“It was too soon. You knew it. Hell, I knew it. I was so ready for a fresh start that I didn’t realize it would mean leaving them behind.” Perry gnawed the inside of his cheek. Moisture glimmered in his eyes. He buried his face in his hands, drew a deep breath, and then smoothed the lines out of his features for a beat.
“Where to begin?” He shrugged. “I had no business hosting a party.” His head shook. “I thought that … if I … if I could make a new memory in that house, a happy memory, then all the rest wouldn’t seem so goddamned overwhelming.”
During the trial, he’d shown emotion. When the medical examiner took the stand, he’d hardly been able to look in the direction of the exhibits. The strong, commanding man she’d known for years had sobbed quietly beside her. He’d shaken his arms out like a boxer about to enter the ring in the pre-trial discovery and on the day of closing arguments. He’d prayed quietly to himself for the souls of his children and wife, and that he might see them again soon.
Genevieve had worried about the possibility of Perry committing suicide in those first few days and when he’d been released.
“I should’ve made you come to my condo.”
“You’ve done enough.” He patted her shoulder when really, she should be the one providing comfort. “The media would have fornicated on that bit of news for days. Our relationship would have been called into question, and your career would have stalled.”
She wasn’t ready to discuss her career, so she placed her now tingling hands in her lap and kept her mouth shut.
“Genevieve?”
“Yeah?” There was such question in his voice that she looked him straight in the eyes. The tears were gone but not the concern.
“Why have you been hiding from me?”
“I didn’t want to ask you what the fuck you were thinking by offering me partner because I know it means a lot to you. There’s been so much disappointment and upheaval in your life over the past six months that I didn’t want to cause you anymore.” She covered her mouth to keep from saying more, but now that the cork was popped … Her fingers slipped to her chin. “Why did you do it?”
“You deserve it.”
“The liability? More responsibility? The capital investment? Less court time?”
“I thought you always wanted to be partner.”
He also apparently thought she liked surprises. Did he not know her at all?
“You always wanted to be partner.” She pointed her finger gun at him for a flash. “You always wanted me to become a partner. I only want, and have only ever wanted, to practice law.”
Perry drew an empty money clip from his pocket and absently slipped it over and over in his hand. The silence grew, but she kept her lips pinned together.
“Is that a no?”
“It’s an I’m not ready to think about it.”
“That’s a relief.” He grinned. It was bigger than his earlier attempt, but still hollow. “I assumed you were turning on me like the rest of the office.”
“Turning on you?”
“Sideways glances when I walk by. Questioning my innocence even after I’ve been acquitted.” His upper lip quivered as though he banked the need to snarl.
Maybe a good old-fashioned roar would give him some relief, if only fleeting. Her shrink suggested it once. She’d never seen that shrink again. He’d suggested yoga and meditation also. Of the three, screaming was something she probably should've tried.
She leaned in and placed her hand atop his. “People always want to believe the best and worst about people. Mediocre is boring.”
“You’re not boring.” He held her hand and placed his other atop it.
“I’m not mediocre. Sometimes I’d like to be,” she whispered.
“But you can’t. A star does its job and so do you.”
Genevieve couldn’t help herself. She rolled her eyes at him.
“Seriously, Genevieve—”
“If you thank me again, I’m going to break your hand—” She shifted her hold as though she would actually hurt him. It positioned them palm to palm.
“Thank you for standing by my side.” He smoothed a thumb over her wrist. “You’re the reason I’m not locked away for eternity.”
A tingle pricked her skin in the path his warm finger traced. She hiccupped on her thought, and warning bells rang in her ear. “The evidence spoke for itself.”
“It did, but you backed it, and that made all the difference. Because everyone knows you don’t defend.” His index finger tapped the back of her hand.
His large hands bracketed hers. She couldn’t pull her hand away without making her discomfort with the situation obvious. What the hell happened to her fuck politeness policy?
“Victims need me because defendants are mostly guilty,” she explained.
A massive smile grew from one corner of this mouth to the other. It lit his eyes from the inside and perked his slouched shoulders. “Yes, they are.”
Genevieve’s heart skittered to a stop. There was something there in his features. A nuance hidden for days, months, years. It didn’t have a name or a convenient tick box. She didn’t know what it was, but it was there in his eyes, and it flash froze her to the seat. In stark contrast, her palm slicked with sweat. The need to retrieve it from his grip shrieked.
“I need coffee before I fall over.” She patted his hand with her free one, pulled them both away, and stood. “Want some?”
She made for the counter without falling over and without his answer.
Some asshat had left the dregs of this afternoon’s brew in the carafe. They’d also left it on the warming plate. No respect. It was nothing new. Nearly every time she wanted coffee, she had to first wash the pot. Focusing her irritation on some unknown perpetrator was easier than trying to catalog what she’d just experienced. So she yanked the glass container from the machine and turned toward the sink with a flourish of grumbled expletives.
Rushing water soon filled the silence. The silence unsettled her more. Almost as much as that eerie look on Perry’s face. She set the carafe in the stream of water and turned to find him standing only a few feet away. His relocation hadn’t made a sound, but that was only the third most disturbing thing. Beyond his expression and before the too quiet movement, the item hanging from Perry’s grip stilled the oxygen molecules in her bloodstream, muscles, and brain.
“I found this last week.” He turned an emerald green jacket over in his hand, examining it.
Gen knew the silky material well. It had a slight snag on the inside collar where the clasp of her gold ivy necklace had grabbed hold and refused to let go. It’d taken her three minutes, her bathroom mirror, and the full range flexibility to free herself from the debacle. He must have had it on his lap or on the chair next to him. She hadn’t seen it before.
“It could only fit three women in the office, and I—”
“It’s mine.” Her steady voice belied the unease contorting her mind.
She hadn’t thought about the accessory since tossing it over her arm and heading for the subway more than a week ago. It had been the same morning she’d played detective, following Perry and the long-legged blonde from The Ashford to the bank. The same morning she’d locked herself inside her office and buried herself in work in an effort to forget what she’d witnessed that morning.
Perry made no move to extend his hand to exchange the jacket for her thanks.
All for the best. Genevieve’s limbs weighed a thousand pounds as did the apprehension sitting on her chest.
“I found it near the firm’s back entrance.” His gaze narrowed slightly.
The intense examination incited a chill. It flourished at her nape and unfurled tendrils down her spine, freeing her from shock. She extended her hand and leaned forward.
“Oh my goodness, thank you! I hadn’t been able to find the thing anywhere.” Her cheeks hurt from forcing a smile.
He extended it toward her so slowly it seemed he didn’t move at all. “Any idea how it
got behind the door of the back entrance?”
“It probably slipped off my arm when I opened the door. You know, last week it was too hot to wear the thing on the commute.” Gen snagged the jacket and inspected it, for lack of anything better to do with her frantic self.
“I wasn’t aware you used that door.” His arms hung limply by his sides. If he’d shove them into his pockets, she’d feel more comfortable. He was being awkward and almost provoking with his stance. Where was the happy, slightly pudgy guy she’d known for years?
“Don’t usually, but I’ve been hiding from you, remember?” Genevieve winked and turned away from him. “How about that coffee?” Her hand trembled as she raised the jacket and set it on the counter. She moved fast, snagging the dish soap and sponge from the cabinet, and set to work on the carafe.
“If you’ve been using that entrance, why didn’t you see your jacket?” His breath heated her neck.
She swallowed a lump of you’re caught the size of Riker’s Island, clamped her eyes shut, and scrubbed at the burnt-on grounds. “Focused on minimizing my obstacle course, I guess.”
“You know … caffeine in the evening will make you jittery and keep you up all night.”
“Yep.” Her eyes popped open. Was that a threat? She stared at the water rushing over her fingers and forced a genial tone. “But I have work to do. You don’t want a lazy partner, do you?”
“No. I already have two.” Perry’s palm wrapped around the back of her neck. His fingers sank into either side and swayed her gently. He’d done the same thing a hundred times before in her backyard or at an uptown party as a sign of celebration and camaraderie, yet tonight, it felt like a threat.
“Is that an agreement?” His words whispered into her ear.
“Nope.” She reached back with her sopping wet hand and patted his. “Not yet.” Water dripped over her arm, shoulder, and neck, and on Perry’s hand and suit sleeve.
He released his grip and reached around her for the dish towel hanging on the hook. After meticulously rubbing the water from the fabric and his skin, he returned it, crowding her too much. Her gaze slipped to the drawer with all the knives. Could she get one in time? Could she even use it on anyone, much less her friend? Could he really hurt her?
“Soon,” Perry said his demand and turned. Light footsteps marked his exit.
Genevieve clung to the countertop for support. The aftermath of adrenaline ravaged her body, making everything weak and shaky. If Detective Graham could see her hands now. She shut off the water and drew deep breaths, willing back her usually unwavering composure.
Was she losing a step, or was Perry Carter not the man she thought she knew?
Nine
Wine sloshed and mounted the top of her glass. The table vibrated, jittering and clinking the silverware on Genevieve’s plate. In turn, she squeaked and jerked. The red liquid spilled over the edge, drizzling down her fingers and onto the starched white tablecloth. Three red-purple circles grew as the fabric soaked it up.
Her phone vibrated several more times in rapid succession, chiming on her dishes.
“Damnit.” She released the whispered curse before she remembered exactly where she was. Two sneers from the neighboring table of perfectly posh Upper East Siders reminded her that she sat at an upscale eatery, outdoor seating or not.
A neatly quartered Focaccia Robiola sat untouched on her plate. The brick-oven toasted sandwich brimming with spinach, tomato, cheese, and truffle oil was the Amaranth’s specialty. Since the phone call informing her that Perry had been taken into custody and his family murdered, Genevieve had been hit or mostly miss on her low carb diet. Yet her stomach revolted against even the thought of food. Drink, on the other hand—literally—was all she’d done since the end of the trial.
Last night’s encounter with Perry had set her on edge, and she’d teetered there all day. Only the idea of action had soothed her. However, stalking your boss and dear friend who may or may not be hiding something wasn’t the place to keep them ironed out. She’d braided her red hair and looped it into a tight, low bun in an effort to hide in plain sight. In any other city, a muted pink boatneck top and pleated black leather skirt might have outed her from a mile off, but in her city, she blended in like a pro.
Gen dabbed at the tablecloth with her napkin, but it was too late. The evidence of her slow spiral into premature alcoholism remained. She wasn’t an alcoholic yet, though she had the jitters and current drinking habits of one. It was only a matter of time.
The phone vibrated once more.
Using the napkin, she wiped off her fingers and ignored the couple dining next to her. If they wanted finery, they should’ve dined inside. The sidewalk dining could be a crapshoot. One time, Gen had dined next to a woman wearing $2,000 blue jeans. That would likely send their snooty asses to therapy. She took a long drink of wine—without spilling a drop—placed the napkin in her lap, and swiped the screen on her phone. She’d shoved it under the edge of her plate at the beginning of the stakeout in case she needed to snag a photo. Not that an iPhone was made for long distance photography, but it was all she had. A group text from the girls lit her screen.
Marlis: When are we having our congratulatory dinner?
Larkin: I won’t be back in town until Friday afternoon.
Marlis: We just left the conference, headed back to NYC. Your plane can’t be delayed for two days!
Larkin: I know!! Since I was already out here, I decided to move up a meeting that I had scheduled with a tech company next month. They’re thrilled about the schedule change. NOT!
Marlis: You can’t miss spa day!!
Genevieve cast a glance up at the street. The movers worked steadily, loading large, extravagant pieces of furniture from Perry Carter’s house onto a large truck occupying too much of the street for passing motorists. Several of them had voiced their opinions, which had ruffled the feathers of the couple next to her before they’d even sat.
No sign of Perry yet.
Her phone vibrated again. She scooped it off the table, set it in her lap, and read.
Libby: If they can’t help your business now, they won’t help it in a month.
Larkin: That’s what I said. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time for the board meeting. Just a touch more important than spa day.
Marlis: Depends on who you ask! Gen?!
Genevieve: I can’t make the spa Friday either. Sorry! Good luck with the biz stuff!
Marlis: Not you too! Traitors, all of you!
There wasn’t an event to get in the way of Friday’s spa day ritual. Larkin’s absence had given her an out, and she might need it. If she didn’t have answers to what the hell was going on with Perry by then, her money would be wasted. No way could she relax and enjoy either Eric’s practiced hands on her or his ample cock inside her. It was against every policy of the prestigious institution and every certified massage therapist, but that hadn’t stopped them from enjoying each other before. Prepping for that fucking trial had.
Libby: I’m not a traitor. I’ll be there with or without those two.
Larkin: How about we celebrate Saturday?
Libby: I’m in. What are we celebrating?
Marlis: Gen making partner, of course!
Genevieve: Only one of you is supposed to know about that!
Larkin: I’m a better interrogator than Libby is a criminal.
Libby: I should get her a job at the Bureau.
Libby: Gen, I’m sorry!!! I’m a terrible friend!!!
Genevieve: The worst!
Marlis: You know you can’t keep anything from us for long.
Genevieve looked at the home Perry had shared with his wife and two precious children right up until the day they’d been ripped from the earth. Libby couldn’t keep a secret. She and the girls had pried juicy gossip and FBI secrets from her without waterboarding. Perry, though, that man could gridlock and take a secret to his grave. She’d tried prying details from him on past cases. Not a peep. She’d entruste
d things to him that she hadn’t told a soul and entombed in him they remained.
So what was Perry hiding? Why was he moving? Why hadn’t he mentioned it the other night?
Perhaps the memories in the house were too sweet and brutal to bear.
As though she’d conjured him, Perry stepped through the doorway onto one of the grandest front stoops New York City had to offer. He’d yet to change out of the suit she’d seen him in at the office. A meeting about a change in the tax law that affected them all necessitated her expedition into the fray, where again Perry had prodded her about the partnership. He’d lost his jacket somewhere along the way as well as his tie. Both hands perched on his hips, accentuating their narrowness. The folds of his sleeve exposed sinew she hadn’t known existed on his frame. His mouth was moving, and she’d give up her swanky apartment and move back to Brooklyn to hear what he said. A man popped his head out the truck. They two exchanged words. Perry pointed from the guy to the house. His face contorted, and the pointing grew more intense.
“Miss?”
Genevieve jerked once more. This time, her glass swayed in her hand, but there was no more liquid to spill.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” A server in black pants and a white button-down shirt bent at the waist. His hand was clasped wide over his tie.
Great, she was visibly startled. Again. The entire reason she’d come to the Amaranth was because stoop sitting on this street would get her jailed or, at the very least, shooed off like yesterday’s garbage. Plus, she’d have stuck out like fake fur at fashion week. And this guy interrupted the show.
He smiled sweetly. “Is there something wrong with your entree?”
“Um, it’s fine. I was enjoying the wine,” she lied. Well, the glass was empty, and it had been a nice red. So, not a lie.
“Another glass?”
“Yes, please.”
The server’s gaze fixated on the stains. Genevieve glared at him, daring him to say anything.
“Very well.” He gave a curt nod and headed into the restaurant.
When she looked back, Perry and the movers were gone, as though the house had swallowed them whole. She watched intently for the next two minutes, willing them to re-emerge. In the hour she’d been sitting here, scrutinizing every item or box they removed from the structure, she’d also been looking for any sign of Long Legs. There were none except perhaps for the move itself. Perry had been adamant about living in the house that had been his family’s home.
Why (Stalker Series Book 2) Page 8