Lovers and Reprisals (Lovers Series) (34 page)

She broke in, speaking louder.
“Bolden...in this case, it doesn’t matter if I was talking to a friend, a client, my mother or an aunt; I cannot tell you the name of that caller.  I won’t tell you--and you’ll have to deal with that.  Now--goodnight.”

Eliza closed her eyes because continuing the conversation wouldn’t solve or change anything.  In truth, she couldn’t wholly blame Bolden for her snippiness; actually, she’d been caught off guard.  Over the past few months, she’d spun her wheels chasing down tales, stories, lies and gossip and she’d thought that she’d finally gotten a handle on things.  Then to get a call from Lucien, learning that he’d begun to champion Marisela Pettier’s cause; well, she’d just about threw up in her closed mouth.  She didn’t know at what point the Delors had gotten so involved--and Lucien of all people seemed to be the spearhead.  Due to her contacts in the Justice Department, he wanted a name that would carry a lot of weight.  Thanks to Eliza, Tollin’s family had hit a wall, and the police had told them that Tollin Pettier’s death had been ruled a suicide and that there wasn’t sufficient grounds to pursue a murder investigation.  Now to hear that all of her work had been done for naught; well, the notion spoiled in her gut. 
Eliza had used every calming trick in the book to maintain a facade that didn’t betray her true feelings.  When Lucien had explained that Marisela had gone against her parent’s wishes, hiring a team of investigators and lawyers to investigate the real reason for Tollin’s death; she had to force back the bile that
churned in her throat.  And now, she had Bolden demanding to know something that should have resolved itself weeks ago, but it hadn’t.  She wanted to close herself off from the world because she couldn’t handle another crisis and she couldn’t begin to imagine the fallout, or how she would be blamed.  Not tonight.  She felt the sway then dip of the bed.  Bolden was leaving and she considered the cost of letting him go.

He said...

“I have work to do.”

“Dammit.”  She muttered and she felt an emotional weight dragging her like a riptide.  She felt more for him than she should and at some point she would have to address that problem.  In spite of her regrets or her better sense, every day spent with Bolden drummed up memories of Tollin.  And she couldn’t think of Tollin, without recalling the day she’d come to know Morpheus Gustafson. 

When Eliza met Morpheus, she’d been new at her job working for the Delors corporation, doing various assignments and her official title had been ‘Chief Continuity Officer.  That’s what it had said on her letterhead, as well as the plaque on her office door.  In spite of the label, her primary role had been to protect the Delors and their family name.  If anything had been rumored and the gossip stood the chance of affecting them in any way, it was her job to ensure that the problem was dealt with.  She’d been known for her cunning, and her wit.  When Eliza met Morpheus, the introduction had resembled a cloak and dagger game.  She’d been ferried from one place to the next; and when she’d finally met him, she had not known if she was in the U.S. Or some foreign country.  Upon seeing him for the first time, his massive size and handsome features had been intimidating, but his receptive demeanor emitted an air that settled her nerves.  He’d introduced himself, saying that he owned several corporations, and he specialized in protection, secrets, and security.  He’d told her that he’d followed her behind the scenes for some time, and after working for the Delors, he believed that she’d muddied her hands, and the time had come for some serious work.  The challenge had been too tempting to pass up, so she’d accepted the job and for the past three years, she’d spent her life gathering intelligence, rooting out potential problems; and she’d been damn good at her job.  That’s what Morpheus had said, when Governor Andrew Wilcox became her client.  She had not been told anything except to learn as much about the man as she could; and that included his secrets.  When Eliza reported her findings to Morpheus, he’d pealed back another layer, revealing another slice of her assignment.  Eliza had been told, that except for him, and a few other nameless people; Andrew Wilcox would be the next president of the United States of America.  He’d impressed upon her, that under no circumstances could she repeat this, and it would be her job to report anything where it concerned Andrew.  She’d done this, and her ears had been like antennae, honed in to the name Andrew Wilcox.  So much so, that while she’d been attending a charity event funded by the Delors family, Eliza had stood with a group of women and coincidentally, Marisela Pettier had been one in this group.  She’d had one too many cocktails, and she’d confided in them, making them promise not to repeat one word concerning what she’d been so excited to share.  Eliza had expected her to say that someone had been having an affair, or some other insane piece of gossip that fuels the rumor-mills--but she’d been wrong and that had been the day that everything changed.  Marisela told the women that her brother Tollin planned to form a super pack, and that he’d already chosen a political figure to endorse for the next presidential election.  She’d giggled, because the other women began chattering about social calendars, balls, parties and other fruitless nonsense.  While on the other hand, Eliza had wanted to hear the name--and when she did, she’d come close to leaping out of her gown, because Marisela had said, Andrew Wilcox--the governor of Wyoming.  After that, the conversation shifted to where she’d be summering that year, then she made a comment concerning Lucien and that she considered him good husband material.  Eliza had politely excused herself, saying her goodbyes, until finally she’d been seated in the rear of her limo, dialing Morpheus to fill him in.  When Eliza repeated the conversation to Morpheus, his instructions had been firm and explicit.  Keep Tollin Pettier off Andrew’s scent.  He didn’t care how she accomplished it--he just wanted it done.  It had not taken Eliza long to cross paths with Tollin because in New York, there was always an endless list of charity events.  She’d tracked him down at an art gallery and its owner had planned to donate all the proceeds from her sells to fund art programs within the cities poorest school districts.  Eliza had planned to cozy up to Tollin, engaging him in polite conversation.  Then with a soft dig, she would use clever ploys to gain information.  She’d always known that men found her attractive, but she rarely used sex as one of her tools.  She’d done her homework, and she’d been confident that it wouldn’t take much to learn what she’d needed to know.  Yet, in spite of her self-assurances, it had been her good looks that had won Tollin over.  There’s had been an immediate attraction, and it had been Tollin who’d done all the talking that first night.  So much so, that he’d insisted that they leave and go somewhere else because he’d not been ready to part ways.  From then on, things moved at a rapid pace, and so did Eliza.  She’d learned that his sister Marisela had been right but Tollin had only begun laying the groundwork, and he had not approached any donors.  When Eliza shared this information with Morpheus, he didn’t care about the women who’d gossiped about Tollin’s ambitions, and he was certain that if asked, none of them would even remember that they’d heard it.  Eliza had been instructed to keep her eye and Tollin, and to pursued him to back another candidate.  She didn’t have to trick Tollin into talking about his idea’s or his political aspirations because he’d freely expressed himself.  He would talk for hours and to listen to them, it would sound like they were polar opposites; and in truth, she was apolitical.  But, she had to do this because it had been the only way to nudge him in the direction that she’d needed him to go.  If he said Andrew Wilcox, Eliza would say something that she liked about another person; a senator or a congressman--a mayor, or a judge.  This had gone on for weeks, until finally Tollin had stopped talking about politics.  In fact, she’d loss her sense of time, and without meaning to, she and Tollin had become inseparable.  Somewhere along the way, she’d allowed herself to fall in love with him--and she’d cringed when Morpheus had told her, that sex is a powerful weapon.  For her, that had not been it at all.  Tollin had ceased being her job, and she’d fallen in love with him.  She’d admitted this on the day that he’d professed his love for her.  When she’d replied her answer had been in the affirmative; and that had not been a lie.  She still couldn’t recall when it had happened; but Tollin had ceased all talk about politics, super packs--and Andrew Wilcox.  More to the point, Eliza had stopped snooping to ensure that Tollin had laid to rest any thoughts concerning Andrew Wilcox.  She’d wrongly interpreted his silence and on the day that changed both of their lives, Eliza had received a horrifying call from Morpheus, telling her about Tollin and a fatal accident.

Tollin had been brilliant in business and that same arrogance had ruined his life.  He’d undeniably loved Eliza and he would have cut his heart out if it meant losing her.  He’d assumed that their political views weren’t the same, because whenever they talked politics, they’d never been on the same page.  So...to save face; and to avoid arguments; Tollin had decided that politics would have to be one of their off-limits topics.  He had loved her, but he’d kept his politics to himself.  From the start, he’d had it in his mind to approach the governor himself, with the promise of donations in excess of half a billion dollars.  With that kind of money behind him; he’d imagined that the payoff for him would come in many ways.  Maybe a seat on the presidents cabinet, or better yet; a bill that would favor one of his industries.  The sky would have been the limit and that’s what Tollin had always wanted; the sky, the moon and the stars--and Eliza.  For months, Tollin had bought information from the governors staff, finding out what he would need to know, before he made his pitch.  According to their collective voices, Andrew had planned to host a lavish party at his Wyoming ranch.  Before arriving, one of the cooks who’d traveled there in the past had revealed the most promising piece of intelligence.  The ranch had three entrances, and only one of the entrances would be manned to receive the guest.  Tollin had seen this as his golden opportunity.  When he’d arrived near the ranch, it had not been until then that he’d realized the enormity of the property.  For as far as the eye could see, the property stretched out, taking up the vast majority of the county.  Finally, when he’d reached a dirt road with a sign pointing to the ranch; Tollin had turned left, crossing through an open gate.  When he’d learned about the party, he’d assumed that Andrew would be barbecuing, for a select group of his closest family and friends.  He’d even assumed that he would run across one or two people of his acquaintance.  He’d traversed the gravel paved road, rehearsing lines, assured that his offer wouldn’t be refused.  His attentions had been elsewhere and not on the road.  Not on the fact that his assertions had been just that; assertions.  His hopes.  His dreams.  When in fact--something had been awry.  The scale had tilted, and so had his assumptions.  The casual party that he’d assumed to be in progress--in fact, had not been a casual party at all.  The party had been a gift from Andrew Wilcox; a gift from him to his favorite niece, Amy.  It had been Amy’s birthday, and his sister Gloria had consented to allow him to host the party at his ranch.  Thirty screaming children of ages five, six and seven had overtaken a strip of the property closest to the main house.  The kids had been given free rein, to run, play, seek and hide.  The area where the cars had been parked had been roped off, and a team of security people and staff had ensured that the children didn’t play there.  With his information in hand, Tollin had sped down the back road, topping speeds of seventy, sending a cloud of rocks and dirt flying in all directions.  At times, the cloud would consume the car, making visibility impossible--and that’s when it had happened.  When his car had collided into Amy, Tollin had only known that he’d hit something.  He’d slammed on his brakes, and then all around him; in slow motion, he’d watched as his life crumbled.  People came from all directions to save her, but Amy had been broken beyond any surgeons ability to fix her.  And there had been a red balloon; the balloon that Amy had been running to catch.  Tollin had been detained for questioning but there had been no jail time.  Andrew’s ranch had been in one of the smaller counties and the population had been ninety-seven citizens.  With a population as small as that, it didn’t take long to spin the wills of justice.  After the funeral, there had been a small trial and Tollin had not been blamed.  According to the findings, the sheriff had testified, that the south gate leading onto the property had not been closed and in the past, that particular road had been liberally used as a way to approach the property.  Eliza had lost her heart to Tollin months earlier, and it had only seemed right not to abandon him when he’d needed her most.  So, she’d stuck by his side during the trial but when Morpheus had told her to silence Tollin for good, or else; she’d not fully understood him.  After the death of Amy, Tollin had loss all interest in everything.  He didn’t talk about Andrew...and he rarely talked about anything else, except that day.  The day that Amy had died.  And according to Morpheus, that had been the problem.  Tollin’s focus had shifted from Andrew, to his sister-- Gloria Wilcox-Randolph; Amy’s mother.  Tollin couldn’t live knowing that a person hated him for killing their only child.  More than anything, he needed to hear her say that she would forgive him.  Almost daily, Tollin tried to contact her in one way or another.  He’d used every source available to him; the internet, social networking sites, email, text messages.  He wouldn’t stop--even when Eliza begged him to.  One day, she’d been at the governor’s house discussing an issue regarding one of his mistresses while his wife had been off on an errand.  Andrew’s sister had been there, and Eliza had stood stunned, watching a shit storm firsthand.  Gloria had changed her number several times since the death of her only child, and somehow Tollin had managed to get her number--every time.  On that day, Gloria had received a text, begging her to accept money and Tollin’s apology.  After that, Eliza had to leave the room because Andrew’s anger had hit the ceiling, threatening to implode.  Tollin had been out of control and at that point, no amount of begging worked.  He simply wouldn’t listen to her.  By then, Morpheus had issued a directive; demanding that Eliza cut all ties.  He told her that he would deal with Tollin later.  At that point, Tollin had no interest in politics or Andrew Wilcox. Morpheus had expressed to Eliza; Tollin was a broken, grieving man.  Eliza bit back the tears because the pain of that day still lingered.  She wouldn’t relive that mistake.  Not ever.  What a mess she’d made and she blamed herself for Tollin’s death.  She’d replayed their last fight in her head a thousand times, and she’d remembered their conversation word for word; but in the end, her near perfect memory didn’t change the outcome.  He had not listened to her.  Even after she’d done what Morpheus had told her to do.  Tollin was dead and she would always blame herself.