The Proviso

by Moriah Jovan

  “Here,” he growled and tossed something at her. Reflexively, she caught what he’d thrown and was confused to find a set of car keys, brand new, with all the bells and whistles on the ring. “It’s in your usual parking spot. Go back to River Glen and pack for the week. You can take the truck Saturday and finish up then.”

  So many questions, but he was turning away. “What am I going to say to my dad?”

  He stopped, but didn’t look at her. “I took care of him.”

  Her eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat, wondering how bad it was and what she’d find when she got to the farm. Dreading the next few hours, she went upstairs to put away her work. She dragged her feet on the way to the parking lot, not understanding anything, being thoroughly confused. There, in her spot, was a dark silver Toyota Corolla, brand new. Not flashy, it was a nice starter car that a young prosecutor could afford. It would attract no attention at all.

  There was a pain behind her sternum so deep, so sharp, that she wanted to clutch at it and fold into a little ball, cry, and then die because this was a nightmare. Trust me, Giselle had told her.

  She did not trust Giselle and at this point, she didn’t like her, either. There was just something very nauseating about knowing one had been watched and speculated upon for years before being forced to play a game one had not asked for nor understood when dragged into it.

  And all it had taken was one semi-coherent speech one day in one class three years ago to attract their attention.

  “Hey, Justice, I see you got a new car.”

  She turned to see Richard approach her. She looked for Knox’s SUV, but it was gone. “Knox gave it to me,” she said low, once he had caught up to her. His mouth tightened. Then she did something she’d never done before because she’d never had the opportunity: She confided in someone. She hadn’t even said too terribly much to Giselle because she wasn’t sure what would get back to Knox and what wouldn’t.

  “I found out about the proviso.”

  Richard’s mouth pursed and he looked at her suspiciously. “How did you not know about that before you came here?”

  “I— Um, I heard things. At school. I didn’t want to believe— If I had just—” She wanted to cry because of it, but she swallowed and sucked up a breath. “I’m so stupid.”

  Richard’s face softened then. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and hugged her close to his side. “No. You’re just young and naïve. It’s kind of charming, really, and it’s one of the reasons people read you.”

  “Richard, if I could leave, I would.”

  “How did he get you to marry him?”

  “He said he’d kill my dad.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And you believed him?”

  She stared at him.

  He threw up a hand in disgust. “Of course you did.”

  “Why me?” she whispered.

  He studied her for a moment, as if deciding how much to say. “He’s attracted to you,” he said flatly.

  Justice’s breath caught and she tingled. She knew he wanted to have sex with her, but to hear it stated another way . . . attracted. And by a third party who’d noticed . . .

  “None of us realized that until yesterday, but he couldn’t hide it. Considering you wear your heart on your sleeve, I don’t know why he didn’t do it the easy way.” She sighed and he gave her one more squeeze before releasing her. “I wish I knew how to help you, but I don’t. He can be a crazy sumbitch and I don’t understand why he does half the things he does. The best I can do is lend an ear when you need it.”

  She sighed. “I’d better get on with things.”

  They parted ways and Justice unlocked her new car. She took the time to inspect it. It had a few features she didn’t think came standard, like a manual transmission (how did he know she’d want that?), moonroof (wow), remote keyless entry (admittedly nifty), and satellite radio (all Rush and Nugent and Steely Dan all the time), and a GPS system (no more paper maps to re-fold).

  She put her forehead down on the steering wheel and choked. Why had he done this? How and when had he done this? She couldn’t fathom his motives and she knew he wouldn’t explain himself anytime soon.

  She finally, resignedly, sat up and started the car. A strange song boomed out from the obviously state-of-the-art sound system (how did he know she liked good sound?), one she’d never heard before. She nearly turned it off, but began to listen to the lyrics.

  . . . I’m gonna hunt the hunter . . .

  . . . Cook my dinner while I shine my gun . . .

  Her eyes closed as she began to go with the rhythm, the beat, the empowering lyrics, then it was over and she punched the CD player. Imani Coppola. Chupacabra. “Legend of a Cowgirl.”

  Taking a long breath, not daring to think about how that got in the CD player and, better yet, how the stereo got programmed to repeat it, she headed north to River Glen and wondered how Knox “took care of” her father. She needn’t have worried. Once she’d parked and gone in the house, her father confronted her directly.

  “You need to move out,” he stated baldly.

  Justice backed up and blinked. “What?”

  “You need to move out,” he said again.

  “How are you going to work the farm by yourself?”

  “Hired some help.”

  “Hired? We don’t have money for that.”

  He smirked, then Justice understood. Knox had bought her from her father.

  I. Own. You.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, then noticed that he still looked at her the way he had the morning before. Her eyes widened when she realized what it was and why he looked at her that way.

  Knox had looked at her like that last night.

  “Justice,” he said in a tone she’d never heard before. She swallowed and backed up a bit more when he took a step toward her, his hand outstretched. “You look just like your mother when she was your age.”

  Whatever had happened, she had to get out of here. The shoulder holster that she wore, the gun firmly under her left elbow . . . Suddenly she was very glad she had it.

  And that sickened her.

  “I’m going to pack a bag. If I can’t get what I want tonight, I’ll be back Saturday with Knox for the rest of my things.”

  She didn’t dare come back here without him, and she turned to dash up the stairs.

  She closed and locked her door when she heard him start up the stairs after her, though he simply went into the bathroom. It occurred to her that she was more afraid of her father now than she was of Knox. Knox had threatened her, had taken everything she had away from her, had forced a life upon her she didn’t want—but she liked what Knox did to her, that he wanted her, that he had begged forgiveness for hurting her. And now she knew his threats to be sheer bluff.

  No man would pay money to get what he wanted if he could follow through on the kinds of threats Knox had made.

  She happened to glance out her window at the car Knox had given her, then she did a double take. A brand new car. Money in the bank and credit cards. Her laptop and purse. Gun and badge. The enormous new wardrobe.

  She could leave. She could leave Knox, her father, this farm, the Chouteau County prosecutor’s office.

  Her heart soared as she thought about it and she changed clothes as quickly as she could. Jeans, tee shirt, boots. Badge, thigh holster, and gun (she wasn’t going anywhere without that for a while). When she finally dragged her suitcases stuffed with nearly every piece of clothing she had, a few cherished mementos of her mother, birth certificate and other documents she’d need to start a new life, she opened the trunk.

  In it she found a small fireproof safe. She looked on her key ring and picked out a small key that unlocked it. It was loaded with documents. Confused, she picked it up and went to sit in the back seat of her car to sort through it, and her breath caught in her throat.

  *

  title to the car: Iustitia Jane McKinley

  insurance and registration for the
car in her name

  notarized copy of her marriage certificate

  letter of reference signed by Knox Hilliard

  ten thousand dollars in worn hundred-dollar bills

  annulment documents drawn up by Eric Cipriani and signed by Knox Hilliard

  *

  She put a hand to her mouth and laughed in disbelief.

  Knox was letting her go and he’d given her everything she needed to leave him and go to DC like she should’ve done in the first place. Only now, if she went, she looked right and walked right. She’d spent eight weeks in the Chouteau County prosecutor’s office learning how to talk to people, make deals, negotiate plea agreements. She had a coveted letter of reference from Knox Hilliard.

  And an annulment. All she had to do was sign it and drop it in the mail when she got to wherever she was going.

  She looked for a note to her, then realized that the CD was it.

  After all that and he was letting her go. Maybe he did have a shred of honor in his soul after all. Well! She wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She threw her stuff in the trunk, went back for the rest of her clothes, and tucked a couple hundred dollars in her pocket, then locked everything down tight.

  She did a little jig and let out a giggle before she got in the car, and she knew that her father watched her from the window. That didn’t faze her now and she didn’t bother to say goodbye. She turned south when she got to the interstate and passed the exit that would take her to Knox’s house with utter glee. In Blue Springs, she stopped and got something to eat and to top off her tank.

  Annulment!

  After eight weeks of captivity, she was free.

  * * * * *

  78: THY WILL BE DONE

  She wasn’t sure when the glee slowly faded and she really started to analyze the situation, but it wasn’t long after Blue Springs. Knox Hilliard had let her go after a wedding at gunpoint, less than two days of marriage, money having changed hands between him and her father, a week with Giselle being made over, armed, and prepared for—

  Fen Hilliard.

  Fen Hilliard had killed Leah Wincott. Justice knew that as certainly as she knew her own name. It only spoke to his cunning that the only man in the world who had any reason at all to see her dead could cover that up so well.

  She rested her elbow on the window ledge and rolled up her fist against her mouth, her mind churning and burning as she drove.

  The question wasn’t why Knox had let her go. That was obvious. The question was why he’d made her a target in the first place—and why he’d employed such an elaborate scheme to do so.

  Occam’s Razor: The simplest explanation tends to be the correct one. That was her starting point for everything she had to spend time to puzzle out and now was no different.

  The simplest explanation was that Knox had wanted to marry her.

  He’s attracted to you . . . he couldn’t hide it.

  Indeed, that was a simple enough explanation, but it could not be the correct one. All he’d had to do was ask her.

  I know you’ve been hankering after a piece of my ass since you got here . . .

  I would have given you anything after that day in class when you touched me and defended me—if you had just asked.

  No, you wouldn’t have.

  What twisted logic led him to think she would’ve turned him down?

  . . . why couldn’t you have just told her up front and let her decide? That would’ve been the honorable thing to do.

  Yeah, Knox, why couldn’t you have?

  Have you ever used one on someone?

  Silence.

  How many people knew? How many people were in on this?

  Giselle.

  Mr. Kenard.

  Sebastian.

  Kevin Oakley? Somehow, she doubted that.

  Fen Hilliard, out next year on December 27 whether Knox fulfilled the proviso or not.

  OKH, a lock for Sebastian.

  Fen, losing his campaign.

  Congress, backing off Sebastian.

  Justice groaned as the entire situation exploded in her head. “I should’ve googled.”

  She reached Columbia after eleven and stopped to get gas. While it pumped, she opened her trunk and her safe again. Retrieved the annulment documents. Eric had written it so she was the petitioner and Knox the respondent. Basis: fraud.

  She sighed as she put it all away again, locked it up, and went to pay for her gas. By the time she’d gone to the restroom, picked up a pop and a bag of chips, slow tears had begun. The clerk, who was about her age, did a double take when he looked at her and attempted to flirt with her. He was deliberately slow so as to lengthen the one-sided conversation.

  “It can’t be that bad,” he said, indicating her face, which was probably blotchy.

  It was horrible. It was wonderful. Choices. She had choices now. Knox had taken away half her choices when he’d forced her to stay in the office, then the rest when he’d forced her to marry him.

  She shuddered, then sniffled. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Are you from town or are you a Mizzou student?”

  She tightened her lips and said, “I had the gas on pump six.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “I’m married.” It just slipped out. She hadn’t meant to say that, but she caught her breath, horrified when she realized how much she’d enjoyed saying that because of who her husband was. She suddenly felt she’d lost something she’d never really had.

  The clerk looked at her bare left ring finger and his mouth tightened.

  By this time, she’d gathered a lot of attention because he was holding up the line for flirting at her. Then she noticed that people were staring at her thigh holster. A pair of state troopers on break and foraging for dinner was there. They approached her when she had finally paid for her gas and got a receipt and change.

  “Miss?”

  She stepped out of the way of the other customers and took the officers aside.

  “I’m an assistant prosecutor in Chouteau County,” she said quietly to them before they could go any further, showing her badge as a courtesy to them.

  Both sets of eyes widened a bit. “Isn’t that Knox Hilliard’s county?”

  “Yes. He’s my boss.” My . . . husband.

  “Can we give you an escort to wherever you’re going? East or west? We’d be glad to, you know, speed things along for you.”

  “No, thanks,” she murmured. “I’ll be okay.”

  They tipped their hats and went about their foraging. One hundred fifty miles east of Chouteau County on her way to Washington, DC, Knox Hilliard’s name preceded her, protected her, garnered deference and respect as one of his attorneys. How much more would it have garnered if they knew she was his wife?

  She was married to a notorious man and his name would protect her all the way to DC should she care to invoke it.

  It took another two hours to get to St. Louis and find a cheap motel room. She had a lot of driving ahead of her but all the time in the world to do it, as long as she husbanded her money carefully.

  East or west?

  The question had plagued her since Columbia and she could only come to one conclusion:

  Both choices were wrong. Or right. But she didn’t know which or why.

  I will choose a path that’s clear: I will choose free will.

  Free will? She’d had none of that the minute she’d seen Knox shoot Jones in the head and he’d used it as an excuse to keep her there. Yet after having had eight weeks of dealing with criminals and getting to know Hicks as a rather lovable curmudgeon, Justice figured Jones deserved what he got. Maybe more.

  She managed to get twelve hours of mostly troubled sleep and awoke after noon.

  I wonder what Knox is doing right now.

  Without her. Eric would know why she hadn’t shown up for work; she wasn’t sure about Richard or Patrick. Hicks had court today and wouldn’t notice.

  Why was she thinking about that
office? As of six o’clock last night, she didn’t work there anymore.

  She got out of bed and cracked open her laptop to check her email and her blogs. No hamlet. She sighed, more depressed than the situation warranted.

  Justice went out for food and found a hole-in-the-wall diner. As she ate, she caught herself looking at her cell phone, expecting it to ring. Why? She checked it for messages: None.

  Vague disappointment. Why?

  Justice finished her meal and went back to her room, then spun the Rush from her laptop and sat on the bed in the dark, the blinds drawn.

  Only twice in her life had she done this: Once to give her strength to stand up to her father and go to college, the other to give her strength to stand up to her father and go to law school.

  Now she needed guidance because she didn’t know what to do to quell her uneasiness with going east or west.

  “Speak to me, Geddy,” she whispered as she lost herself in meditation; three songs passed with nothing catching her ear or her mind.

  Being comfortable with who you are when you’re behind a computer and being lauded and paid for your opinions, and courted by prestigious institutions where you could hide away and write? Not the same as being comfortable in your own skin.

  Okay, then. Who was she?

  Justice McKinley, granddaughter of Juell Pope, widely respected legal philosopher.

  Justice McKinley, wife of the OKH heir and Chouteau County prosecutor Knox Hilliard.

  Justice McKinley, writer of political and legal philosophy and theory—

  —and that was all it was: theory. Based on nothing because her life experience consisted of working on a farm until she’d gone to work for Knox and Richard’s words ran through her mind: You’re popular because you’re a novelty, not because you’re saying anything original.

  She’d learned more about herself in the last eight weeks than she had her whole life.