Stay (Dunham series #2)

by Moriah Jovan

  “Fuck no,” he whispered, horrified. LaVon Whittaker, all Eric’s burly classmates and their fathers, the families of the other men who’d done Simone Whittaker—versus one little girl.

  “Yeah, me neither. So you think about that. Think about what a twelve-year-old girl did for you just because it was the right thing to do. Don’t let her down, Eric. Don’t let what she did for you be in vain.”

  * * * * *

  4: Young Mr. Wilder

  May 1996

  And there he was again. Tall, dark, and very dangerous.

  The senior girls had always flocked around him because he was “hot.” They said he knew things—things about girls and how to make them feel good.

  Well, Vanessa felt good every time she looked at him.

  She had watched him for the last year, since she’d gone to see Mr. Hilliard, silent, invisible, wondering when or even if he would see her and acknowledge her. Eric Cipriani would graduate in a month. After that, she would probably see him around town and in the feed store he managed, but she wouldn’t see him all the time, like she did now. Every day, she woke up wondering, hoping that today would be the day he approached her to say:

  “Thank you, Vanessa. You’re probably the bravest person I know.” And then maybe he would kiss her. Maybe on the lips, even.

  The thought made her catch her breath and get a funny little sensation in the pit of her belly, which always happened when she thought that maybe, just maybe he would like her a little bit more than just as a brave person. Maybe he would come to like her, you know, that way.

  Because once he graduated, unless he had that reason to seek her out, she would have no such easy access to him as she did now, no reason to go to the feed store, no reason to cross his path at all. Vanessa was running out of time.

  She stood behind a tree, peeking around it, to watch him. He and his friends sat on the picnic tables just off campus, drinking beer out of longneck bottles and smoking cigarettes while they watched the senior girls, and pointed at a few of them here and there, laughing. Although she didn’t know what was funny about the senior girls, she loved his laugh. His smile made her want to smile, too, so she did.

  At that moment, his gaze met hers, and he stopped laughing. Stopped smiling. Hurt began to blossom somewhere deep inside her chest and she bit her lip, hoping his expression didn’t mean what she thought it meant.

  He turned away from her then and his beautiful long black hair floated on the breeze. He didn’t respond to the talk going on around him anymore and he took a long drink from his bottle. He threw his cigarette down on the ground and stubbed it out with his silver-tipped cowboy boots the high school girls said had retractable knives in the toes.

  He walked away from his friends—away from Vanessa—without a word. Her attention caught on the way his tight ripped jeans moved over his butt with every step, and there was that funny little feeling in the pit of her belly again.

  No “thank you” for Vanessa today. No kiss. She whirled and, her back to the tree, she slid down its trunk to curl in on herself, tamping down the sharp pain in her chest. She managed not to cry about it for two whole months, until cheer camp that summer.

  “Vanessa,” drawled Annie Franklin, captain of the squad. “Did you invite Knox to our camp closing exhibition?”

  “Yes,” she lied. She hadn’t dared, though she knew very good and well that her access to “that hot prosecutor Knox Hilliard” was the only reason the cheerleaders, prodded by their mothers, had reluctantly recruited her for the varsity squad. Considering Vanessa wasn’t eligible to cheer varsity for two more years, their mothers had lobbied the Alumni Association for an exemption.

  “Well? Is he coming?”

  “He has a family thing.”

  “Did you give him that note?”

  “Yes,” she answered truthfully. That was why she hadn’t dared ask him anything else.

  “What did he say?”

  Is she out of her fucking mind?! “He was in a hurry. He just put it in his pocket.”

  Annie looked through Vanessa, her mouth pursed. “Maybe he’s gay.”

  Uh, no. “I don’t know.”

  “Hey, Annie!” called the vice captain. “What happened to your Italian stallion?”

  Annie’s face darkened and Vanessa’s heart beat a lot faster; she hadn’t seen him in almost two months. Anywhere.

  “He left,” Annie snapped back.

  “Left? Left where?”

  “Left town.”

  “Where’d he go?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Ask his mom.”

  “She’s gone, too. It’s like they disappeared off the face of the planet.”

  * * * * *

  And the Rich Have Their Ice in the Summer

  * * * * *

  5: Platinum Linings

  January 5, 2009

  The Chouteau County, Missouri prosecutor fought his way through the crowd of people lining the sidewalk to the courthouse. He shoved aside the cameras and booms, shouldered past disembodied hands holding out micro-recorders, and attempted to shield his eyes from the lights aimed ruthlessly at his face. Out of the din around him, he could understand only his name.

  “Mr. Cipriani—!”

  “Mr. Cipriani—!”

  “Mr. Cipriani—!”

  “No comment at this time,” he barked intermittently, trying not to grin. He’d worked and prepared and waited for this moment. He’d woven his web, caught his prey, and rolled them up in silk, right here in front of the courthouse.

  Time to start eating.

  He reached the steps that led up to the doors and turned to face the crowd of bloggers and reporters. At six A.M. in January, the sky didn’t show even a tinge of pink, making the bright lights from the cameras against the darkness blinding. He held his hands up for silence and got it.

  “Which part of ‘the press conference will be held at ten A.M.’ didn’t you all get?”

  That accomplished nothing except to restart the shouting, as he had intended.

  They were so easy, especially that prick Glenn Shinkle from the Chouteau Recorder who hadn’t realized that newsprint was dead. He’d kept his little twelve-page rag alive for years on Knox’s back, always striving to be the next Bob Woodward. He would have succeeded if he’d just realized that every bit of Knox’s reputed corruption was an elaborately constructed façade and had figured out a way to prove it.

  Oh, yeah, Eric had plans for Shinkle.

  He shook his head with a chuckle, turned, and opened the door to go in the courthouse. He jerked his head at the deputies on duty and they went out to control the crowd. He bounded up the grand walnut staircase to the second floor, then through the outer door of the prosecutor’s office—

  —only to stop cold at the sign stuck on the closed door of the private office toward the back of the bullpen.

  ERIC CIPRIANI

  PROSECUTOR

  Knox must have had that placed as a surprise for him, his last act.

  He flinched when the lights flickered on and a hand clapped him on the back. “Congrats,” Patrick Davidson said as he brushed in behind Eric, walked to his desk and dropped into the chair to rifle through his files.

  “Don’t congratulate me yet,” Eric said over his shoulder. “I still have to get through the press conference this morning.”

  Davidson shrugged. “Just keep your eye on that,” he said, pointing to the white board hanging on the wall behind Eric’s old desk, its to-do list printed in Knox’s precise block lettering:

  GRADUATE FROM COLLEGE 5/99

  GRADUATE FROM LAW SCHOOL 5/02

  TAKE OVER PROSECUTOR’S OFFICE 1/09

  START CAMPAIGN FOR CC PROSECUTOR 1/09

  START CAMPAIGN FOR MO AG 4/10

  MO AG 2012 - 2016

  MO GOVERNOR 2016 - 2024

  1600 PENNSYLVANIA AVE 2024

  GET A MOVE ON!!

  Eric felt a deep growl of satisfaction welling in his chest. If he stayed on tr
ack, he’d be forty-seven when he hit the White House, the perfect age—old enough to quash credibility murmurs and young enough to avoid questions of senility.

  As for the public scrutiny that had begun the minute Eric had abruptly taken over as interim prosecutor the month before, well, it’d take him a while and some savvy PR to sort that out. His refusal to distance himself from Knox would make the task more difficult, but Annie had hired a top-notch firm to help. On the other hand, Knox’s relatively powerful family had already put its political and financial wheels in motion to get Eric where he wanted to go—and where they wanted him.

  Richard Connelly huffed and puffed his way into the office, then to his desk. “Why the long face? You still worried about your juvie record?”

  Well, yeah, he was, and Connelly interpreted Eric’s silence correctly.

  “Nobody cares,” he said flatly, “as long as you keep hanging it out there for everyone to see. You are the American dream.” Davidson made a noise of agreement.

  “I got lucky,” Eric muttered, ever mindful of the fact that he couldn’t have done it on his own because he wouldn’t have known where to start. “Knox just . . . handed it to me.”

  “No, he gave you help and guidance,” he said. “You did the rest. You set your goals and you’ve worked at them. More importantly, you’ve kept yourself squeaky clean. Nobody did that for you. You have an impeccable education from a religious university. Your politics are consistent, even though you’re as full of shit as Justice is.” Eric laughed. “You have an extremely photogenic fiancée who’s as well educated and smart as you are. Future First Lady as of a year from now.”

  “The next President and Mrs. Obama, Republican version,” Davidson intoned.

  “Not Republican.”

  “Yeah, you’re not planning to run on a Libertarian ticket, I bet.”

  “I might.”

  “You’ll split the conservatives right down the middle.”

  “Libertarian does not equal conservative,” Eric reminded him. “I’m not on board with the entire Libertarian party platform, either.”

  Connelly grunted. “The Republican leadership’s dying. You could take all the conservatives with you and win as a Libertarian if you make sure to clarify where you differ from the party.”

  “And they know that,” Davidson added. “All other conservative issues being equal, they might vote for a candidate who’d decriminalize marijuana and prostitution, but they’ll never go for an isolationist.”

  “Which I am not, which is why I haven’t decided yet.”

  “But it means the Republicans need you more than you need them.”

  Eric didn’t bother to respond to that because it was true. The political landscape was shifting like quicksand underneath the old guard’s feet. Eric was young, outspoken, and had a growing nationwide blog audience. He represented real change, and he intended to capitalize on it. “I have a meeting with Tye Afton next week in Jefferson City.”

  Davidson looked at him warily. “You better watch out for him,” he said soberly. “He’s a snake in the grass.”

  Eric blinked.

  He turned to Connelly. “Do you remember? About fifteen years ago? Afton was involved in some coverup of real estate acquisition and funding when he was on the state House appropriations committee? The governor was livid because he couldn’t prove it, and then that was about the time Knox went nuts, so he had to deal with that, too? Two scandals going at the same time and he couldn’t nail Afton or Knox.”

  “Really,” Eric drawled.

  “Really,” Connelly said. “Missouri’s version of Whitewater. And then he went to Washington. He’s been chair of the Senate Appropriations Committee for so long, it’s like nothing can touch him.”

  “I guess it’s a good thing the FBI likes me, huh?”

  “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Connelly said. “I refuse to vote for you for anything but attorney general, but if I wanted to sabotage you, I’d tell you to get on his bandwagon. Afton’s not your friend and I don’t care how powerful he is.”

  Justice Hilliard dragged in unexpectedly, dark circles under her eyes and a can of Red Bull in her hand.

  Eric, Davidson, and Connelly all stared at her, shocked on two levels. “Uh, Justice, aren’t you supposed to be in the Ozarks tending to Knox?”

  “He said I was getting too bossy,” she growled. She thunked the can down on her desk and turned to face them, her hand on her hip. “It’s not like he died last month or anything, right?”

  All three of the men burst out laughing, but Justice scowled. Her sense of humor usually didn’t show up until after lunch, but that didn’t keep her from being funny by default.

  “So . . . you’re here on time.”

  “Early, even.”

  “By an hour and a half. What’s the occasion?”

  She plopped down in her chair and folded her arms across her chest. Glared. “For your information, I can’t sleep without Knox, okay?”

  “Justice,” Connelly said. “You can sleep standing up with your eyes open. When did that get to be a problem?”

  “Since my house was broken into, my baby was shot at, my home was burnt to the ground, and my husband was killed,” she snapped, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “All of which I would’ve slept through if Knox hadn’t been there.”

  Eric reflected that now might not be the time to tease his predecessor’s wife, all things considered. Nobody wanted to think about the details of why Eric had had to take over as Chouteau County prosecutor a month sooner than anybody planned.

  Knox’s death and resurrection was still too fresh for gallows humor.

  “Sorry,” Connelly finally muttered when he spotted the moisture on her cheek.

  She sighed. “Me, too, Richard. I’m just—” She raised a hand helplessly and dropped it on her desk. “I’m kind of lost right now, you know? Too many changes in too short a time, too many things to think about, too many plans to make. This whole last year, being pregnant and planning a wedding— Having a baby, for God’s sake. Then Knox getting shot— Leaving Mercy with Giselle this morning just killed me. She’s three months old and it’s the first time I’ve been away from her since I had her. And we’re supposed to be moving to Utah in May—not like I want to go, but it’s important to Knox—and I just don’t know how . . . ”

  “You don’t have anything to move, Justice,” Davidson murmured. “It’s a lining. Not much of one and fairly tarnished, but Knox and Mercy are alive.”

  “Don’t forget the cat,” Eric teased to see if he could get a smile out of her. It worked. Barely.

  “I swear, I’ve done nothing but cry for a month,” she muttered, and pulled a box of Kleenex out of her desk drawer.

  Eric figured she was perfectly entitled, but he had his doubts about her ability to remain cool and collected in front of a judge today. Or any time in the near future. If he had to send her home, he would.

  But he kept his mouth shut about that for the time being. “I’m assuming you left Knox with a bunch of nurses and physical therapists?”

  Justice huffed and blew her nose. “Yes. But he wouldn’t let me stick around to supervise them.”

  “Terrorize them, you mean.”

  “That’s what he said, but it’s so not true.”

  Her cell phone rang and she snatched it open without looking at the caller ID. “What,” she snapped, but then her pixie face lit up. “Okay. I love you, too.” She clapped it shut and stuffed it in her purse, picked up her things and scampered out the door, a hurried, “He can’t sleep without me, either,” floating back to them. “Be back later.”

  Davidson chuckled. “Later meaning in a couple of months.”

  “If ever,” Eric muttered, staring at Justice’s desk, and wondering if she’d ever be back and how fast he could get some new lawyers hired. He was down to four at this point, not including himself, and their docket was full to bursting. Discussing political strategy with his staff would
n’t get the business at hand done, and the business at hand was his ticket to the next step of his master plan.

  “I’ll tell you something,” he said, pointing from Connelly to Davidson and back again. “We’re getting some secretaries in here. And no more Chouteau County residency program. I’m hiring experienced attorneys from now on.”

  He took in their amazed stares. “Oh, is that right,” Davidson said, and Eric grinned when he heard the approval in that.

  “I— We are done training newbs. If I hire any new grads, they’re going to have to pass the Justice McKinley Hilliard test.”

  “Oh, hell, I wouldn’t pass that test,” Davidson grumbled, and turned his attention to his latest case. Connelly chuckled.

  “Well, boy,” said another deep voice from the doorway of the common area. Eric looked up to see Judge Wilson. “You’ve finally come into your own. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I remember when you were standing in front of me in shackles.” Eric’s mouth tightened a bit. “How long ago was that, anyway?”

  Suck it up, princess. Hold your head high. Face ’em all down and dare ’em to find fault. You aren’t going to get anywhere in politics if you let that drag your ass.

  He couldn’t count the number of times Knox had said that to him.

  “I don’t know. Twelve, thirteen years.”

  “That long! Well, I’m telling you now. If you pull anything like what Knox pulled, I’ll have you disbarred. I’m tired of all that bullshit and you know every one of his tricks.”

  “Aw, Wilson, that’s not fair. I don’t know every trick.”