Authors: Sandra Brown
Do I really need to?
I sat on the edge of my bed just staring at the TV, hoping I’d wake up and find David lying next to me, that crooked smile of his asking me what the hell I was dreaming about.
But, of course, that didn’t happen. Instead, I watched news footage of my boyfriend being arrested in the lobby of his hotel. Apparently, he hadn’t gone to the airport after all. Had turned around and gone back to the Traveler’s Inn and soon found himself confronted by a phalanx of uniformed and plainclothes police officers.
He didn’t resist arrest. Just stood there, looking stunned, as they cuffed his wrists and escorted him away.
And I didn’t speak to him again until after the trial.
* * *
I did, however, speak to my mother. More or less.
My favorite cable channel was in the midst of looping the arrest footage for about the hundred and forty-seventh time—the phrase “sex game” repeated ad infinitum—when my phone rang and that piercing nasal whine filled my right ear.
“Oh, my God,” she said. “Oh. My. God. Tell me it isn’t true. Tell me I’m having a terrible, terrible nightmare.”
I don’t know why I answered the damn thing. I’d known it would be her. And the last person in the world I wanted to talk to was mommy dearest. But for reasons that will always escape me, I had grabbed my cell phone by the fourth ring, and now I not only had to find a way to respond, I had to do it in a way that somehow didn’t make me sound as humiliated as I felt. Humiliated by David’s betrayal and by the dreaded realization that the woman on the other end of the line had been right all along.
I was devastated, no doubt about it, but I’d be damned if I’d show it.
Not to her.
She would be sympathetic, of course. I knew that. She would try to soothe my wounds, as she always had. She would do everything she could to protect me from further harm… . But behind it all, hidden just beneath the surface of every word and deed, she would be gloating. Every syllable she uttered would be laced with that
mother knows best
tone that she had perfected over the past thirty years.
Both she and I were victims, simply because of our gender. No man could ever be trusted and we ladies had to stick together if we wanted to survive. Love and happiness were elusive, unrealistic goals if we depended on the opposite sex to provide them for us. Any woman who thought she had achieved the fairy tale was a deluded fool, just as I—and she—had been.
But I didn’t want to believe that. I didn’t want to believe what I’d had with David was a lie. Even with the evidence staring right at me, a part of me thought that there had to be a mistake. That, in our case, the fairy tale
was
true.
How was it possible that I could be so easily duped? Surely David couldn’t have been
acting,
could he?
And surely I wasn’t
that
stupid.
Was I?
Everything I saw on my television screen told me I was. Everything I’d seen with my own eyes. Heard with my own ears.
Whether it had been an accident or a premeditated act, my boyfriend was both a philanderer and, yes, a murderer. There was simply no way around that fact.
And I had been there, right outside the hotel, when it happened.
God save me.
My mother was still chattering away in my ear, her voice full of alarm, and I know I said something in return, but I couldn’t tell you what it was.
I had stopped listening to her. Put her on mute as my mind reeled, a cacophony of thoughts swirling inside my brain with such ferocity that I could barely contain them, feeling them build and build as if an orchestra were trapped in there, playing the final crescendo of a dark, discordant symphony.
Then, clicking off the phone midwhine, I went into my bathroom and spent the next fifteen minutes hunched over the toilet bowel.
No point in holding back now.
* * *
“Thank God you answered,” he said. “I was convinced I’d never talk to you again.”
“I almost didn’t,” I told him. “I’m still not sure why I did.”
The trial was a month past and a verdict and sentence had been handed down. David had been found guilty of Voluntary Manslaughter and would be spending the next fifteen years in a California penitentiary.
I hadn’t attended the trial. Had no desire to. There had been some talk of calling me as a witness, but nobody except Mother knew that I had flown to Los Angeles that day. They hadn’t even bothered to check. And after sending a Boise P.D. liaison to interview me, the prosecutor decided I had nothing substantial to contribute to the case.
I was, after all, simply the grieving ex-girlfriend who had been completely clueless about her boyfriend’s extracurricular activities. I wanted nothing to do with David. Didn’t care if I ever saw him again, and couldn’t wait for the news media to get tired of the case and leave me alone.
By the time the verdict was read, David and Kim and their disastrous sex game had become little more than a footnote as the news moved on to bigger and better scandals. And a month later, I doubted that anyone could remember either of their names.
None of which had kept David from calling me. His phone privileges seemed to be on a set schedule, and every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon he left a message on my voice mail, begging me to come see him. To let him explain what had happened. That what I was seeing on TV was not the truth. Not even close.
It killed me to hear his voice. To know he was in such pain. But I dutifully erased each of the calls and went on with the business of trying to put my life back together, despite the nagging desire to believe him. Unless he was the world’s greatest liar, the sincerity in his tone was hard to ignore.
Mother moved in with me. A temporary situation, she said, until I got back to my old self—although I had to wonder which of us would determine exactly when that moment had arrived. She was using every weapon in her passive-aggressive arsenal to let me know that she was the expert here, and I had a sneaking suspicion that I might never be rid of her.
Then, on a cold Tuesday afternoon, while Mother was out getting her hair done, my phone rang, and after a long moment of indecision, I answered it, knowing full well who it would be.
“It’s so amazing to hear your voice,” he said. “You’re all I’ve been able to think about.”
“Leave me alone, David.”
“I’ve missed you, babe. You don’t know how much I—”
“Please,” I said, “you need to stop calling me. I’ve got nothing for you anymore.”
But if I was honest with myself, that was a lie. This brief conversation alone had sparked something inside me. Something intangible. Irrational. I suddenly felt giddy and alive again, the way I had always felt when I was around David, Mother be damned.
“Come see me, babe. Let me explain. I didn’t do what they say I did. I swear on my father’s grave that everyone has it wrong. Including you.”
The invocation of his long-deceased father didn’t come lightly. I knew this. David had cherished the man, and despite what he had been convicted of, I honestly didn’t think he’d use his father to convince me of his innocence, unless what he was saying was absolutely true.
It took a while longer, but he finally convinced me to come to California for a face-to-face. If nothing else, it would be a chance for me to finally purge myself of him forever.
To let him know just how much he’d hurt me.
That was worth a trip, wasn’t it?
* * *
I left the next morning, while Mother was still asleep. My overnight bag had a broken latch, so I took hers from the hall closet, filled it with a change of clothes and some toiletries, then left a note on the fridge and headed for the airport.
She wouldn’t be happy with this decision, but I didn’t care.
I had to do what I had to do.
Several hours later I sat at a table across from David, staring into those beautiful blue eyes. Not shifty at all. Not in the least. He was shackled and wore an orange jumpsuit, and I’d felt my heart break the moment I stepped into the room and saw him sitting there.
He looked smaller than I remembered. Beaten down. But the weight he carried didn’t seem to be the weight of a guilty man, and I found myself once again wanting to believe that there’d been some mistake.
I guess that was what I was there to find out.
“I wasn’t having an affair with Kim,” he said. “There
wasn’t
any sex game. Everything between us was strictly business. I won’t deny I found her attractive—who wouldn’t? But my heart was always with
you,
babe. Always will be.”
Normally I would have melted about then, but I resisted. “Why don’t you get to the not-killing-her part?”
“That’s just it. I was set up.”
“Oh, please, David.”
“I
swear
it’s the truth. We met with a client earlier in the day and had just come back from shopping.”
“Shopping?”
He hesitated. “We went to a jewelry store. Kim helped me pick out a ring.”
I was confused. “For what?”
“It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said. “And the one we chose was perfect. It was already your size, so I bought it on the spot.”
I felt my heart kick up. “What are you saying, David?”
“I was planning to ask you to marry me.”
The words thrilled me, but at the same time I suddenly felt wary, thinking this was a ploy to get me on his side. But the David I knew would never resort to such a tactic.
Then again, the David I knew wouldn’t be shackled to a chair.
“After that, Kim and I went to our rooms—separate rooms—and all I wanted to do was hop in the shower, then take a long nap.”
And that’s exactly what he did, he told me. The first part, at least. He’d thrown his clothes on the floor, then gone into the bathroom and stepped into the shower, taking a long, hot one, as he always did. He figured he’d been in there at least twenty or thirty minutes, and when he finally toweled off and stepped back into the room, he found Kim lying on the mattress. Naked.
It had taken him a moment to realize that she was dead. And when he did, he panicked. Threw his clothes back on and fled the hotel. Headed straight for the airport, planning to get out of L.A. on the next available flight. But then he realized how stupid that was. That only a
guilty
man would run. So he returned to the scene of the crime.
“A lot of good it did me,” he said softly, staring at his hands. “I didn’t kill her, babe. Someone else put her body in my room. And I never called the night maid for more towels. I think whoever did is the
real
killer.”
“But why, David? Who would do that?”
He shook his head morosely. “A jealous boyfriend, maybe? The sonofabitch took the ring, too. Snatched it right off the dresser. I’m not sure if Kim was dating anyone, but maybe he was convinced we were having an affair and followed us to the hotel.”
I felt a twinge of guilt. The idea obviously wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. But before either of us could say anything more, the guard came over and told us our time was up.
As they escorted David toward a doorway, he said, “You’ve gotta help me, babe. You have to find out who Kim was involved with. My attorney was supposed to try, but I think he—”
The door slammed shut before he could finish. I sat there, wondering if I should trust my instincts and believe the man I loved. Because that much hadn’t changed. I still loved him. Fiercely. I couldn’t help myself.
I knew David had appealed his conviction, but the chances of him winning that appeal were slim. He needed new evidence, evidence that would support his side of the story.
The question was, where would I find it?
Little did I know I’d had it with me all along.
* * *
Jealousy comes in many different forms.
I can’t begin to understand the workings of the human heart and mind, or the lengths to which some people are willing to go to protect what they cherish or desire, or to satisfy their own egos and sense of self-worth. People kill for the most mundane reasons, and I suppose everyone has a breaking point.
I was a late check-in at the hotel, planning to spend the night and visit David again before heading back to Boise. Despite the short stay, I made it a point—as I always did—to unpack my overnight bag before settling in.
Or, I should say, my
mother’s
overnight bag.
After I neatly folded my clothes into a dresser drawer and removed the small toiletry kit I’d brought along, I noticed something bulging slightly in an inner pocket of her bag.
Curious, I reached in, grabbed it.
A small square box.
And as I pulled it out and saw what it was, a sudden chill swept through me, dread doing somersaults in my stomach. With shaky hands, I pried the lid open and stared down at a beautiful diamond engagement ring.
The ring David had bought for me.
And as luck or fate would have it, my cell phone bleeped at that very moment. I dug it out of my purse and answered it.
“It’s about time you picked up,” she whined. “I can’t believe you could be so stupid. How can you let that murderous bastard get under your skin?”
I stared down at the ring. “Don’t mother. Don’t even try. I know exactly what you did. I’ve got the evidence right here in my hand.”
And for the first time that I can remember…
…my mother was speechless.
* * * * *
LOCKDOWN
Andrea Kane
Two occasions: a wedding and a honeymoon. They should be memorable. But Kane’s characters never bargained on this. ~SB
It was times like this that Claire Hedgleigh hated her psychic gift.
Her best friend was about to get married. The chapel was alight with anticipation and joy.
But all Claire could sense was darkness. Dark energy. Filling the room. Hovering over the fairy-tale setting.
Why?
Not because of the marriage. This time Kim had gotten it right. Her first marriage had been a disaster. She and Ted Benton had met in college, fallen wildly in love and eloped to Vegas when Kim was a sophomore.
Huge mistake. Kim was wealthy, accustomed to the finer things in life, and not about to give them up. She was also bright, ambitious and—within three years—a junior VP at the major advertising firm on Madison Avenue where she worked. Ted was a middle-class, nine-to-five kind of guy. Wanting a traditional life. Pissed off when he didn’t get it. And how did he react? By slacking off at work. Spending his time watching football and drinking beer.
Kim’s pregnancy was unplanned. But Sam had arrived, healthy, happy and all boy. Ted was terrific with his son. Then again, it was easy to be good with a child when you were still one yourself. He and Kim had tried to make it work. It hadn’t. They’d called it quits last year, when Sam was two. Things had plummeted downhill after that. An acrimonious divorce. Full custody for Kim when Ted drank his way to the unemployment line. And limited visitation rights after he started showing up late, drunk or not at all.
This marriage was different.
James Coleman was an ideal match. A wealthy investment banker, he loved Kim
and
respected her for who she was—a materialistic workaholic, just like him. They were both committed to their professional futures, and gladly accepted the personal sacrifices those futures entailed. It had taken an exhaustive amount of juggling to find two weeks they both could make this wedding and honeymoon happen.
And now here they were, tying the knot in a beautiful wedding chapel nestled in the gardens of Maui’s most elegant luxury resort hotel, the Punahou Lani.
So why couldn’t Claire shake the dark energy that seemed to surround them?
The beautiful strains of Pachelbel’s
Canon
began, filling the walls of the elegant chapel. The guests all turned, craning their necks to see the bridal gown that Kim Hewitt had chosen to begin her second, far more suitable, marriage.
Smoothing the folds of her custom-made ivory silk dress, Kim linked her arm through her father’s and made her grand entrance. Her gaze flickered over the guests to James—who was grinning broadly—to Sam, who had successfully made it down the aisle, stern in his all-important job of ring bearer. Other than wriggling around with his pent-up three-year-old energy level, he was being a trouper.
Claire, Kim’s longtime friend and maid of honor, stood beside Sam, fondly ruffling his hair and keeping him rooted to one spot. The bridesmaids clustered on the other side of the dais, watching Kim glide her way to her future.
The bride was only feet away from the groom and a new life when it happened.
The outside chapel door burst open. A man wearing a ski mask and gripping a handgun exploded into the sanctuary. He locked the heavy door behind him, simultaneously holding up his weapon, and aiming it straight at the dais.
Everyone screamed.
The gunman ignored it.
Keeping his sights on the crowd, he strode over to the inside chapel door—the one Kim had just entered through that connected the chapel with the ballroom wing—and locked that one, as well. He turned in a slow panoramic sweep of the room, the pistol tracking each person.
“Everyone—get down,” he ordered in a rough, gravelly voice that pierced the shrieks of fright. “Throw all your purses and cell phones on the floor and push them away from you. Then put your hands in front of you where I can see them. Anyone who plays hero, dies.”
Immediately, everyone sprang into panicked action, the women struggling over their formal dresses and high heels, the men groping in their pockets. Kim’s father pushed his daughter to the ground and shimmied his cell phone out of the pants pocket of his tuxedo before joining her. Claire dropped her bouquet and pulled Sam against her, cradling him protectively in the folds of her gown as she drew them both down to the floor.
Within two minutes, the entire roomful of people were on their knees and the aisle was strewn with designer handbags and BlackBerry phones.
“Now stay still. I’ll come to you. If you move before I tell you to, you’ll be shot.”
The masked gunman unzipped his duffel bag and walked to the rear aisle before making his way methodically forward. “All valuables in here. Jewelry, wallets, money clips—everything. Not a word. Just do it. Fast.”
He waited while the terrified guests complied, the men tossing in their wallets, money clips and watches, while the women fumbled with their necklace clasps and earrings. While his instructions were being executed, the gunman snatched up the cell phones and expensive purse contents, shoving them in the duffel bag until everything had been collected. And “everything” was a lot. The Hewitts and the Colemans were both wealthy. So were their friends.
“Please,” Kim managed in a quavering voice, hearing her son’s quiet sobs. “You have everything you came for. Please go. Don’t hurt us.”
His hard glare bore through her. “I’m going to unlock the outside door,” he announced to the group. “When I do, I want all of you to get up and get out of here. You have thirty seconds before I change my mind. But the bride and the boy—they stay.”
“What?” Kim’s father’s head shot up. “Why would you want them?”
“Shut up and do what I say,” the gunman snapped. He waited for Kim’s father to nod. Then, he turned the gun on Kim. “You stay down,” he ordered. “And you.” He pivoted until the gun pointed at James. “Get out with the others.”
“I’m not leaving Kim or Sam,” James stated flatly, half rising to a crouched position on the dais.
“Then you’re dying in front of them both.” A gloved index finger moved to the trigger. “Your choice.”
“Please, James—go,” Kim whispered to him. “I don’t want you to die. And Sam is already traumatized. We’ve got to protect him.”
With reluctant acceptance, James fell silent, giving a terse nod.
“Good.” The gunman swung the duffel bag onto his shoulder and retraced his steps to the outside door. He turned the lock and flung it open. “Go,” he commanded.
Everyone scrambled to their feet and there was a mass exodus out the door. Kim’s parents had to be shoved out by James, who was muttering, “It’s the only way to keep them safe. We’ll get help.”
The reverend was the last one out. He hesitated in the doorway, turning to scrutinize their abductor’s masked face. “Let them go,” he said quietly. “The little boy is practically a baby. He doesn’t understand. Please. Show some mercy.”
“I am. He’s with his mother. Now get out. Your being a man of God won’t stop me from putting a bullet in your head.”
The silver-haired reverend turned, gazing sadly at Kim. “God be with you,” he murmured. “I’ll do what I can.” He clearly didn’t mean just prayer. Judging from the speed with which he moved, he was en route to notify the authorities.
The gunman locked the door and turned, expecting to see only the bride and her little boy in the chapel.
Instead he also saw a slim, blonde woman on her knees beside the child, shielding him with her body. He was weeping and clinging to her.
“What the hell are you doing here?” the gunman demanded. “Didn’t you hear me say to get out?”
“I heard you,” Claire replied in a soft, calm voice. “But I’m not going anywhere. This is my godchild. I’m staying with him and his mother.”
Through the slits in his mask, his eyes bore through her in disbelief. “You’re staying,” he repeated, a bitter note creeping into his gravelly voice.
“Yes.” Claire gathered Sam against her, simultaneously giving Kim a hard shake of her head. She could sense that her friend was about to leap up and grab Sam. “Don’t,” she instructed Kim, never shifting her gaze from the gunman. “Ted would never hurt his son.”
“Ted!”
Kim gasped. It was a statement, not a question. Kim had spent a lifetime exposed to Claire’s talent. She no longer questioned it.
“Take off the mask,” Claire urged. “Sam is already scared to death. At least let him know that it’s his father doing this. Not some masked monster.” Irony laced her voice.
Ted muttered an oath and yanked the ski mask over his head. “Damn you, you freak,” he ground out, teeth clenched, pistol aimed at Claire. “It’s too bad for you that you decided to play heroine. Because
you’re
expendable. If we don’t get out of here before the cops show up, you’ll be my human shield. You’re a psychic, so you know I’m dead serious. I want Kim and Sam. Not you. So, if it comes down to it, I’ll take my family and let the cops put a round of bullets through you.”
* * *
With one hand, Sloane Burbank Parker squeezed the water out of her hair, letting it trickle down her bikini-clad figure. She continued walking along Kalhui Beach, sand beneath her bare feet, her fingers linked with her new husband’s. Twelve out of fourteen days of a dream-come-true honeymoon.
Soon to be followed by twenty-two weeks of FBI training at Quantico.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Derek murmured, following her gaze and watching the sun shimmering its last rays of the day on the serene waters. He brought Sloane’s hand to his lips. “We could just forget to go home.”
“Tempting.” She smiled. “But forget it, Special Agent Parker. You’re no longer going to be the only one in this relationship who works for the Bureau. I’m coming back with a vengeance.”
She’d been sidelined with a career-threatening injury for two years. Two years too long. Now she was coming back, retraining and raring to go. Her wedding and honeymoon had been incredible. But in a few days it would be time to go home and live life.
Derek was chuckling at her reply as they walked across the chapel lawn toward their room.
His laughter was short-lived.
A crowd of white-faced people rushed across the gardens, bumping into each other and nearly colliding with Sloane and Derek in an attempt to escape from…something. They were dressed in formal attire, an obvious indication that they’d come from an event at the chapel. They were also clearly terrified.
Instinctively, Sloane put out her arm and stopped one woman, who jumped a foot in the air at the contact.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Sloane said.
“You’ve got to run,” the woman replied, struggling to get away. “He’s got a gun.”
“Who’s got a gun?”
A fearful silence.
“We’re with the FBI,” Sloane announced quickly. “Tell us what’s going on.”
The woman sucked in her breath. “You’re FBI agents?”
“Yes.”
That calmed the woman down enough to elicit a response. “A man with a ski mask broke into the chapel during the wedding ceremony. He held us at gunpoint and demanded all our money and our jewelry. He’s still in there, holding hostages.”
“Is anyone hurt?” Derek demanded, abruptly switching from new husband into special-agent mode. “How many hostages?”
“Two. Kim and her son, Sam. I don’t know if he hurt them. He made us all go, but kept them.”
Sloane and Derek exchanged quick glances. She was already reaching into her tote bag and pulling out her BlackBerry. “He took your phones?” she surmised aloud as she punched in 911.
“Yes…” The woman covered her face with her hands. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Who are Kim and Sam?” Derek asked, while Sloane reported the situation to the Maui County Police Department.
“The bride and her little boy.”
“How little?”
“He’s three. He was sobbing his heart out when we left.” The woman broke down and began to weep.
“Try to calm down,” Derek said in a soothing tone. “Tell me who you are.”
“Marge Hewitt. I’m Kim’s aunt, her father’s sister.”
“Okay, Ms. Hewitt, we’re going to get them out.”
“How?”
“My wife is a hostage negotiator. She’ll get the right people here, and do what needs to be done.”
“The police are on their way,” Sloane announced as she ended the call. “Their precinct is about four minutes up the road.” Sloane turned to Derek. “Find security,” she instructed. “Have them seal off the building and clear the grounds. I’m sure the hotel has established a phone tree. Have management activate it. This way, all the guests who are in their rooms or in the dining rooms can be advised to stay put. No one will be able to go in or out, so the danger will be isolated.”
“Done.” Derek was already on his way.
Sloane gave Marge Hewitt a questioning look as a small group of the wedding guests began gathering around them. “Did I hear you say you’re the bride’s aunt?”
A nod. “Marge Hewitt.”
“This gunman—did he give you any indication that this was personal? Or why he chose to keep Kim and Sam in particular?”
“It’s not just Kim and Sam,” a dark-haired man in his late thirties interrupted. He turned to Marge. “Claire’s in there, too. The reverend said she was crouched behind Sam and never came out.”
“Oh, no.” Marge squeezed her eyes, then opened them to make a quick introduction. “This is James Coleman, the groom. James, this woman is an FBI agent.”
For an instant, the groom blinked, taking in Sloane’s petite size and bikini-clad figure. Then he looked up and met her gaze.
“It’s true,” Sloane assured him. “I’d show you my credentials, but clearly I wasn’t on duty. I’m on my honeymoon.” She extended her hand. “Special Agent Sloane Burbank.” She realized it would be several months before she could truly use that title again. But, in this situation, it hardly mattered.
“I apologize, Agent Burbank,” James said, shaking her hand. “I’m a mess.”
“Understandable. And no apology necessary.” Sloane gave him a questioning look. “Now, who’s Claire?”
“Kim’s best friend. The maid of honor. She’s also Sam’s godmother. So she’s very protective of him. She probably refused to leave.”