Chapter Five #2
Tears fill her eyes. “Is that your question?”
“No. At Max’s award dinner...” I fade off, trying to put my thoughts into words. “He didn’t...show us how he felt about you. He was polite.”
Zarah sits up and covers her breasts with the sheet. Her hair is messy and the skin around her mouth is pink where my whiskers rubbed her too long and too hard. “What are you saying? Are you blaming me?”
I sit up too and grab my shorts off the floor, the serene atmosphere we had cocooning us broken. “No. We all thought your reaction was a reaction to his. But—” I sigh, pulling on my shorts. “I’m trying to word this right and I’m doing a craptastic job. You were scared of him, Zarah. When have you met Max’s dad?”
She shakes her head, the ends of her inky black hair grazing her slim shoulders. “I’ve never met Senator Cook before.”
“Then why such a strong reaction? You were terrified of him. What did he do to you?”
“He wanted to hurt me. Again . I saw it in his eyes, the way he looked at me. I could hear it in his voice. He liked it.”
I scoop a t-shirt into my hand, my gut sick with dread. “When? When did he hurt you? When would he have had the chance, sweetheart?” I want to comfort her, but as the weeks go on and we spend more time together, I learn her cues, and right now she doesn’t want me to touch her. I take her feelings seriously—in her memories I don’t ever want to be associated with pain.
Not like that.
Sometimes I push at her, help her understand things from a different angle, even if it hurts. She’s been coddled for a long time. It might not be my job to push at her boundaries, but she can’t get better if people aren’t willing to make her uncomfortable. I want her to recover and the trade-off, long-term, is worth it to me, but after making love, while she’s naked in my bed, I never want to be the enemy. She’s had enough of those.
“I don’t know. His voice—like razor blades against my skin, so sharp I don’t know I’m hurt until the blood drips.”
Fuck.
“You don’t believe me.” Her eyes are blank, black holes. “You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you. I want to know when.”
“I don’t know.” She studies the delicate underside of her arm, stares like she expects blood to blossom and trickle down her bronzed skin.
My throat’s tight, and it’s hard for me not to hit something.
I leave her alone in the bedroom, and I feel her eyes burn into my back as I walk away. I grab a beer from the fridge, and leaving the door open, guzzle half of it, the cool air lowering my boiling blood to a dull simmer.
She walks out of the bedroom dressed, her bag hanging from the crook of her elbow. “I ordered a car.”
“Fine.” I’m not going to ask her to stay. Since the second we met, I’ve encouraged her to make her own choices. I won’t fight the ones she does, even if they hurt me.
Exhausted, but knowing this is far from over, I drop onto my couch, lean my head back, and close my eyes. I don’t know what to do. I need answers, but hell if I know where to look.
She stands in front of me, jeans hugging her slim legs, a pretty cream blouse that can’t possibly keep her warm. She’s wearing socks today, and I miss her little toes and the light pink polish.
“I know I’m broken. I know I get confused and I can’t remember details, lots of details about what Ash did to me, or my time at Quiet Meadows. Even after Zane brought me home, the days are like dreams. Nothing became clear until Dr. Reagan started weaning me off the drugs, but I don’t know what’s happening to me now. Stress, maybe. Wanting to make you happy so you won’t leave me.”
I straighten. “That’s not—”
“Rourke is your family.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” But I see what she’s saying.
“He is. He’s your half-brother’s dad. He’s married to your mom. Your stepfather.”
“Yeah.”
She doesn’t want anything to do with me because of him.
“I’m not going to ask you to choose.”
I jerk my gaze to hers. “ What? ”
“I’m not going to ask you to believe me over your family.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“What is it, then?” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Somehow Rourke hurt you. He did something to you . It doesn’t matter if you can’t remember. It’s enough that I know he did. He’s a part of my family—a part I have never cared for—but I don’t expect that to redeem me. If you don’t want to see me until this gets straightened out, fine. I don’t blame you.”
“You were mad at me.”
“Just because I get angry or frustrated doesn’t mean I’m mad at you. What you saw in the bedroom was guilt. I’m ashamed of him, Zarah. Ashamed he’s my stepfather. Ashamed he hurt you. He was fucking Willow and for all we know, colluding with the Blacks. If I’m too close to it, say so. We’ll figure it out later.”
She sags and looks at the floor. When she lifts her head, her eyes are full of tears, but she’s managing not to let them fall. “I thought you didn’t believe me.”
“I will always believe you. I love you. Depending on what we find, you may decide to step back, and you have to do what feels right and safe. Your mental health is the only thing that matters to me.”
“Thank you.” She sits on the coffee table and holds my hands. “Since I’m dressed and the car is almost here, I should probably go. Maybe Zane will have some news about Ingrid.”
I grip her fingers and frown. “What about her?”
“After she left yesterday, she didn’t go home and didn’t contact her employment agency. This morning Zane told me she’s been reported missing.”
I drag her into my lap and press my lips against her cheek. I need to touch her. Feel the heat of her skin. “Will you cancel the car and stay? Stay with me tonight.”
“Gage—”
“Please. I don’t ask for much. Give me this.”
“Okay, okay. I need my phone.”
I watch her until she finishes the call.
She disconnects and I carry her back to bed, my worry never easing until I’m inside her, our fingers tangling, our mouths fused together.
Because of her history, I’ll need to find other ways of showing her how much I love her, but as the wind whips against the building and there are monsters lurking in the night, right now this is my way and I don’t hear any complaints.
Snuggling on the couch, we eat steaks and loaded baked potatoes and watch the news. We go to bed soon after the end of the ten o’clock segment, and I lie next to her until she falls asleep. I’m too restless to doze, much less fall asleep, and I get up again, leaving Baby to watch over Zarah.
I want her to be able to find me easily if she wakes up, and I sit at the kitchen table, my laptop in front of me. I check our office’s email, and the cop who took our statements emailed me and said the CSU team looked over the skeleton of my truck. They weren’t able to lift any prints, and the bomb was small, set to detonate with a remote. They speculate harm wasn’t their intent.
Rubbing my fingers over my lips, I disagree. Maybe they hadn’t intended on hurting anyone, but several people were injured by flying glass. A handful of others suffered first degree burns. Nothing major, but no one should have gotten hurt and Zarah and I still would have been killed had we been sitting in it.
The bomb was set off using a remote control. Maybe that does mean they didn’t want to kill us, but if we don’t listen to the threat that was obviously implied, their actions will escalate.
I should add more locks to my door and install my own security cameras.
I send a reply, thanking him for the information, a little guilty I didn’t email him the list he asked me for. I try to think of where I’d been, but too much time has gone by and I can’t put together anything decent. I’m all over the place doing interviews and checking into things. Too easily he could have slipped it under my truck and just waited for the right time to set it off.
Someone’s tracking my movements, and the fact Zarah’s with me a lot validates Pop’s suggestion that I step back all the more. I hate it. It’s only my ego, but I don’t think anyone can watch over her as well as I can. Which is silly because I’m just as exposed as she is whenever we’re together and the day my truck exploded, only luck kept her safe.
I read a little more about Troy’s and Meredith’s suicides. I wish we could have done more, offered some kind of hope. Meredith trusted me, and I didn’t come through.
Cardiac arrest killed JodiAnne Connelly. Too many drugs over too long a time period weakened her heart.
Marci Grayson tripped and fell down a flight of stairs.
Savannah Mesa slit her wrists—her fingerprints the only ones on a kitchen knife missing from the block downstairs.
The young women were all previous patients at Quiet Meadows. They all indicated in some way they were being followed, or thought they were, that whoever was stalking them wanted to shut them up permanently. What did they know? Allegedly. Allegedly, what did they know? About Quiet Meadows? About their shrinks who treated them there?
Patient records are confidential. Only Zarah’s records were unsealed to send her doctor to prison. The list of medications she took every day was placed into evidence and a psychiatrist appointed by the court explained each medication and why Zarah Maddox, a healthy twenty-year old girl at the time of her admittance, didn’t need to be on them. Her family doctor concurred—the doctor she’d seen all her life. Not one person could testify Zarah being prescribed all those drugs was the correct treatment for the breakdown she had at the Lyndhurst the night of Zane’s party. Paired those testimonies with the fact that large lump sums of money were paid into her psychiatrist’s account regularly from an offshore bank account put the son of a bitch away for the rest of his life with no chance of parole.
Only one doctor took the fall. Dr. Pedersen, the head psychiatrist of the facility, is still free, still treats patients. Like Zane, he got a slap on the wrist and a fine for not controlling his own staff. He should have known what Zarah’s doctor was doing to her, but no one could prove he did.
Sometimes you have to be happy with small victories.
I don’t like that he’s free.
I also don’t like what Zarah told me about Ingrid.
It’s early enough I take a chance and call Zane.
“Maddox.”
He doesn’t sound grumpy, or tired, or like I caught him and Stella having sex, and I relax. I try not to let his money intimidate me, but for fuck’s sake, he’s gotta be smart. He’s running a multi-billion dollar company alone. I’m not dumb, but I know I’m not that level of smart, either.
“It’s Gage.”
“Is Zarah okay?”
“Yeah. She’s sleeping, but I couldn’t. I was up thinking about Ingrid. Is there any news about her?”
“None. I asked Zarah to give me the description of the car, but she couldn’t remember much. Said the sun was in her eyes, but...”
“It’s not just her. Lots of people don’t remember details because they don’t think they’ll need them later. Are the cops looking into it?”
“No. She hasn’t been missing long enough for them to bother. You should know that.”
“I do, but I thought since she was connected to Zarah—”
“I don’t get favors, and you should know that, too.”
“You should be the hero of King’s Crossing for the slime you helped put away.”
There’s a shuffling and liquid poured into a glass. It sounds like I caught Zane working.
“Are you na?ve or just stupid?” He laughs, but it’s a bitter sound.
“Neither. Looking for the good in people hasn’t been hammered out of me yet.”
“Better find yourself a different city, then. Someplace maybe the Blacks haven’t touched.”
“I don’t run.”
He grunts and sips his drink.
“Can you send me Ingrid’s personal information? If the cops won’t, I’ll start looking into it. I’m not bad at finding people.”
“Even if they don’t want to be found?”
“Especially if they don’t want to be found. Could be she’s just pissy you fired her.”
“I hope for Z’s sake that’s all it is. She feels guilty we let her go.”
“Yeah, well. Nothing lasts forever except death and taxes. Zarah was going to get better sooner or later. Too bad for Ingrid it happened sooner than she hoped.”
“It’s possible someone picked her up, thought he could get some information out of her.”
I scoff, but my blood turns icy. Pop said something similar. “Like what? What Zarah eats for breakfast?”
“Hell if I know.”
“Did you have her sign an NDA?”
“Yeah. I’ll send it with the other stuff. Tomorrow early enough? I’ll have a courier drop it off at your office. I was just about to head to bed.”
“Yeah, thanks.” I pause. I want to say something—like I’ll never hurt Zarah, or I’ll do whatever I need to do to keep her safe. They’re only words though, and feelings should be shown by action. Zane won’t believe me if I keep getting his sister almost blown up by car bombs.
Zane fills the space, more in tune than I give him credit for. “You, too.” He hangs up, just a beep on my end and then nothing. My home screen flashes, a pretty picture of Baby lying in the grass in a park somewhere.
The conversation didn’t help me calm down, and I grab Max’s journal and settle on the couch. I page through it, hoping something will jump out at me, but nothing much does. Nothing I want to see, I should say. He was in love with Zarah. I mean, down on his knees, making any promise known to man and God, praying that everything would work out so they could be together.
It’s unsettling to read so much emotion about a woman that I, too, have fallen so deeply in love with that the thought of living without her sends me to the same woods where Troy and Meredith took their lives today.
I wonder how Zane feels. He and Max were good friends. Maybe he hoped Max and Zarah would get together and I’m second place in his eyes. Max was respectable, honorable.
I hate comparing myself to my brother. I never win.
It’s why I stopped talking to him. It was always a competition, but a contest I created on my own. Never thought I had a self-esteem issue until I realized if Zarah had to choose between Max and me, I would lose.
Huffing a frustrated sigh, I move to close the Moleskin journal, but something catches my eye. When Zarah had her breakdown and was admitted to Quiet Meadows, it belonged to someone else. Black bought it to keep everything in his pocket, and it worked for a long time. No one questioned whom he bought it from, or why that person owned it in the first place.
Maybe it’s nothing. Since the night of the fundraiser at his mansion, he hasn’t come up in the media at all. He resigned his position, too humiliated to finish out his term.
Zane said no one does him favors, but I bet his money will get us in to talk to the previous owner of Quiet Meadows.
I bet all he has to do is place a call.
Because I want to ask what the former governor of Minnesota was doing owning a sanatorium.
Ex-Governor Guthrie owned Quiet Meadows, and I want to know why.
“I didn’t own it, my father did. His mother, my grandmother, was a delicate creature. That’s the term they used back then. Delicate. She couldn’t tolerate the daily wear and tear of life. When Quiet Meadows first opened, it was a tiny building, only a few rooms, and my grandfather bought it and built it up, turned it into a luxury hospital complete with twenty-four hour room service provided by a five-star chef. Each patient had their own personal companion, and Granddad added a salon and spa so my nana could get her hair and nails done.”
Alan Guthrie is a haggard man. I guess I would be too if my daughter was in prison for sex-trafficking.
“My father didn’t see much of his mother. His birth was hard on her, and everyone blamed the delivery for her decline. Granddad said she was never the same. Today they would call it postpartum depression. Back then?” He shrugs.
Guthrie moved out of the governor’s mansion immediately after the fundraiser and the arrests of Clayton and Ashton Black, his daughter Eleanor, and the mayor, Vance Huxley. Zane and I drove halfway across the state to his lake home where he hides now hoping that one day everything will blow over.
So far, there hasn’t been much luck with that.
“When my grandfather passed away, he left it to my father. He had no interest in keeping it going. As you can imagine, it didn’t hold fond memories. He’d always believed he was the reason his mother needed to live there in the first place. I held on to it, but I didn’t like the for-profit side of things. Benefitting from other people’s misery. It left a bad taste in my mouth.”
Zane and I sit in an elegant living room, expensive wildlife prints hanging on the walls, the furniture surprisingly comfortable. One wall is comprised of enormous windows, allowing an unobstructed view of Lake Virginia. A pontoon and two boats are pulled up into the yard, snow covering their protective tarps, and a frozen hammock sways between two trees in the winter wind.
Not a bad place to hide if you can choose. Better digs than what Willow Black has.
“You didn’t turn it nonprofit, though,” I say.
“No. To be honest, I didn’t think much about Quiet Meadows. My father washed his hands of it, and I was too busy climbing the political ladder. A holding company made an offer, and I accepted. My attorney finished the deal, and that was that.”
“You had no idea who bought it.”
Guthrie turns to Zane and studies him, his stare heavy. “Son, I didn’t give a fuck, and I still don’t. Rourke Cook is one of the slimiest politicians I’ve ever met, and him doing business with the Blacks isn’t a surprise. They dragged my Nora into some nasty shit, and frankly, I don’t give a fuck what happens to any of them.”
“Wait. Ashton Black bought Quiet Meadows. To keep my sister and her doctor under his thumb.” Zane stands, his body coiled in tension.
Guthrie scoffs. “Is that what he told you? And you believed it. Of course you—”
“It wasn’t only Ash. Our family doctor, who’s been weaning Zarah off that poison, was the first to tell me. Ash confirmed it.”
“It doesn’t matter who says what. Your sister’s doctor heard it from someone who either didn’t know the truth or was paid to lie. Cook wanted in on the action but didn’t want dirt under his fingernails, and the Blacks stepped in holding plastic gloves. Typical. You boys want a drink?”
“No. We drove from King’s Crossing.”
We fall silent as Guthrie helps himself to another glass of scotch. Or bourbon. Or whatever he’s drinking these days. It’s a lot of it, by the look of things.
“Why did Cook want Quiet Meadows?” Zane asks.
Guthrie gulps his booze. “Fuck if I know. I actually tried to live my life on the up and up—I must have cramped their style. No one told me jack shit. Huxley and King’s Crossing, what a fucking screwup that was. And he got voted in? Jesus Christ. Cook, he can’t keep it in his pants any better than anyone else I’ve come across. You’d think politics is synonymous with fucking anything that moves. Those boys, they have no integrity, no sense of right and wrong, and then when our people, our people , question whether they have their best interests at heart, they have the audacity to take umbrage. For fuck’s sake. Even the president of the United States can’t fucking keep it zipped. Don’t you watch the news? It’s a fucking disgrace.”
Zane and I share a look. “The president of the United States?”
“You think this doesn’t go all the way to the top? It fucking always does. Presidents and celebrities. Presidents and their interns. Presidents and hookers.” He flicks a glance at Zane. “That fucking asshole, back in what? 2009? 2010? Vice presidential nominee. What an utter humiliation to the whole Democratic party. Having an affair, a child out of wedlock, while breast cancer kills his wife. Can you get any classier than that?”
I have no idea what the fuck Guthrie’s talking about. Sex and politics? That goes way back, and that has absolutely nothing to do with what we’re here for.
“Cook, he was in it to win it, too. Couldn’t keep his hands off Black’s wife. Arrogant son of a bitch to think he wouldn’t get caught, but hey, he never did, so maybe he knew something I didn’t.”
Zane frowns. “We don’t care about who was having sex with whom. We want to know about Quiet Meadows.”
“Then I’m the wrong guy. Talk to Cook.” Guthrie slants a look at me. “You must have an in.”
“He’ll give me the same as everybody else. Nothing,” I say.
Shrugging, Guthrie says, “Then you’re up shit creek without a paddle. All I care about is keeping Nora safe in prison. That isn’t going to happen, but I won’t stop trying to get her moved into a woman’s ward, or somewhere that won’t get her knifed in the back. You wouldn’t have any pull, would ya?” he asks Zane.
“She helped Black sell my fiancée. I hardly think that even if I could pull some strings that I would. She should’ve known better than to suck his dick. I think she deserves everything she gets.”
Guthrie wilts, leans against a stone fireplace, and stares into the flames. “Like you didn’t do the same all those years, on your fucking knees. You’re looking into Quiet Meadows. What for? Trying to find some absolution? Like maybe if Cook hadn’t been running the place, your sister could have gotten some real help? Or maybe if you hadn’t trusted Black, you would have looked at what her doctor was doing long before Stella Mayfair called in that bomb threat. Like maybe, if you had cared about anything but shoving your cock into that hooker, your sister would still have a brain in her head and not be a walking, talking vegetable.”
Zane clenches his fists. “That’s enough.”
“Is it, though? My Nora isn’t the only one who fucked up. She’s not the only one to believe the lies Black told her. Help me get her out of there. I’m not too proud to beg.”
Zane and Guthrie stand off, and I sit, watching them. I don’t get involved. I can’t. This is Major League Baseball, and I’m still playing t-ball.
Finally, Zane says, “I’ll see what I can do. I don’t know if I can do any more than you.”
“That you try is enough. And you better be fucking taking care of my dogs.”
Sitting rigid behind the wheel, Zane fumes on the drive back to King’s Crossing.
“Are you really going to help Nora?” I ask, slouching in my seat.
The news Guthrie gave us doesn’t sit well with me. If Rourke owns Quiet Meadows, even a slice of it, that could mean he knew what Ash was doing to Zarah. Maybe he didn’t, maybe he was a silent investor and let Dr. Pederson do whatever the hell he wanted, but that’s wishful thinking on my part. She’s scared of him and I don’t think I have to wonder anymore where he had the opportunity to hurt her.
The question is why, and what was in it for him.
“Relocating her isn’t the same as trying to get her off. I couldn’t do that no matter how much Guthrie begged, but I can see if I can move her to a women’s prison somewhere. Out of the state would be better. I doubt anyone follows what we do here in Podunk, Minnesota.”
“She knew what she was doing, Zane. Black killed Nathalie and she was standing right there. Black dumped Stella and Quinn on that cargo ship, and she was standing right there .”
“I know. I know that, but no one here is guilt-free. Guthrie was right, and I’ll be paying for the rest of my life, even if Zarah can come out of this somehow. I can have a little sympathy, a little empathy.”
He pauses, looks at me as he speeds by an older gentleman who shouldn’t be driving anymore. “Are you going to talk to Cook?”
“What for? I wasn’t lying to Guthrie. Rourke won’t tell me a goddamned thing. Besides, the more I question him, the more I clue him in that we’re on to something. No, it’s better I keep my mouth shut and we check things out on our own.”
“You’re smarter than I am. I’d be in his face the second we hit town.”
“Last night Zarah asked me if I wanted to quit seeing her because she’s scared of Rourke. I’m telling you right now, I will never choose him over Zarah. I never want you to doubt where my loyalties lay.”
“What would Max have said if he’d known his father was the real owner of Quiet Meadows?”
“Max had integrity to spare, and he loved Zarah. There’s no way he would have let something like that slide. Even for his own dad. I don’t think I’ll ever understand how much he loved your sister, how badly he wanted a future with her.”
“She wasn’t ready then, and she’s not ready now. I tolerate you because she’s in love, as much in love as she can be right now, and I don’t want to hurt her any more than I already have. It may not seem like I do, but I watch you like a hawk.”
“That’s fair.”
“I don’t care what you think is fair. Max was a good guy, but the woman Zarah is under the drugs would have squashed him like a bug. I liked Max, and I still have nightmares about him dying in my arms at the fundraiser, but Jesus Christ. You’re a better match for her than Max ever would have been.”
This surprises me. “Yeah?” I try not to sound too grateful but after all this is over, having Zane on my side will be a helluva lot easier on me.
“I saw the way you were with her at the gallery showing.”
“Gallery showing? The photographer?”
“Yeah. I know she had a panic attack and that you helped her through it. I know that afterward, you showed her the real emotions behind the photos. The love and passion those couples had for each other. The one you asked her to look at is downstairs in our entertainment room. You made her see. Understand. Max would have brought her home, and she never would have stepped forward that night. You don’t let her hide. Max gave her whatever she wanted. Back then, that was probably a good thing, but he wouldn’t have changed as she got better, and she would have ran right over him.”
I’m stunned, and my mouth hangs open.
Zane laughs. “I told you, I see everything. Even what happened at Max’s dinner. Stella likes to think I don’t know, but I do. You and Linc were there, so I let it slide. Nothing and no one will ever take me unaware again. It’s exhausting, but it’s what I have to do for my family. Every time you see Zarah, every time you meet with Stella, I know.”
“You didn’t know we saw Willow Black.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Did I say I didn’t?”
“No,” I say grudgingly.
“To be fair, Truth or Dare helped me out with that one, and Douglas wasn’t that far behind. I don’t want to suffocate Stella, and I try like hell to let her be. You don’t know how crazy I am trying to keep my family together while giving them the space they need to be happy.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, help me .”
“Yeah.”
We still have plenty of miles on the road, and we’re silent through most of them. When we reach the outskirts of the city, Zane asks, “Stay for dinner?”
“I can’t. I need to look in on Baby. I’ve been gone all day.”
“Go get her and bring her out to play. Spend the night. Our house is just as much Zarah’s as it is mine and Stella’s. If it gets late and you want to start staying over sometimes, I won’t say anything.”
I scoff. “That won’t be awkward.”
“It’s more awkward to pretend it’s not happening. Zarah likes having you at the house. She shines when we’re all at the table. I want her to have more of that.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I pack a bag and bring Baby out to Zarah’s, much to the delight of both of them. After a pleasant meal, we walk with the dogs through the woods, and I kiss her under a sky full of stars and the bright moon. I want to believe there’s nothing more important than the two of us, right here, right now, but that would be stupid and untrue. Things are out there, things that could threaten what we have. Things that will threaten what we have. It’s only a matter of when and where and how.
I thought I’d be uncomfortable in Zarah’s room, changing out of my clothes and brushing my teeth, knowing Zane and Stella were down the hall, but it’s not too bad. It would have been, had Ingrid still lived there, still occupied the room connected to Zarah’s by a huge bathroom.
There still isn’t any word, and we wouldn’t have news for a while about what happened to Ingrid Flannigan.
When we find out, it’s bad. It’s very, very bad.