by Naomi Niles
"Yes, I suppose I am." I couldn't deny it.
"Why?" Halle asked. We were sitting at the little table in her nursery, where I had taught her how to write the letter A with a crayon. Now she was coloring a picture of an apple with wide red lines.
"I guess because I like it here," I said thoughtfully. The mansion was quickly beginning to feel like home, far more so than the crappy apartment I had shared with Mama ever had. I had a luxurious room, slept in a comfortable bed, and I had a closet full of clothes. Anything I could ever want to eat was available in the kitchen, and anything I could ever want to buy could be delivered to my door. During the day, I could stroll in the garden, and at night when Halle slept, I often went for a swim in the pool.
That wasn't what this place like home, though. It was Tate and Halle. They were both so warm and caring. I liked the way their eyes lit up whenever I walked into a room. They both had a way of making me feel like I belonged in this vast and beautiful mansion, and that without me, it wouldn't be the same. They made me feel like family.
"Do you like my Daddy?" Halle drew me from my thoughts, and I felt myself blush.
"Yes. I like your father very much," I said, but that felt way too personal, even for a child. Speaking quickly, I added, "He's a good boss. He pays me well, and he's kind. I like working for him."
Halle finished her drawing and handed it to me with pride. I admired it for a moment before we began to put the crayons away in their plastic box. I thought the conversation had been dropped when Halle suddenly said, "Daddy likes you too. His eyes look happy when he sees you, and you make him smile."
The profound statement startled me in the most pleasant way, and I felt my heart flutter. Does Tate really have feelings for me? The idea was impossible. She was just a child misunderstanding the situation. He was my boss and nothing more, no matter how much I might want there to be. Still, Halle was a particularly perceptive child for her age, and her comments gave me a glimmer of hope. If she thought her father liked me, maybe there was something growing between us. There was only one way to find out.
"Okay, time for your nap," I said, eager to close the subject forever. I tucked her into her little bed and read her a book, followed by a second one. By the time I finished the last sentence, she was sound asleep.
I crept down the hall to Tate's office, hoping we could spend some time together while Halle took her afternoon nap, but he wasn't there. Feeling disappointed, I decided to use my free time to do some personal chores. I called my mother, and Julie said that she was taking a nap, as well, but was doing fine and I had no need to worry. Mama’s treatments, although exhausting, were producing positive results, and her doctor was confident that they were working.
As I hung up my cell phone, I noticed my laundry hamper was full. Tate had told me it was Emma's duty to take care of the laundry, but being as I knew she had such unfriendly feelings towards me, it didn't surprise me she had neglected the chore. I could have made a big deal about it and complained to Tate, but I decided to just take care of it myself.
Hoisting the hamper in my arms, I carried it downstairs in search of the laundry room. It didn't take me long to find it, tucked between the kitchen and the sunroom. I checked both the washing machine and the dryer and found they were empty, and so I began to sort my clothes, placing the whites in a pile to the side and putting the darks right into the washer.
"What the hell are you doing in here, tattletale?" Emma burst into the room with her usual hostility. She plopped down a basket heavy with Tate's dirty clothes with an angry sigh. "Everywhere I turn, you're in the damn way."
"I just thought I'd help you out by doing my laundry, so you wouldn't have to," I said, attempting to be nice. Stuart had confided to me that Emma wanted to protect me from being hurt, so maybe there was still a chance we could be friends – no matter how unlikely that seemed from all our previous interactions.
"Yeah, right. Sure, you want to help, like you helped me out yesterday," she barked.
My blank face must have made it evident that I didn't know what she was talking about. She wagged her finger in my face and said, "Don't look at me with those innocent eyes. I know you were the one who tattled to Mr. Holland, trying to get me into trouble. Things said between members of the staff are private, and only the worst kind of snitch goes running to the boss to whine about it."
My jaw fell agape as I realized what she was saying. Tate must have talked to her after I told him how upset I was about her saying that I wasn't the only woman he was having sex with. "I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean for Tate to get after you."
"Sure you didn't. You probably meant for him to fire me. Well, he didn't; but don't think for one minute that I don't know the two of you are conspiring against me." She huffed angrily, then snatched the laundry hamper away from me. With hostile aim, she began throwing my clothes into the washer, and I decided it was best just to back out of her way.
"I have nothing against you, Emma. I'm truly sorry Tate got after you because I told him about the things you said, but that wouldn't have happened if you hadn't said them."
"No, it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been doing the sick and twisted things you two do together. You think you're so clever and that it's a secret that you two are fucking up there, but it's not. You're the worst kind of sinners, and it makes me sick. Rose deserved what happened to her, and you deserve what will happen to you, too. You're a whore just like she was, and I hope you rot in hell."
Emma threw the rest of my laundry on the floor. Then she hurled the empty hamper at me with all her might. I ducked, and it slammed against the washing machine with a noisy bang. When I looked up, she was gone, having stormed from the laundry room.
Trembling, I started to pick up my clothes off the ground.
"Are you okay?" a familiar male voice asked, and I looked up to see Stuart standing in the doorway.
"Yes. She's crazy. Does anybody know that?"
"Yes, we all do, but we try to give her some space. Believe it or not, Emma's not a bad person. She's just been through some tough times since her husband left her. It makes her paranoid and hostile."
"Well, she sure thinks I'm a bad person." I sniffed. Her words had hurt my feelings more than I would have liked to admit. No matter how much I tried, I just couldn't get her to accept me as her friend.
"She thinks everyone is a sinner. She even felt that way about Rose, and nobody could ever say anything bad about her."
"Yeah, everyone I talk to about her says she was the nicest person on Earth.
"She was a kind and sweet girl and really good with Halle," Stuart said with a wistful smile. Then his lips drew into a grim line. "It was just a shame she let Mr. Holland take advantage of her."
"So you don't think their intimate relationship was consensual?"
"A girl, pretty, young, and naive set against a thirty-six-year-old man, rich, powerful, and experienced. She was no match for him, and he knew it."
"You think he raped her?" I was appalled.
I couldn't imagine Tate doing anything so horrific, but Stuart shook his head and said, "No, it was far worse. He seduced her. He made her think she was in love with him, but she was really just a pawn in his sick game of power over the weak and naive. He used her for his own purposes, and now she's dead. It's the worst kind of tragedy, and I don't want to see the same thing happen to you."
"Don't worry, it won't," I said with bravado, but I was no longer so sure. Although Emma was a bitch, Stuart did make some valid points. Was I falling under the same spell Rose had? Was Tate using me and tricking me into thinking I wanted it, too?
"I hope you're right." Stuart turned and left, leaving me alone with my laundry and a heart full of doubts.
Chapter Eighteen: Tate
"I got it." Thomas Tandy burst into my office with that suave look of superiority that let everyone know he couldn't be beat in the courtroom.
"What?" I was too exhausted for guessing games. It had been a hell of a long week. My
companies were going bat-shit with all the media stories of murder investigations and salacious nanny affairs, my investors were pulling out like crazy, and I had fires to put out in nearly every department of my corporations.
Meanwhile, my maid of twenty years was threatening to quit, Missy Stevens was missing (having probably overdosed on the drugs I stupidly gave her money for), and I had a three-year-old daughter to worry about. The only good thing I had going in my life was Rachelle, but if things didn't turn around in this murder investigation soon, I might lose her. Luckily, it looked like Tandy might actually have some good news.
He plopped down in the chair across my desk and tossed a file folder at me. With a huge grin, he said, "The forensics report. I got a copy of it from Miller's office."
"No shit. How'd you get it?" I was impressed. Miller sure as hell wouldn't have released it to him. He was dead set on seeing me get life in prison for murder.
Tandy just smiled and said, "You don't get to be the top defense attorney in the state without making a few connections. Check out page three. I think you'll like what it says."
I opened the file and flipped to page three. There it was in black and white, and I breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Inconclusive."
"That's right." Tandy grinned. "The fibers found on the victim did not match the carpet fibers the forensics team took from your bedroom. They also couldn't be matched to any of your clothes."
"Do they know where the fibers came from then?" I needed to know, but Tandy shook his head.
"The origins of the fibers are inconclusive, but the fact that there's no proof they came from your bedroom carpet is good news for our defense. That, combined with a lack of blood in your bedroom, proves that Rose Landon was killed someplace other than your bedroom and then moved there after her death.
“Miller had hoped to link her body to your bedroom or clothes in some way to proclaim that maybe she'd been killed on a plastic sheet that you later disposed of, but since this report states the origins of the fibers are inconclusive, his case is getting thinner and thinner. It's all circumstantial, and pretty soon, I expect him to drop the charges altogether."
"God, I hope so." I sighed. That would be the big break I was waiting for. We discussed a few more details of the report, all of which were beneficial to my case. Then I shook Tandy's hand, wrote him another check, and he left.
No sooner was he out the door than I saw Rachelle passing by with Halle on their way back to the nursery.
"What have you two lovely ladies been doing today?" I asked. Halle was wearing a pair of pink cotton shorts, a pink blouse with teddy bears printed on it, and leather sandals. Her chocolate curls were pulled back into two pigtails with pink ribbons, and she looked utterly adorable.
"Daddy!" she cried out happily at the sound of my voice and came running into my study to jump onto my lap.
"Hi, there." Rachelle smiled prettily and followed her in. She looked breathtaking in a short sundress. It was the same pale blue as her eyes. The hemline fluttered teasingly around her thighs, making me lust for a glimpse of her sumptuous pussy, which I knew would be bare of panties and ready for me.
"We were playing outside in the garden," Rachelle explained.
"I planted seeds in the flower pot, Daddy!" Halle cried out excitedly. "They need water and sun, and they will grow into flowers."
"That's wonderful, sweetheart." I kissed her cheek. Halle talked on and on about her day and all the fun she had with her beloved new nanny.
Rachelle smiled and said to Halle, "Now, it's time for a bath to get all the garden dirt off of you. Then it's time for bed."
"No bed!" Halle clung to me, begging me to save her from the dreaded bedtime.
"How about if I read you a book at bedtime?" Rachelle bribed her.
"Two books!" Halle counter offered. She was going to be as skilled at business as I was, and I beamed with pride.
"All right. Two books, but then it's right to sleep."
"Yeah! I'm going to pick them out." Halle jumped off my lap and ran down the hall to her nursery to select two of her favorite books off her tiny shelf.
"I'd better go look after her, or she'll take every book off the shelf and make a big mess," Rachelle said to me.
"Wait just a moment. I wanted to talk to you." I couldn't wait to tell her the good news about the forensic report coming up inconclusive, and she listened attentively while I explained all the legal jargon as best I could. "So, with any luck, they'll be dropping the charges against me soon, the media will lose interest in us, and we'll all be free to live normal lives."
"You mean I'll be able to leave the house and go anywhere I want again?" Rachelle beamed with excitement.
"We all will." I grinned at her.
"We should celebrate by taking Halle out someplace special," she suggested.
"That's a great idea. Maybe we can take her to the zoo together. But even sooner than that, I'd like to have a private in-home celebration with you, just for us adults. How about tonight?"
"Tonight sounds good. What do you have in mind?"
She looked up at me with anticipation glistening in her big blue eyes, and I could already imagine all the things I wanted to do to her.
"Finish putting Halle to bed and then report to me in my bedroom. I'll have a celebration waiting for you there."
"Should I put on anything special?" I knew she was thinking of lingerie, but I shook my head.
"No, come just as you are." I was already fantasizing stripping her out of her nanny clothes and giving her amazing pleasures. I'd had sex with plenty of women over the years, but none of them had ever been as responsive as Rachelle was. Her body was incredible – soft where I liked things soft and tight where I liked things tight.
She rippled with pleasure at the slightest touch, and I could play her body like a prodigy with his musical instrument. When we fucked, it was like her body was extension of my own, moving in perfect synchronization with my will. When I was deep inside her tight, wet folds, it was if we melded into one being with two souls.
I'd only come close to loving one other woman in my lifetime, and with Rachelle, I could see myself falling fully and deeply in love with her. Halle loved her just as much as I did, and I could see us becoming a happy family together.
Of course, things had ended badly for that other woman, and I just prayed I didn't do the same thing to Rachelle that I had done to her. The guilt would be too much for me to bear, and yet I couldn't keep myself away from her. Even now, I was already fantasizing about the things I would do to her that night. I would show her things no one else but me had seen – at least no one who was still alive.
Chapter Nineteen: Rachelle
"I'm here," I called out softly as I stood in the doorway of Tate's bedroom suite.
Halle had been asleep for at least forty-five minutes, and I knew she wouldn't wake up. In the past week that I'd been taking care of her, she woke up less every night, and these past few nights she didn't wake up at all. I dared to think that perhaps she had been cured of her restlessness, and Tate agreed.
"Come in," he called to me, and I slowly entered. It was the first time I'd ever been to his private bedroom, and I marveled at the vast luxuriousness. It was as big as my entire apartment had been back home with Mama, perhaps even bigger.
A giant carved oak bed stood in the middle of the far wall, with navy blue curtains hanging from a tall canopy, tied to the tall posts with silk ribbons. The dressers and end tables were all antique, with ornate mirrors and fine oil paintings hanging on the walls. The room had a very masculine feel, with rich blues and deep browns dominating the décor.
"What are these?" I asked, startled to see a pair of giant whips hanging on the wall near his bed. One was patterned red on black, and the other patterned black on red.
"I had those specially made on a trip I took to Australia," Tate said with pride. "They are sister twenty-four plait bullwhips; each one is ten feet long, not including the fall or the handle."
>
We walked up to them as he pointed out the intricate details of the whips with his finger. "Notice how there are five distinct pattern changes."
"They're beautiful."
"The sisters who taught me how to use them also taught me to appreciate a lot of other things that are beautiful. Like pain and passion, and how the two can increase each other exponentially."
"I see." I swallowed. I was nervous, and it must have shown.
Tate crossed the room to an end table where a bottle of merlot sat waiting, along with two wine glasses. He filled them with the burgundy liquid and handed one to me.
"Have a drink," he insisted, and I swallowed the strong red wine awkwardly. I wasn't used to drinking alcohol and was surprised by the heady feeling as it warmed my throat.
"Congratulations on the forensics report coming up in your favor." I made nervous conversation. I didn't like all this talk of whips and pain. It was intimidating being alone with him here in his lavish suite. Up until now, we had only made love in his office study. For reasons I couldn't explain, that felt like neutral territory, while his private bedroom felt like someplace deliciously forbidden, much like the taboo topic of his whips.
I finished my glass, and he filled it a second time; this time I sipped it more slowly, savoring the intoxicating liquid. I was beginning to relax, but there was still a palatable tension in the air, something I couldn't name, but I could feel.
"Thanks. I knew they wouldn't find anything on me," Tate said confidently. "The cops here are so stupid; they'll never prove who murdered Rose. Hell, they probably don't even know how she died."
I drained my wine glass again, and he took it from my hand and placed it on the nightstand with his own empty glass. I felt warm and tingly; whether it was from the wine or the anticipation of sex, I couldn't say.
Tate was standing in front of me now, so close we were practically touching. Looking up at him, I whispered something I'd wanted to know for a long time. "How did she die?"