by Adira August
“He’s a good man, Father. I know that’s hard to believe because of what he does, but he’s kind and generous and …”
“And?”
“Decent.”
He considered her over steepled hands, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. “You implied I wouldn’t think he was a good man because he manufactures intimacy aids? You think these things are incompatible with chastity?”
Avia sat back, arms crossed over her stomach. She wondered if it was a trick question.
“Avia, married people enjoying intimate contact is one of the gifts of marriage. I’m wondering which one of us really thinks Ben Hart isn’t such a good man.”
“No,” she shook her head decisively. “I’m not a prude.”
“But you are a product of your upbringing. That doesn’t magically disappear because your intellect makes a different decision. You killed someone your head says is justified, but your heart is not so sure. You want to be with a man in a certain way you say you don’t regret, but you don’t seem to accept. You’re mad at God because the way you want to world to be—the way you want yourself to be—aren’t what they are.”
Avia had no words to say or thoughts in her head. All she seemed to have left was feeling bad. Bad was the only word she had.
“From what you’ve told me,” he went on. “It sounds like you decided you and the world would be better off if you made all the decisions. So you took charge of rescuing your sister. I suspect you at no time considered consulting with those who had more experience. Perhaps even a SWAT team or at least the security people that must be attached to that estate. You placed yourself in charge of making sexual decisions without consideration of other avenues to pursue a relationship.”
“He didn’t give me a choice!”
“His way or the highway? This is what you consented to?”
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was about this ecstatic orgasm thing…” she left off, embarrassed and miserably aware she couldn’t possibly explain it.
“He offered you a path to ecstasy? You wanted to explore mysticism with him?”
“What?”
“Ecstasy, Avia. That’s what he wanted? What did he say, exactly?”
“You'll give me your complete trust. I promise you, that’s a great gift when freely given,” he said.
“And you'll give me?”
“Ecstasy.”
“Ecstasy,” she repeated. “Literally?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Are you saying you will - do something - that allows me to transcend normal consciousness and achieve euphoria?" She used a precise definition of the word “ecstasy.”
“Exactly,” he replied.
“And I’m going to get this, how?”
“Through total submission achieved through perfect obedience. … The only path to ecstasy is surrender … ”
“He said if I gave him perfect obedience, he’d give me ecstasy. That the only path to ecstasy is surrender.”
“Well, that’s certainly true,” Father Tim agreed.
“What?”
“Are you familiar with the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa by Gian Lorenzo Bernini?”
She shook her head.
“And you haven’t read the writings of Christian contemplatives and mystics? The Cloud of Unknowing? Saint John of the Cross?”
“I was never very interested in mysticism.”
“Avia, I am neither therapist nor psychic. But I believe you are suffering from a surfeit of being twenty-four years old, which means you are adventurous and inexperienced and arrogant.”
“Don’t forget willful, contumacious and self-centered.”
“You even want to take over my remarks and thoughts for me. You want to be your own priest as well as your own god?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, dropping her gaze.
“I think you’ve stumbled into some very dangerous territory, Avia. Physically, emotionally and spiritually. You took it all on yourself. It wasn’t enough to be independent, you had to be in control. You became so enmeshed in the wondrous lust of it all with a compelling man, you forgot that you aren’t one. You ended up feeling frightened and alone and as if you were not worthy of God’s love. You don’t have the power to make God abandon you or not love you. No one does. It’s impossible.”
She said nothing, but listened as hard as she could because she felt as if with his words, things inside her were beginning to shift, to fit together in a way they hadn’t before.
“If you want penance, pray for the soul the man you killed. If you want my advice, you’re an exceptionally talented investigative journalist. Investigate.”
With that, Father Tim blessed her and left her there with her thoughts and feelings in the care of the Holy Spirit.
“YOU’RE SMIRKING,” Ben told Hugo from his office doorway.
“I’m smiling. So are you,” Hugo returned. “It’s good when you’re smiling, you come up with new ideas. The downside is you neglect your other duties. I didn’t get anything in my morning email from you.”
Ben shrugged and wandered over to Hugo’s window. “Whatever’s happened in the world will still have happened tomorrow morning. I’m sure if any of it affects Hart Enterprises one of the VPs will let you know.”
“More likely Delores will.”
Ben nodded. “I should make her a vice president. … I was twenty when I started RedDeer,” Ben said, looking out at the foothills. “I was twenty and absolutely confident my business plan would succeed. No doubts. You know why it succeeded?” He turned away from the window to look at Hugo.
“You had the right product at the right price and reached the right market,” Hugo said. “You made good decisions about allocation of resources and were able to expand immediately to meet increased demand, which you’d anticipated.”
Ben grinned and dropped into the chair across from Hugo. “Perfectly correct. But the real key was the right people. I succeeded because of Miranda Devers.”
“You succeeded because you recognized how good her work was when she didn’t. Demanded everything she had to give and knew how to market her writing.” Hugo wondered why he had to point out the obvious.
“I succeeded because I was arrogant and ignorant. Because I was sure I was right and didn’t consider how many ways there were to fail. I bullied her and didn’t even know I was doing it. Didn’t care. It was all about the success.”
“The success?”
“My success,” Ben amended. “Winning. Being right. Whatever I was doing was all about me.”
“Okay. And?”
“And I have to be careful not to blame anyone starting out for doing the same thing.”
Hugo shook his head. “The difference is, you were brilliant and you were right.”
“I’m not a kid, anymore. I’m not sure I’m right all the time. I ask people to trust me. They do. I’m not sure they should.”
“But you don’t ask people to trust you,” Hugo said. “You hire people and pay them to do what they’re told. Like anybody who has employees. I don’t trust you because you give me money. You can’t buy some things, Ben, you know that. You can’t buy trust or respect.”
Ben got up and went back to the window. “You’ve never been sold on the Macau deal, have you?”
Hugo wheeled his chair around to face Ben. “We didn’t talk when you got back because everything went to shit. The VPs held the company together. When you made the deal, you did it without me. I can’t have much opinion on something I’m not read in on.”
Ben looked at him. “But you have one, anyway.”
“I think the guy’s world-class scum from the security report. You got that report, too. You’re having second thoughts?”
“I leave for Macau tomorrow morning. If I decide to pull out or maybe scale back involvement, I’d as soon tell him in person. A courtesy visit. Leave the door open for possible future business.”
“Okay.”
Ben’s text alert sounded. He checked his phone
and went to the door. “A few things. Get me a background on a guy named Cal Derricksen. He’s local. A construction guy, site boss.”
“That Derricksen s-o-n?”
“S-e-n,” Ben said. “Meet me in Hawaii Sunday. At the ranch. Be prepared to stay for a while.” He sent a return text. “And give me two names for candidates for your job in case your plane blows up.”
Hugo kept writing. “Top right hand drawer of this desk in an envelope labelled ‘replacements.’ Anything else?” He looked up.
Ben was already gone.
AVIA LOVED BEING IN the Denver Public Library. Her job had made her an expert at online research. But the scent of books, the ordered patterns of rows and columns of volumes, the polished wood bannisters and floors, all comforted her. Nothing ever popped up or alerted. Her switched-off phone never rang. No one demanded she hurry.
One of the big oak tables with a view of the park served as a ready-made office she spread out on. What was spread before her now, was the Catechism of the Catholic Church.
2261 Scripture specifies the prohibition contained in the fifth commandment: "Do not slay the innocent and the righteous."61 ...
Legitimate defense
2263 The legitimate defense of persons and societies is not an exception to the prohibition against the murder of the innocent that constitutes intentional killing. "The act of self-defense can have a double effect: the preservation of one's own life; and the killing of the aggressor. . . . The one is intended, the other is not."65
2264 Love toward oneself remains a fundamental principle of morality. Therefore it is legitimate to insist on respect for one's own right to life. Someone who defends his life is not guilty of murder even if he is forced to deal his aggressor a lethal blow:
2265 Legitimate defense can be not only a right but a grave duty for one who is responsible for the lives of others. The defense of the common good requires that an unjust aggressor be rendered unable to cause harm. For this reason, those who legitimately hold authority also have the right to use arms to repel aggressors against the civil community entrusted to their responsibility.
Legitimate authority? Avia made a note. She’d already accepted there was nothing innocent about the kidnapping murderer she’d killed.
She moved back up the page to paragraph 2262
2262 In the Sermon on the Mount, the Lord recalls the commandment, "You shall not kill,"62 and adds to it the proscription of anger, hatred, and vengeance. Going further, Christ asks his disciples to turn the other cheek, to love their enemies.63
It reminded her of something Hunter’d said to her when she asked how she was supposed to feel about killing.
“It’s like I told Cam once. I wasn't killing some specific person; I was doing my job. I didn't shoot because I hated someone or wanted them dead. My job was to protect the potential victim from the criminal. I did that.”
Thinking back to the moment she’d gone through the door, she hadn’t been angry or looking for vengeance. She’d suppressed every emotion, needing all her focus to be on the task before her. And under the “make my day law” of the State of Colorado, she was legitimately within the law.
As she pored over the Catechism, she recalled that the Church was full of lawyers, too. They’d written the modern catechism. Saint Paul, also a lawyer, had arguably written the first in his letters to the Romans. But he also warned that sin comes through the law. And her mind still convicted her of being the cold-hearted killer that horrified her more than being a law-breaker.
Yet ... Hunter had killed. Ben had killed. Hank had killed.
Talli had killed.
Avia felt a sudden rush of energy out of her body, as if something huge and dark lifted from her. She had a vision of being caught in a flash flood, flailing, grasping, trying to save Talia, doing anything to get her to shore. And then the water was gone.
She closed the Catechism and set it aside. Grabbing her bag, she headed for the art section. Somewhere they’d have a photograph of The Passion of Saint Therese.
BAI ZHIMIN FELT THE MUSCLES in his neck tighten in protest from the sharp angle at which his head tilted to see the face of the tall, blond Australian. At least a foot taller than the five-foot-four manager of the Cheong Palace Hotel and Casino, the Aussie was a machete of a man with a slash of scar through one eyebrow, close-cropped blond hair and a neatly trimmed reddish-blond beard.
Zhimin wanted to climb him like a monkey and insinuate himself between the perfectly tailored white shirt and warm skin over his muscular chest. His belief that Mr. Smith could break Zhimin in half over his thigh like a dry branch to feed a fire, only fueled his imagination.
They stood in Zhimin’s office in front of his desk. Smith loomed over him, centimeters away. The musky scent of the big Aussie intoxicated him. Smith had refused to sit, so Zhimin must stand also.
“Like I told ya, anonymity of the boss’ guests is number one. No drama?”
“No drama, sir. You have a dedicated elevator from a screened-off area of the lower level car park. Merchandise will be delivered on that elevator at your signal.”
“Just the merchandise. No handlers with their palms out.”
“They’ll offload and ride down immediately. Handlers will remain within the elevator car.” Zhimin lowered his head in a gesture of submission to his customer’s demands. “My only aim is to please you, sir.”
“That so? Then you make sure we get all of it. Everything ya got. No holding back anything special. My boss is your only special customer, mate.”
“Nothing held back, I assure you, sir.”
“Cameras?”
“Disabled above the third floor and on your elevator, sir.” Zhimin’s neck burned. The Aussie smirked down at him as if he knew he was keeping Zhimin in pain—and enjoying it.
“You say. I’ll be checkin.”
“As you wish.”
Smith’s eyes went flat, staring down at Zhimin.
“As you wish, sir.” Zhimin licked his lips. He felt a familiar tingling in his crotch. His dick.
“Wire transfer?”
“Arrived promptly, sir. Thank you and your employer very much.”
“Rest follows when’s all done right.” He leaned past Zhimin and shoved things aside on his desk. “Turn around and bend over.”
Zhimin hesitated. Mr. Smith was a very big man.
“Mr. Cheong said my boss gets every courtesy.”
Zhimin turned and bent over. He opened his trousers. They slipped to the floor, along with his silk boxers.
Zhimin heard Smith lower his zipper with perfect clarity. “Every room soundproof, Cheong says.”
“They are,” Zhimin gasped as what felt like a fiery plum push between his narrow buttocks. Something dripped down to his shriveled sac. Hot, not cool, so not lube. Terror and excitement fired his blood and froze his heart.
“Let’s test that.” Smith shoved. Zhimin howled.
“THE CASE WAS ONGOING, Avia, I couldn’t speak to you,” J.J. Johnson said, taking a healthy sip of the margarita a server placed in front of her.
“But I emailed you the night before,” Avia said, meaning the night before the shooting. “You answered me.”
“Geo answered you.” J.J. shook her head. “See, this is why I fired you in the first place. You’re just—” She bit it off.
“Willful, self-centered, contumacious and arrogant?” Avia suggested, holding up her own margarita glass as if for a toast.
J.J. linked her glass against Avia’s. “I’ll drink to that.”
“Tell me about it.” Avia’s tone was inviting and sincere.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean help me understand. I won’t deny being a bitch or whatever, but how did I screw up so badly that after you fired me that I never heard from you again? It was Carson who told me I was rehired. You didn’t come to the hospital or, well, anything.”
Avia bit her lip to keep her emotions in check. Her mentor and best friend cutting her off after she’d be
en hurt, after she’d killed, had been devastating.
J.J. sat back, regarding Avia as if she were a strange species at the zoo. “You know, you’re a very smart woman. A good writer. An exceptional investigator. But sometimes talking to you is like having a conversation with a fourteen-year-old princess. Have you ever tried to answer the questions yourself? Thought about what anyone else was going through? Ever?”
“Father Kane says I suffer from an excess of youth,” Avia told her as a server set their plates before them. Avia smiled a little at the sight of the food. “Hunter has a rule: no business talk during meals.”
J.J. picked up her fork. “I’ll eat to that.”
The small joke gave Avia hope that the relationship could be salvaged somehow, and they both dug in with true enthusiasm.
“I missed this so much,” Avia said.
“So did I.”
A few bites later, the ravenous edge dulled, J.J. asked, “So when you said ‘Hunter,’ you meant the detective on your case?”
“Yeah. We got to be friends, after.”
“Friends?” J.J. tilted her head. “You’re friends with the hot cop cover model on the front of half Ben Hart’s romance books?”
When J.J. first assigned Avia to do a story on women’s erotica, she’d given her several books from her own collection.
“Just friends. He helped me a lot in the aftermath with the PTSD stuff. I was fucked-up for a long time. I needed a friend. J.J., why did you order me to violate the court order in the first place?”
“I didn't order you to violate the court’s order. You decided that all by yourself.”
Avia was very confused. “But you said-”
“The judge declared you a sequestered witness,” J.J. interrupted. “I told you to wait outside the courtroom with your laptop, that Carson would send you information. I didn't tell you to watch the feed, Avia. I never said that. I said monitor what was going on from outside so you'd know when the breaks were and could cover people as they left the courtroom. Get some color.
“When I told you that our attorneys had cleared you to do that, did you think The Week, a national magazine with a solid reputation for accuracy and honesty in reporting, had hired a drunk ambulance-chaser as a legal team? Did you think I was personally unethical? Did you think Carson was? Did you think the judge forgot there was a live feed from his courtroom?”