said the victim’s husband was the one who killed her?”
If he calls her a victim one more time instead of saying her name, I'm going to lose it.
“Her name is Lauren and yes. Her husband, Mark Roche, grabbed her by the hair and hit her head off a dumpster. He killed her.”
“I see. And you were there by chance to call the proper authorities following her death?”
The doubt in his voice isn't reassuring at all. “I took a walk after winning my fight. I needed to clear my head. When I was walking back to the arena, I heard her arguing with her husband, who I didn't know she was staying married to, by the way. I didn't think he would grab her like that …”
I have to swallow down bile as a wave of nausea hits me out of left field. My stomach twists and turns, flopping with a mission of making me physically sick. I could've stopped him. I should've intervened the moment I saw them fighting.
“Was there a reason you needed air after winning your title fight moments before?” He asks with clear accusation in his tone.
“Shouldn’t you be questioning her husband?” I sneer with gritted teeth.
“Mr. Wallace, I can assure you that Mr. Roche is also being questioned in regards to his wife’s murder. This is an investigation, one with no current suspect. Right now, we are looking for answers.”
Calming myself on a deep inhale, I resume our conversation. “Lauren and I were having an argument before my fight, and she dropped a huge bomb on me. Yes, we got into an argument. That was all it was. That's the reason I left the arena in such a hurry.”
“So it didn't have anything to do with the argument you had with the victim a minute or two before you walked out of the emergency exit door? The argument that was caught on a security camera where you clearly pin the victim against the wall by the throat?”
“I’m sorry, detective. Did you even watch the tape? If you did, you clearly see us getting into an argument, but then you clearly see me fuck—”
The door slams open, cutting me off. “Don't answer another question, Rook!” I turn to find my attorney barreling through the door looking pissed as ever.
“All you criminal justice assholes are the same!” she snaps, slamming her briefcase down on the table. “First, you question my client without me present! Then to make matters worse, you force me to fill out a stack of bullshit paperwork in the lobby so you can have my client alone in a room!”
Josie Lehman is one of the best damn women to ever grace my presences. I knew they had to be keeping her out of here. She'd never leave me hanging out to dry.
“Ms. Lehman,” the detective greets dryly.
“Detective,” she comes back. “My client and I are leaving.”
“Not without—”
“Not without what?” she fires back. “My client isn’t under arrest, is he?”
The detective huffs out a breath. “
No, he is not. He is here for questioning.”
“Is my client a suspect?” Josie crosses her arms over her chest.
“We have footage from the arena, where moments before the death of Lauren Roche, your client, Mr. Wallace had a physical altercation with her.”
The look of disappointment on Josie’s face has me hanging my head in shame.
“Can you charge my client with anything at the moment?”
“This is absurd.” His words are mumbled as he glares at Josie.
“That is exactly what I thought,” she turns to me. “Let’s go, Mr. Wallace. I say you’re free to go.
Josie grabs my arm and her briefcase, pulling me toward the door and out in the hallway. I'm quick on her heels. I want to get out of here.
Lauren.
Dead.
Lauren is dead, and I watched it happen. I stood there as Mark killed her with one single blow to the head. I did absolutely nothing to stop him because I was pissed off about her lying. Although I had every right to be livid, I should've handled things differently. I'm not the type of man who condones any kind of violence when it comes to a woman, but I let heartbreak and anger cloud my vision. And if I thought my heart was broken before, it's shattered now. I need time to wrap my head around everything that's happened before I can focus on anything else.
I’m vaguely aware of Josie pushing open the door to the precinct and pulling me out in to the bright light of the afternoon.
Then, my world stops dead—tilts on another axis and stands still for a beat before twisting into a speed my brain can’t handle. Fast forward.
“I loved my wife. I have no idea why that monster would kill her. He was sleeping with her behind my back so I don't understand why he'd hurt her,” Mark says into a microphone.
“Mr. Roche, do you think Rook Wallace murdered your wife because he didn't want you two to reconcile?” someone shouts.
“Mr. Roche, tell us about your wife. Did she love Rook Wallace? Was he the reason the two of you were getting a divorce in the first place?”
“Is Rook Wallace the only suspect in the murder investigation as of right now?”
“I can’t say for sure if Rook Wallace is the only suspect in the investigation of my wife's murder, but I can say that deep in my heart, I know he killed her. I can feel it. There's no doubt in my mind he's the man who murdered her.”
“Holy shit,” Josie gasps.
The moment the words leave her lips, eyes of at least a hundred reporters land on us. Fucking chaos—that's what breaks loose when they see me standing on the stoop right behind Mark.
“Mr. Wallace!”
“Rook! Did you kill Lauren Roche?”
“Rook, can we get a statement?”
“Did you know you were sleeping with a married woman?”
“Did you kill Lauren because she wanted to make her marriage work?”
“Were you planning to kill her when you walked away from your fight?”
“Did you love Lauren?”
“Is it true Lauren was pregnant?”
“Can we get a one on one interview with you?”
“Do you have anything to say to your fans?”
“Rook, we have to get out of here.” Josie tugs on my arm, yanking me from my shock and back through the doors we just walked through. “Please. We have to get the hell out of this mob. Don’t say a word to them.”
As we move fast through the station, not an officer or detective in our path tries to stop us. I'm not sure if it's because they just witnessed what happened or if they're afraid of Josie, but either way, I'm grateful. I don't want any more roadblocks.
When we open the back exit to the station, there is already a black Lincoln town car idling at the curb.
“Hurry up, Rook! Those damn vultures will eat us alive if they figure out we’re back here.”
I listen to her, making a dash for the door before jumping inside. The driver pulls away as soon as Josie slams the car door closed, and she doesn’t waste any time.
“What happened, Rook? I got a call from Luke saying you got yourself into some serious shit, but he wasn’t sure of the details. Then I find out you’re involved in a murder investigation! You better start talking, and quick. I need to know everything before we get to the hotel.”
“Hotel?”
“Well, you can’t just leave. You’re a suspect, whether they are admitting it or not I may have gotten you out before they could actually charge you with anything, but you still can't leave the state.”
“Why can’t I leave?” I ask.
“Because, Rook, it makes you look guilty if you were to pack up and head back to California. They can’t actually hold you here, but it doesn’t mean you should leave. I’m asking you in the nicest way possible to stay.”
I place my head in my hands.
“Please make my job easier, Rook. This is going to be hard enough the way it is.”
I pull my head out of my hands and look across the cab of the car. Josie's emerald eyes stare daggers back at me. She's pissed. I can't say I blame her, though. I rarely require her services for anything but a PR issue, but this … this is entirely different.
“Rook, this is serious. You need to tell me what happened with that woman. I got the details you told the police, but I need the whole truth. It's the only way I can help you. You have to start from the beginning. I need the who, what, and how of past and present.”
“I didn't kill her, Jose. I would never hurt her. I love … loved her,” I admit before letting Josie hear every single detail of our relationship. When I fall silent, I can’t bring myself to look at her.
She gives me a minute before asking, “Why did you say loved? Why the past tense?”
I hate using past tense when I say I loved her, but it's the only way to describe the situation. Is there a word for loving someone with everything you have, unloving them because they hurt you, then loving them again because their gone? Is there one single word to sum up the whiplash of emotions being thrown at me?
“She lied. Lauren told me she'd been lying since day one, and I lost it. But I didn't hurt her. I had no involvement. Her husband did it,” I say between gritted teeth.
I'm so sick of repeating this story, but unlike a bunch of dickhead cops, Josie needs to know the truth. She wants the truth, and it looks like I'm going to have to tell her. There is a soft swish noise as the privacy window slides down, and both Josie and I fall silent.
“We're almost at the hotel,” the driver says.
“Okay. Thank you, Carl.”
Then the privacy window slides back up, and Josie starts giving me a rundown of her master plan. “I've booked you a room under an alias the firm keeps open for scenarios like this. You can call it the backup master plan.” She laughs lightly.
“Jose, what the fuck am I going to do? Did you see those reporters back at the station? They were out for blood. They're going to spread this gossip like wildfire before I even get checked into the hotel.”
“Hate to break it to you but they leaked the story fifteen minutes ago. It wasn't a matter of when but how quickly they could get it to a gossip blog or a tabloid. The media is saying you're accused of killing Lauren but without a statement from the DA, it's just a rumor at the moment.”
She's already got her phone out, shoving it at me in urgency. “The story is already viral so there isn’t much we can do about it until we can get a statement put together, which PR is working on. My legal opinion would be you need to lie low. Mixing your emotions or lack thereof,” she shoots me a stern look, “is a bad idea all around. Your fans are irate right now, so that’s also not working in your favor.”
“Did you ever think I'm in shock?” I snap, looking out the back tinted window to the side of me.
“You don't seem like someone who’s in shock. Somebody who’s angry—yes, but not shocked.”
Josie saying I look angry is pretty accurate because I am. I'm angry at so many people: Lauren, Mark, the stupid detective, the r
eporters. Hell, I’m even pissed at my fans for spreading the story even though it seems like they are pissed for me instead of at me. Every one of them is contributing to my anger. But the person I'm the most pissed off at is myself.
I blame myself for being so stupid. I spent years fighting in the underground where women like her were a dime a dozen, conniving and willing to do whatever they had to do to get ahead. Ten years ago, I would've seen Lauren coming from a mile away. I should've smelled the fraud on her, yet her beauty and sweet nothings made me blind. Maybe I was just that starved for a connection that I didn’t want to see it.
I want to be sad about her death. I really do. And I'm not saying the time won't come where it hits me like it should. But the emotion I'm supposed to be feeling is overshadowed by anger. Every time someone says her name, my heart aches for a moment before my blood boils.
She used me.
She lied.
She played me.
She tricked me into fucking her when she was happily married.
She manipulated me for her own benefit. I don't understand it. Not one bit. What could've been so appealing to her she’d used me as a pawn? I know she said Mark made her do it, but that’s bullshit in my eyes. No one else can force you to do something, there is always a damn choice. No one forced her. Her husband may have held her hand as she walked to me, but she took the steps on her own.
“Rook, did you hear me?”
I look across the town car at Josie, who’s clicking furiously away on her phone, surely writing a painfully vicious letter to the chief of police about their unprofessional antics.
“Yeah. Sorry. I was just thinking.”
Her eyes dart from the phone screen to me. “Something I need to know?” She sits forward and tosses her phone onto the seat next to her. I turn away from her but see her pull a yellow legal pad from the leather bag by her feet.
There's definitely something she needs to hear, but I don't know if I want to share it yet. Do I tell her what Lauren told me before the fight or will she think I'm crazy, too? Telling anyone about our fight just gives me a motive for wanting to kill her.
Who the hell is everyone going to believe, the grieving husband or the fighter who was sleeping with his wife? My vote is him. The media, the fans, the people in the circuit—they're going to believe Mark over me.