Revenge: Tri-Stone Trilogy, Book Two Read online

  Matt stands next to me and tosses his legal pad on the table. Until now, his only involvement in this case consists of daily phone calls to me for updates, and random office visits. We decided I'd take the lead on this case since my caseload is – well – this case. But Matt is even more hands-off than I expected him to be. This is a big case, for him to be staying in the background like this is highly unusual. He's typically a media hound, and loves being in the center of it all. Lisa and I joke that he is vying for "soundbite of the day" on all the local news programs. Something must be up with him. I can ask, but if he wants to talk to me, he will. I have enough on my plate at the moment.

  "Matt, this is Dr. Mason. I assume you already know Mr. Hamilton?"

  Matt nods, gives Hamilton a tight smile, and takes the seat next to me.

  "Oh, yes," Hamilton says, and leans back casually in his chair. "Matt and I go way back. I see you still have your trainee program – but letting one of them talk and run a deposition – this is the first. She must be very good at other things, too," he's addressing Matt but winks at me.

  Asshole.

  Matt blanches and fidgets with his tie. "Uh, Kylie isn't a trainee. She an experienced criminal defense attorney. She worked at Jack Daniel's firm before going solo."

  "Oh, my apologies, Ms. Tate. I didn't realize."

  Bullshit. I've been in the news nearly as much as he has lately. But Hamilton is very adept at knocking young lawyers off their game—but I'm not some young lawyer, and I won't be intimidated. I glance at the court reporter who will be taking the testimony. "If you're all set, I think we can get started."

  I open my file, and pull out the legal pad with my questions on it. When I look up, Dr. Mason—who I'm guessing is in his seventies, judging by the deep wrinkles covering his face—is stroking his white goatee, and staring out the window.

  "Dr. Mason, your report clearly points to Alex Stone as the person responsible in the death of Ellen Stone Wells. Is that a fair assertion?"

  "I believe, based on the information, that is the most likely scenario."

  "Why would Mr. Wells plead guilty to her murder, if he believed he was innocent?"

  "The severe emotional distress of losing his wife – potentially at the hands of his son – clouded Mr. Wells judgment making it impossible for him to clearly understand the full implications of his actions in accepting the plea agreement." He pours himself a glass of water and slowly takes a sip, and if I didn't know better, I'd say he's bored. "Additionally," he continues, "Mr. Wells' experienced extreme insecurity in facing a jury with a defense that ultimately would convict his son of killing his mother. He had extreme anxiety that people sitting on a jury would have a hard time believing a child could commit such a heinous act. The truth is – they would have. The prospect of his son's testimony and the fear the jury would convict based solely on emotion, and not fact, caused Mr. Wells to experience acute panic attacks."

  "How is that different from any other person on trial for murder?" I ask.

  "In Mr. Wells case, the anxiety was so extreme that it impaired him mentally and led him to conclude he had no other choice but to take plea offer."

  "Is that supposition?"

  "It's my medical opinion."

  "Based on what?"

  "Thirty-six years of experience." A smug smile slides across his face.

  A glance at my next set of questions. Wow, Dr. Mason has a God complex like I've really seen before. "If, as you contend, Mr. Stone is the individual prone to violent outbursts, why did his siblings – Patricia and William – state that their father was often drunk and violent?"

  Mason squinted his eyes, a hard smile on his face, and leans across the conference table. "What you have to understand is the constant fear and threat of violence against them from Alex. Their youth and inexperience did not allow them to understand that, by informing the authorities of their brothers true nature, they could escape any further violence at his hands."

  "Okay," I respond.

  "Additionally, they were about to finally have a normal family life, residing with their aunt and uncle, and would've done whatever necessary to protect that new lifestyle."

  "Even if it meant residing with their violent, murdering brother, as you allege, and sending their father to prison?"

  "Yes… and there are three siblings."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You only stated two siblings – Patricia and William. There is a third sibling, Ellie."

  I nod slowly, and tilt my head to the side. "Yes, but Ellie was just a baby at the time, so I'm assuming she would have been unable to verbally substantiate anything."

  Mason shifts in his seat, and quickly averts his eyes away. "Yes, that's true."

  He didn't know Ellie's age at the time of her mother's death?

  "Do you have any other questions, Ms. Tate?" Hamilton asks, and checks his watch.

  I glance at my questions. Why didn't I take notes? The need to make Mason feel as if there was no value in his words worth noting is now kicking me in the ass. Why am I struggling to organize my thoughts, and reevaluate the doctor's answers?

  "Ms. Tate?" Hamilton's nose flares, and he looks perturbed.

  "Dr. Mason when did you meet with Mr. Wells?" I ask.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "The date you met to evaluate Mr. Wells for this report?"

  Dr. Mason cocks his head to the side. "My conclusions are based on information provided by the defense."

  "So you haven't actually discussed any of the events with Mr. Wells?"

  "No, it wasn't necessary."

  I glance over at Matt, his arms across his chest, apparently enjoying the show. "Okay, well, I think that about does it. Thank you for coming out on short notice Dr. Mason." I walk around the conference table and shake hands with Mason and Hamilton before I pass them off to Lisa to show them out. Rude? Yes, but that's what I'm going for. Mason and Hamilton can kiss my ass.

  Matt picks up his legal pad and tucks it under his arm. "I trust you got what you need to discredit the doctor?"

  "Oh, yeah," I smile, a giggle building in my chest. "I don't know who I'll feel more sorry for after I decimate Mason on the stand – him or Hamilton?"

  "So, the deposition went well?"

  I look over my shoulder to find Reyes standing behind me as I refill my coffee mug.

  "Yeah, I think so."

  I step to the side, regain my personal space, and walk back to my office.

  Reyes follows me, and leans against the doorframe, his arms across his chest. "Are you sticking around this afternoon?"

  "At least another hour or so. The coroner is going to be calling me in the next few minutes. I'll probably take off after that."

  "All right, well if you don't need me, I think I'll call it a day."

  "Sure, there's no reason to stick around here. Take off, have a good weekend, and I'll see you on Monday."

  He turns to leave, and stops. "You, too – have a good weekend, I mean."

  I smile and nod. The horrible awkwardness I expected after our kiss has been manageable, but there's been enough tension that Lisa asked me what's up. I didn't go into specifics, in case she decides to tell her boyfriend, Jake. I'm not sure what to do with that information, and I need time to figure out how to explain what happened to Alex.

  The phone rings, and I pick it up as Reyes waves goodbye and heads for the stairs. I grab a legal pad from my desk drawer. "Dr. Loftus, thanks so much for calling."

  The call with the coroner takes longer than I anticipated, but I now have a very clear understanding of death by strangulation. My phone beeps with a text message from Alex, and I hit the hands-free button call him.

  "Where are you?" He asks.

  "In the car heading home. You?"

  "Already home. Did you get my text?"

  "Yeah, but I didn't read it. I'm driving, Mr. Overly Protective."

  "Good girl. Safety first. I was just checking to see what you want to do tonight. Stay in? Go out?"

&nb
sp; "Hmm, stay in, order pizza, and watch a movie. And drink a bottle of wine – or two."

  Alex laughs, and it warms my heart. I just wish I could see his face right now. He's adorably sexy when he laughs, and lately, there hasn't been a great many things for him to laugh about.

  "Okay, I'll see you when you get here, and we can discuss who picks the movie."

  "Arm wrestle?" I ask.

  "I'm thinking the kind of wrestling that requires us to be in bed." There's something about the way his voice drops when he's being seductive that nearly makes me moan.

  "Intriguing suggestion, but how do we determine a winner?"

  "Well, if we do it right, we'll both be winners."

  "I'll care, but if the standard is satisfaction, I'll do my best to make sure you are blissfully happy while I watch a chick flick."

  "Deal."

  Chapter Sixteen

  I end the call and step on the gas, anxious to get home. Alex is in a playful mood and I want to enjoy it. So many obstacles have been in the way of our happiness lately, and we need some time to kick back and shut out the world. A little time to reconnect and rediscover each other.

  Alex's house is sits in the middle of twenty acres, where land meets the ocean, and the triangular compound is secluded from the world. Passing through the gates and onto the property at the end of a long day is tantamount to stepping through a portal and into another world. It's my sanctuary and I'm in desperate need of that at the moment.

  I crank up the music and dance in my seat and sing about summertime with Kid Rock at the top of my lungs. A black car pulls up beside me, so I take my foot off the gas to slow down and let them pass. It's a two lane road, and the other car is in the oncoming traffic lane. It shoots ahead of me, pulls back into the lane, and I immediately slow down—nearly coming to a stop. I slam on my brakes, the nose of my car dips down, and I narrowly avoid a collision.

  "What the hell is this jackass doing?" I take note of the car, in case I need to report the driver to the police. Black BMW, and vanity plates.

  JAS

  My heart beats wildly in my chest. John. My hands shake and I grasp the steering wheel tightly. My breathing is ragged, air bursts out of my lungs. What do I do? White noise in my head blocks my ability to see my options with any sort of clarity. I could call 911, but it will take them forever to get here. Too much can happen in that amount of time.

  I glance around, I'm not far from the gate – maybe 2 miles. If I can just get that point, I'll be okay. I can get down the driveway, and into the safety of the house.

  John's BMW slows until we are crawling along at a snail's pace. I'm pretty sure my Porsche can blow the paint off his car. I pull the left, but before I can stomp on the gas, the BMW swings in front of me. I swerve to the right, speed up, and shift into a higher gear.

  John's car lurches to the right, and forces me onto the shoulder. My tires hit the gravel. The back end fishtails, and I yank the steering wheel to the left, and narrowly avoid hitting the trees that line the road. I veer back onto the lane, and miss taking John's bumper off by mere inches.

  A thin layer of perspiration covers my skin. The break the trees, where the driveway begins, is just ahead. I have to make it that far. Stopping now is not an option. If John has gone so far as to break out of the custody, he will make good on the pain he threatens to inflict on me. Even if Alex realizes something is wrong when I don't get home within the next few minutes, and checks the tracking device on my phone – there's little, to no, chance of finding me before John kills me.

  The BMW lazily glides between the lanes in front of me, mocking me, aware I can't get around him. Dragging in large gulps of air, I try to calm my breathing and avoid a full-blown anxiety attack .

  Suddenly, the BMW bolts way ahead of me. This is a dead end road about two miles past The gate to Alex's property, but by the time he gets to the end, and is forced to turn around, I'll be halfway down the driveway, safe from John.

  I exhale. My shoulder muscles relax, and I massage the back of my neck, the tension slowly disappears.

  Tires squeal. The BMW spins around, and races toward me. I stomp on the gas pedal. Please, God, get me to the gate before John. The distance between us is dwindling. The front end of his car is lined up perfectly with mine, and at this speed, a head-to-head collision would be fatal for both of us.

  Fuck him. He can kill himself—I hope he does—but he's not going to decide my fate. I press the remote, and the gate slowly opens. John is closing in fast, and it doesn't look like he's veering his course and will hit me head-on.

  I clutch tightly to the steering wheel. Tremors ravage my body. My heart beats loudly in my ears, nearly drowning out my pleading cries.

  The gate is nearly open. I drift to the center of the road, and straddle the double yellow line. The BMW mimics the move. He's only a few hundred feet away.

  Jesus, he's going to kill us!

  I wrench the steering wheel to the left. The car skids across the road, the rear end fish tales, and I somehow avoid slamming into the metal gate post. I quickly check the rear view mirror. No sign of John. I hit the button and watch the gate close. I swing into the garage bay without hitting anything, shut off the engine, and sit.

  What just happened? Was that real?

  I gulp air into my lungs, and try to control my breathing. My head is pounding. I can't move, and I have no ability to comprehend the events that just took place.

  I'm living my nightmare. I yank on the door handle, manage to pull myself out of the car, and into the house. Alex and Jake are in the kitchen, both laughing, with smiles on their faces – until they see me.

  "Jesus, Kylie, what the hell happened to you?" Alex's behind me in an instant, his arm around my waist, and guides me to a barstool to sit down.

  My body is trembling, and my eyes must be huge because Alex's are widening as he stares back at me.

  "John."

  He frowns. "What about John?"

  "He followed me—tried to run me off the road."

  Jake places a bottle of water on the counter in front of me. His smile is gone, a grimace in it's place. "You saw John? Here?"

  "He was trying to kill us both." I can hear the hysteria in my voice and makes me physically ill. I hate that John can still frighten me this way – can still threaten my life anytime he wants, in any way he wants.

  "Wait, Kylie, slow down. Tell me what happened." Alex's voice is calm, in control, but commanding.

  "He got in front of me, and I tried to pass him, he ran me off the road. Then he took off—got really far ahead of me – then turned around and came straight for me. I barely avoided hitting him head on. "My hands are shaking, I place the water bottle on the counter, but can't get the cap on.

  "How do you know it was him?" Jake asks.

  "I know his car. His license plates—he has vanity plates with his initials." I glance at Alex. Deep worry creases his forehead, his neck muscles corded, and he's grinding his teeth.

  "I was almost to the gate–but he was coming straight at me."

  Thomas comes through the door from the garage, whistling, and swinging his keychain around his finger.

  I jerk my eyes to his. "Did you see him?" I ask, but it comes out as more of a high-pitched squeal, "the black BMW—before you turned down the driveway?"

  His eyebrows knit together, eyes narrow just slightly, and he wags his head back and forth. "No."

  I jump out of my chair. "You had to—he had to pass you. There's nowhere else he could've gone."

  "I see haven't seen another vehicle since I left town." He looks at Jake. "What's going on?" He whispers.

  "Kylie says she was run off the road on her way home," Jake explains.

  "You had to see where I hit the gravel at least." I look at Alex, desperate for him to believe me. "The Porsche slid when I hit the loose dirt."

  Thomas's eyes are wide, and he's looking at me as if I'm swan-diving into insanity without a parachute.

  I glance around at al
l three men. "How is this possible?" I grasp Alex's arm. "I didn't imagine this. I know I didn't. It was John—he came after me—he was going to kill me."

  Alex wraps his arms around me, presses his lips to my forehead, and whispers to me. "It's okay, baby, you're under a lot of stress."

  Under a lot of stress? I shove him away. He doesn't believe me? "Don't patronize me. You can choose not to believe me, but I know what I saw."

  I storm out of the kitchen, down the hall, and through the bedroom. Slamming the bathroom door, I lock it behind me. I turn the shower on, undress while the water heats up, and step under the cascading heat flowing from the overhead waterfall shower head.

  The doorknob twists a few times. Knocking follows, and Alex calls my name. I ignore him, flip on the in shower sound system, and scroll through the playlist until I find what I'm looking for. Classical music fills the shower, and I turn the volume up so that it's the only sound I can hear. I drop my head back, and close my eyes. The long slow wail of the violins work with the water to wash away the tension seizing my body. I turn off my brain, allow the soulful melody to consume me. Nothing is real outside this space – only I exist here—time has no bearing on me. I float with the music, drift into the dark recesses of my mind, a small part of me wishing I could stay here forever.

  Safe. Protected. Passive.

  Alone.

  Just after midnight, I slide out from under Alex's arm as he sleeps beside me. Tightening the tie on my robe, I pad softly down the hallway and into the living room. I pour a healthy amount of gin in a glass with just a splash of tonic.

  Too many things are running through my mind—the ever present threat from John, Alex's lack of faith in me—my own fears that I might actually be losing my mind. I pick my cell phone up where I left it on the kitchen counter, disengage the lock on the sliding door, and step out to the patio. The gas fireplace comes to life as soon as I flip the switch, and provides light and warmth to the outdoor area. I slide onto the couch in front of it, wrap up in a blanket, and try to settle the anxious feeling that is my constant companion lately.