Wicked Bad Boys (21 page)

I
wake
up from a restful sleep and Jonathan isn’t around. I read the note he left me, and I can’t help thinking about how thoughtful and kind he’s been. I have a shower, and before I start to dress, my phone rings. I’m intrigued when I see who’s calling, despite my desire to actually have the morning off.

“Hi Rob,” I answer.

“Hello Rebecca. Is this a good time?”

“What’s up?”

“I’m wondering if you can meet me to talk.”

“About what?”

“I’d prefer to meet in person. I’m just five minutes from your place,” he tells me.

“I’m…I’m not at home, Rob. Can we meet in front of my office in twenty minutes?”

“I can come to you, if you’d like,” he offers, but I’m not ready to start another confrontation between him and Jonathan.

“No,” I answer a little too abruptly. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll see you outside my office.”

I hang up, and then I remember I have no key for Jonathan’s place. I send him a short text to let him know I have to leave, and hope it’s okay if I don’t lock up. He replies that he’s not far away and offers me a ride. I tell him it’s better if I get to work myself, that I’ll see him soon. The less drama between him and Rob, the better. A few cabs are waiting when I get down to the lobby, so I head out.

Rob is standing outside my office building when the taxi lets me off. He’s holding two cups of coffee from my favorite place around the corner.

“Hey,” he says when I jump out of the cab.

“Hi. You got me coffee?”

“Think of it as a peace offering.”

“Oh. You mean for Friday, when you and your cop buddies busted into our offices to burn Jonathan at the stake?”

“No…for everything.”

“Thank you.” I don’t want to entertain myself with questions on his cryptic answer, so I get to the point. “What’s going on, Rob?”

“You still want to be filled in on the Rushton investigation, don’t you?”

“Of course. That hasn’t changed. What do you have for me?”

“Your Sloan clients are not out of the woods yet, but we’ve been given instructions to widen the suspect net.”

“Good. How wide?”

“Miller and the captain are meeting with the DA and Judge Lawson for a special warrant that covers the entire building.”

“What? There’s no precedent for that.”

“Apparently there is. Doreen Rushton’s body was found in the parking garage, which is accessible by all building residents. If the Judge signs it, we will search Solomon Sloan’s condo first. Today, Rebecca.”

“On what basis? The circumstantial evidence that she had dinner with him?”

“Yes, and camera footage from that night shows she went up to his floor.”

“That’s absurd.” I pause to get a hold on my defensive tone. He didn’t have to give me the heads-up. “I guess I can see where they’re coming from. Thanks for the information, Rob.”

“Look. I’m also here to let you know…the tap is turned off.”

“Sorry?”

“I won’t be passing on any more information, Rebecca. I’ve crossed the line already. I can’t be responsible for tipping off your people any more than I’ve already done. Especially if it turns out they had some sort of involvement.”

I nod. I can’t blame him for doing the right thing. “I understand. Thanks for your help, Rob.”

I turn to leave, but he stops me. “Can I take you to breakfast or something?”

“I…I’m sorry, Rob. Things are hectic today.” I want to let him down easy.

“Alright. How about dinner a night next week?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Rob.” He’s out of line for being this direct. He’s never come out to apologize for how things went back then, and I moved on. I get the sense he’s trying to corner me so I’ll admit I’m seeing Jonathan. I’m not ready to pass on that information. “I have to go. See you, Rob.”

“You won’t give me a chance, will you?”

I hold his gaze, but I don’t answer. I don’t see the point of rehashing the distant past. And he’s probably only interested again because he suspects I’m seeing Jonathan. I look down at his arm, and he gets the hint and lets go of me.

“Take care,” I tell him, and head inside my office building. He doesn’t follow, and I’m grateful.

I had not intended to come in to work at all today, and it’s still really early, but as I’m already here, I head up to my office. Not even the receptionist who gets in before eight is around. I phone Kara to let her know about this development. She doesn’t answer her mobile phone. What’s unusual is I could swear I’m hearing her phone, and it’s ringing here in the office. She’s the only one I know who has the LA Law soundtrack as her ring tone. This time, I open my door and phone from my desk line. I hear the ring tone again, so I head to her office to see if she’s here, or if she just forgot her phone at work.

I’m dumbfounded when I walk into her office. It’s more like I barged in, because I didn’t knock. I make the mistake of assuming that if she’s here this early, she would be alone. Boy, was I wrong.

“I’m…I’m sorry for charging in here like this,” I say, wishing I could back up and leave like I never saw a thing. “I didn’t realize you were in a meeting.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kara replies. “Come in. Rebecca, I’d like you to meet Senator Arnold Rushton. Senator, this is Rebecca Clark.”

“Great to meet you, Senator,” I say with hesitation.

“It’s a pleasure,” he replies, arm outstretched to shake my hand.

Usually I can roll with the punches, but why is Kara meeting with him? It’s times like these that I question Kara’s motives. I’m fairly certain no one in Rushton’s family is a client of our firm. This means his visit is mostly likely related to Doreen Rushton’s death.

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” Kara asks.

“It can wait until you’ve wrapped up your meeting. I’ll be in my office. My apologies again for interrupting.”

I hurry out of her office and dart down the hall to get to mine. I wish I hadn’t seen that. All I have now are questions. None of them could possibly have reasonable answers. Knowing Kara, she’s working an angle. There’s an agenda. There has to be. If Senator Rushton has even the slightest bit of information from the NYPD, he’ll know that Solomon and Jonathan Sloan have both come up as possible suspects in his niece’s murder.

My concerns may be blown out of proportion, but I doubt it. The way the two of them were leaning in close for that conversation of whispers—and Kara does not whisper—well, their secrecy is telling. Suddenly, all the office gossip about Kara surfaces, and I’m hoping I can trust her to pick a side.

I’m shuffling through my files when Kara pops her head in at my door.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I had a short meeting with Rob Bateman downstairs.”

“What did he say?”

“They got the DA to push for a search warrant of all the residents in Mr. Sloan’s condo building.”

“Has it been signed?”

“He wasn’t sure.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it, Rebecca. Who’s the judge?”

“Lawson.”

She lets out a short burst of laughter, stepping inside my office with her arms folded. “That’s never going to happen.”

“Rob said the DA had a team pore over related jurisprudence. They found a case that may have precedence.”

“That’s highly doubtful. Still, get Solomon up to speed. He needs to be prepared if the judge signs the warrant.”

“I’ll phone him now.”

“No. Don’t phone. Take my limo and get over there. Wait a minute. Weren’t you travelling?”

“Not anymore. We went to Atlantic Beach instead. We got back last night.”

“If you still want to go, there’s always next weekend. Take next Monday and Tuesday off if you’d like.”

“Are you sure?” I can’t help but feel slightly pressured to not be around. The timing still isn’t great.

“Yes,” she answered. “I’m positive. I believe it’s about to come to resolution soon.”

“I’m not sure I can convince Jonathan to leave.”

“Suit yourself,” she tells me. “You’d better get over to Solomon’s.”

Kara has managed to completely avoid the Senator-sized elephant in the room. I bite the bullet and raise the question. “What was Senator Rushton doing here?”

She stiffens up and says, “That’s an unrelated confidential matter.”

What can I ask her now? She’s effectively telling me his visit has nothing to do with the Sloan’s. I may have a hard time believing it, but I’m not about to push the issue with my boss. I nod, grab my purse, and leave. On my way to Mr. Sloan’s condo, I text Jonathan to tell him I’m on my way to his Dad’s condo.

I
get
Rebecca’s third text as I’m about to leave my Dad’s condo—again. This situation has me coming and going so much, my head’s spinning. As Rebecca’s on her way here, I let Dad know I’ll hang around until she comes. She gets here and fills us in, and Dad gets arrogant. He goes on to say there’s no way anyone’s searching his place, and Kara had better get her ass over here to earn her legal fees.

I tell Dad to calm down. He reiterates he’s not letting anyone in. He goes on to say that the issue is behind us now. I’m curious what he means, but I don’t want to speak to openly with Rebecca around. She does not need to know what a monster he really is. Dad presses on. He admits that sometime this morning—probably while I was making coffee—Kara came to an agreement with Rushton. Rebecca overhears, but she doesn’t react.

I have to ask. “What kind of agreement, Dad?”

“He’s going to lay off the media and quit pressuring the Mayor and NYPD Chief of Police about his niece.”

“Just like that?” I ask. I notice Rebecca’s expression. She’s barely paying attention. Or maybe searching through her purse is just a distraction.

“Yes. Just like that. It has something to do with the fact that she was a call girl. I suspect someone is ready to tell ex-Mayor Stinley’s camp, if Rushton keeps it up. You do know that Stinley has joined the race for Senator, right?”

The plot thickens. Stinley announced he was going up against Rushton for the New York State Senate seat.

“Yes.”

“You know Kara has the power of persuasion.”

“What does this…this agreement entail, Dad?”

“What do you mean?” he asks innocently.

“I doubt Senator Rushton and his wife will just drop it. What’s in it for him?”

“Ahhh. Simple. Two things. Sloan Sports and Entertainment is about to announce a charitable donation to launch an NYU scholarship in the Senator and Doreen Rushton’s names. It’s also a Senate election year next year for the bastard.”

“Okay…God, Dad. You’re backing his campaign, aren’t you?”

“Of course. I backed him the last time too. He’s a fine Senator.”

I should have known there was more going on. I forgot it’s Kara we have working for us. Dad says he’s fine about the warrants. He’s confident they won’t find anything, and he’s still adamant he’s not letting anyone in here. I don’t feel like sticking around for the action. He makes a point of pulling me aside to tell me, “Kara has put me on such a tight leash, it’s never going to happen again. Trust me, son. No more cleanups. No more girls.”

I believe it, too, but a part of me is disappointed there’s no retribution for him—no one can ever bring back the girls he killed.

I ask him, “Where’s the justice for the others?”

He ducks his head, and answers, “Kara is working on that. She made me set aside an arm’s length trust fund of almost two hundred million dollars over the next twenty years. I still don’t know how she’ll track down their families. Son…I can’t bring them back, and I do take responsibility now. This is honestly the best I can do to protect us all.”

I’ve seen and heard enough. I tell Rebecca I’ll take her home, unless she wants to come back to my place. She says she’ll come with me. I’m all mush inside at that.

W
e get back
to my place and something shifts in my chest. Or maybe it’s my gut. I can’t do this to Rebecca. I have to tell her the truth about myself. I ask her to sit down.

“We need to talk,” I tell her.

“About what?”

I sit beside her and turn to face her. “Rebecca, I…I care a lot about you.”

“I care about you too.”

“I know…but let me finish. I care enough to tell you who I am before you go any further with me. I apologize for not telling you sooner. I’m not perfect, Rebecca…but I can honestly tell you I’ve never killed anyone. Outside of boxing training, I’ve never hurt anyone intentionally. You know about my second degree charge that was dropped…but…I’ve also done things. Things I’m not proud of.”

She continues to look at me with kindness in her eyes. She waits for me to continue.

“At the time, I did those things to protect someone else. Looking back, I see now I was an enabler. By protecting them, I became an accomplice. At the beginning, I was a teenager. I couldn’t stop them, but maybe if I had refused to help, or had turned them in, maybe some really horrible things would not have happened. What I’m saying, Rebecca, is, I—”

“Shhh,” she said. “Don’t tell me anything more. I understand. And it’s okay.”

“No. It’s not okay. I need to tell you this.”

“I’m asking you not to. I know enough…about you…and your father. Just tell me you won’t be a part of it again, and that it’s in your past for good. That’s enough for me.”

“It is, but don’t you want to know?”

“No,” she says, and gets up to sit in my lap. She turns to look me in the eye, and cups my chin in both her hands, planting a soft kiss on my lips. “I just want to look forward, Jonathan, and when I do, I want you in the picture.”

I close my eyes, press my forehead into hers, and tell her I can’t let her do this. I need her to take that next step with her eyes open. I beg her to let me come clean. She says okay and I tell her everything. I don’t leave a thing out. I even tell her about the nightmares. By the time I’m finished, it’s a couple hours later. My eyes are red from the tears, and so are hers, but that sweet, kind look in her eyes is still there. She sits silently in my arms for almost another hour afterward, saying nothing. She’s just holding me and telling me it’s not my fault. She tells me she can get me some discreet help for the PTSD, and it’s going to be okay. She even says she’s sorry I had to go through it.

She’s sorry? I can’t grasp her level of empathy, and that she’s not even remotely as disgusted with me as I am with myself. That brings on even more tears on my end, which she responds to by going into my kitchen and coming back a few minutes later with two cups of tea and a box of tissues.

After I finish the tea, she asks if I have to be at work. I tell her I need to be there after lunch for meetings. She says she’ll stay at my place for the day, if it’s okay with me. I tell her I’m fine with that. She whispers in my ear that she will be right here when I get back—and that we’ll only look forward from that point on.

That was a year ago. Mrs. Rebecca Sloan and I have not looked back ever since.