Chapter 18
Eighteen
Vicky
“So how are you?” my brother says as we drive away from the airport.
What a simple question with such complicated answers.
“Fine.”
He glances across at me, then focuses back on the road. “Is this a short stay, or a long one?”
I wince. “I don’t want to be a pain.”
“You’re allowed to be a pain, you’re my only family.”
“Family that never visits.”
“You’re visiting now.”
“Family that never even texts.”
“Not true. We do birthdays and Christmas.”
“Yay, twice a year.” Although at least someone remembers my birthday. “We’re pretty useless, aren’t we?”
He chuckles, then answers seriously. “We’re busy people, living a three-hour flight apart, and we’re not children anymore.”
True enough. Still, I need to get better at keeping in touch with people.
Yeah, you do. But you won’t.
Also true.
“So what’s the answer?” he asks, into the silence that we’ve let fall.
“Still fine.”
“Not that one. I know you’re not fine. The other one. How long?”
I watch the scenery out of the window. “Until you get sick of me, I guess.”
“That bad, huh?”
I squirm in my seat in embarrassment, and it reminds me that my ass is bruised.
And the worst part is I don’t even know how bad it is. Maybe it’s not bad at all. Maybe I’m just being a coward.
After all, I am engaged to the man. Was.
Yet ring or no ring, he gave me lots of orgasms then cuddled me in bed.
The orgasms were spectacular, for what it's worth. I'm not sure it's worth much.
And I walked out.
I wonder if the problem is me, not him.
“I don’t know,” I say at last. “Maybe not that bad, maybe it’s terrible.”
“Oh.” He leaves it at that for a long moment, and we pass several cars on the interstate before he adds more. “Then at least it’s not boring. Right?”
I laugh, despite myself, and am surprised by how naturally it comes. “No. It’s not boring.”
It used to be. Alex either abandons me or pins me down and fucks me.
Where’s the normal middle-ground that most people have?
They don’t have an Alex.
Yep. That’s the truth, right there. And the problem.
I want the Alex that held me last night. I don't want the Alex that will inevitably hurt me. The trouble is, they're the same person.
Twenty minutes of stilted banter later, we reach Chris’s house. It’s a nice-looking three-bed that I’ve been to a handful of times, and it hasn’t changed over the years. Save that the tricycle on the driveway has gone, replaced by a basketball hoop.
“How old are Matt and Susie now? Nine and six?”
“Matt’s seven. Susie’s ten next month.”
“Tempus fugit.”
“That it does.” Chris pulls up and puts the car into park.
“And Kirsten’s well?”
“She’s good, thank you.”
Boxes ticked. I suppose I should say more, but I feel so damn awkward, discombobulated from the flight, fleeing Alex, the fact that Carol has already texted me to say he’s come knocking.
“Let’s get you inside and find you a cup of tea,” Chris says. “I’m sorry, I haven’t had a chance to clear the playroom out for you, but we can get that done.”
But I don’t move for the door. “I’m disrupting your lives, aren’t I? Is Kirsten really okay with this?”
Maybe I should find a hotel. Put it on my business account. Spend some of the seed money that’s now legitimately mine, because I gave in and went to Alex’s damn ball. Money that makes me feel dirty to have it in my account, let alone the thought of spending it.
“Vicky, Kirsten encouraged me to go get you. She wants you here, safe. Now. Tea? Bath? Peace?”
I nod once, then again with more certainty. “All right. Thank you.”
“And no thanks are necessary.” He opens his door. “You’d do the same for me.”
I spend the weekend with my nephew and niece, playing Lego, and helping to re-order dolls. (I get it wrong every time, and have to re-order them again.)
Kirsten is nothing but warm, politely asks no questions, and brings me so much tea I’m constantly running to the bathroom. Chris is easygoing, unbothered.
My ass feels better by Sunday, and it no longer hurts to sit. To my shame, I almost miss that warm ache, the reminder of my night with Alex.
I go for a run with my AirPods, determined to put him from my mind. No success.
Monday, I pull myself together and get my laptop out. The kids are at school, Chris is at work, and Kirsten’s in her home office on calls. I set up on the dining room table, enjoying the quiet of their house.
Over the next three days, I finish off the deeper checks my wealthy client instructed me to do for his daughter’s love interest, pull it all together in a report, and send it over. It fills my time and it’s productive, but it’s really procrastination.
Avoiding thinking of Alex. Avoiding working on Lucy’s case—because I can’t, anyway. From the dance, I have Amelia’s number, but I don’t know her well enough to call her up for a chat.
Our evenings are filled with family. Dinners, easy conversation, a glass of wine after the children have gone to bed.
Kirsten doesn’t let me retire to my playroom-bedroom to free them of my company, but insists we watch movies or sit and talk.
A game of Cards Against Humanity results in too much laughter and disturbs the kids.
Come Friday, I’m alone at the dining room table with nothing to do and bored of spider solitaire, when the freedom of information request comes back from the medical examiner’s office on Van Wyk’s prior spouse.
A one-week turn-around—not bad. I click it open, scroll past the basic information, straight to the summary.
And freeze.
Cause of death: Sharp force injury of the neck.
Manner of death: Suicide.
Incised wound measuring 9.4 cm in length located on the anterior aspect of the neck, extending from just left of the midline at the level of the thyroid cartilage and transecting the underlying structures.
She killed herself. With a goddamn knife. Into her neck.
Who stabs themselves in the neck?
I’m still rattled when Kirsten knocks off early as it’s a Friday afternoon. She does a double-take when she sees me.
“More bad news?”
Perceptive of her. I didn’t think I was showing that much. “Just a bit of a shock.”
Yeah. Because after looking into Van Wyk’s eyes, I don’t for a moment buy that Juliette’s death was suicide. My client’s sister is married to a murderer.
And Alex works with him.
Does he know?
Is that why he didn’t want me anywhere near Van Wyk?
I thought he was just being possessive. Not intruding because he was worried for my safety.
And I’m not sure which is worse. Or better.
“Glass of wine?” Kirsten asks, and I realize I’ve been quiet for too many moments.
“It’s early, but… sure.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Do I want to tell my brother’s wife that I’m investigating a murderer that works with the same fiancé I’m here actively avoiding?
“No… it’s complicated.”
“Sure? I’m good at listening.”
“Pretty sure.” I get up to fetch glasses as Kirsten pulls a bottle from the fridge. “Life’s just a bit intense right now.”
She pours us both a glass and we chink, then sip. “Well, even if you weren’t my sister-in-law, I wouldn’t want you anywhere but here. I don’t know what you’re hiding from, but if hiding is the right answer, then we girls have to stick together, right?”
“Right,” I say, taking the sentiment for what it is, and trying not to think about ‘hiding’ too much.
Hiding isn’t me. Am I hiding?
No. I’m just… taking some processing time.
Yeah. I’m frigging hiding.
A sharp knock on the door breaks through my reverie, and Kirsten glances at the clock. “Bit early for Chris and the kids,” she says, heading over to answer it.
I lean against the counter and sip my wine, half aware of Kirsten opening the door.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Callahan. I’m looking for Vicky. Is she here?”
My wine sloshes and spills as I fumble the glass, barely catching it before it falls from numb fingers.
He’s here. I don’t know how he found me, but he’s here.
He came for me.
He came for me.
“Who are you?”
“Alexander Reyes. Her fiancée.”
“Sorry, Mr. Reyes, but I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
I have to hand it to Kirsten. It’s a damn good attempt, and might work with someone who wasn’t Alex.
She tries to close the door and it hits something hard. “I’m afraid I don’t believe you,” Alex says. “The gasp I heard just now suggests you’re lying.”
Fuck.
“That’s very rude of you, and so is your foot. Now why don’t you remove both that and yourself—”
“It’s all right, Kirsten,” I say, setting my glass on the side and walking over. “I’ll talk to him.” I give her a smile that hopefully reassures, despite how shaky I feel it is, and she glances at me, then reluctantly opens the door wider.
Alex is in a suit, shirt collar open, like he’s come straight from work.
A sleek black sedan waits on the curb behind him, no one at the wheel.
A rental car, not a cab. It’s a funny thing to notice in the moment, but it’s just so…
him. Excessive, elitist, and carefully avoiding people because he can.
“Are you going to look at me?” he asks.
I drag my gaze from past his shoulder to his face. His eyes meet mine, that stunning gold-rimmed hazel, like what I think a leopard’s might look like. Just before it leaped and closed its jaw around my head.
“No work today?” I say, flippant.
“Something more important to do.”
I’m more important than his work? Since when?
Kirsten’s listening to every word. Alex shows no sign he cares, but I do.
This is about as private as it gets, and I don’t know if he’s going to hug me, apologize to me, or…
punish me. For a moment, the image of him bending me over the kitchen counter and spanking me in front of her comes to mind, and it’s vivid and intense.
“Let’s take a walk,” I say.
“There’s no need,” Kirsten interjects quickly. “You can—”
“It’s fine.” I put my hand on her arm. “Chris and the kids will be home soon. It’s better that we…” Aren’t here. “…walk.”
She doesn’t look happy. “All right.”
I give her a nod to tell her it is all right when she’s right and it probably isn’t, then step outside onto the driveway. Alex runs his eyes over me, from head to toe and back again, either checking I’m me or reminding himself what I look like. I’m not sure which.
“Let’s take a drive,” he says as we walk down toward his car.
“A walk will be fine,” I say firmly.
“There’s only so much of this provincial mediocrity that I can stomach,” he says, with a gesture that takes in the suburban street. He opens the door for me. “Get in, Vicky.”
I cross my arms. “This provincial mediocrity has been warm and welcoming.”
“Whatever. Get in.”
“Or what? You’ll drive off without me?”
His lips twitch, then his eyes go hard. “Get in, or find out.”
The image of the spanking returns, and I both don’t want to get in, and don’t want to find out what happens if I don’t. It leaves me on the sidewalk, hesitating.
“Do I need to count to three?” he asks.
“Screw you, Alex.” I choose getting in, which is probably a damn stupid thing to do.
He closes my door, walks around to his side, and gets in behind the wheel. Starts the car and drives off, and I catch a glimpse of Kirsten in the doorway, watching with her hand over her mouth.
I wonder how much she heard.
“Why are you always such a jerk?” I ask.
“Why do you insist on provoking me, Tink?”
That damn stupid nickname seems to have survived. More’s the pity. Not least because it brings yet another reminder of how I got it.
I can’t help but squirm in my seat, and to my instant humiliation, Alex notices. He smirks.
“Oh that’s why,” he says, reaching the main road and turning toward the city.
“Why what? And where are we going?”
“Why you provoke me.” He glances across. “You like it. To the airport.”
“We’re not going to the airport. And I don’t like it.”
“We are. I think you do.”
“No,” I say firmly, answering both points.
“Keep believing that, Tink.” He settles back in his seat. “We have a plane to catch.”
“What about my stuff? I’m not going home with you.”
“We’re not going home.”
I glare at him. “I don’t have time for your games, Alex.”
“Of course you do. If you were short of time, you wouldn’t have spent a week hiding in Miami.”
“I don’t even have my luggage or a change of clothes. Or my goddamn passport. I flew on my driver’s license.”
“That’s implied consent,” he says smugly. And damn him if he’s not right. “I brought you clothes from home. And your passport, as it happens.”
He did what?
“I need my laptop.”
“I’ll buy you another. I presume everything’s in the cloud.” He glances across at me. “That’s you out of excuses.”
I look away, glowering at the window.
Why the hell have I agreed to this?
But I know the answer.
Because as much as I hate it, I still love the man sitting next to me.
Even when he pins me down and spanks me.
Or worse… maybe especially when he pins me down and spanks me.