Why (Stalker Series Book 2) Read online

  “It’s organized. It looks like a mess, but it’s—”

  “Forget about it.” The woman hugged her elbow to her body.

  “How bad is it?” Genevieve reached for Janney’s arm.

  “Forget that too.” Janney swatted her hands away. “We have real problems, girl.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t call me girl, you cranky old hag.”

  Janney’s cold uninjured hand wrapped tightly around Gen’s wrist. “There’s no time for ball bustin’.”

  It was what they did. Her beautiful assistant gave as good as she got. Day in. Day out. It kept them sane in the midst of insanity.

  Dread bubbled in Gen’s belly as thick and as vast as the La Brea Tar Pits had been in the days when it had slowly and inexorably sucked the life from ten-ton beasts. Had the trial been hung because they’d found evidence of jury tampering? Had someone killed Perry? Had the media scrutiny driven Perry to commit suicide?

  Guilt added noxious fumes to the cauldron of decay that was her stomach. She should have booked a room at the hotel he stayed in immediately following his release. She should have spent more time making certain he was stable before she’d hightailed it. Work had been a legitimate reason for leaving. There wasn’t a single thing in her life that didn’t require attention. She was weeks behind on a cut and style. Her nails needed a new coat of polish. Hell, her vagina needed a proper penis inside it. And work—there was enough of it to keep her busy for the next thousand hours straight. In reality, though, it had been an excuse.

  Seeing the shattered remnants of Perry’s life had almost dropped her where she’d stood. Everything he’d known for the past fifteen years was erased from existence. During the trial, she’d been able to block out the horror of his loss because getting Perry off for the murder of his family had been more important. Once she’d done it, the walls protecting her from the thoughts of how impossible the next few days, weeks, months were going to be for her friend and mentor vanished. And she’d run.

  Gen stared in agony at her assistant’s bright green eyes. “What is it, Janney?”

  “Perry …” Janney’s gaze bounced around the room.

  Fear turned to dirt in Gen’s mouth.

  “I don’t know how to say this …” Her thick shoulders bobbed, and she searched the ceiling for the answer.

  “Just say it!”

  The edges of Janney’s mouth crinkled as though she was about to tear into Genevieve for speaking to her that way, but it eased too soon. “Lisa saw Perry pull into the garage when she was waiting for the elevator.”

  Gen blinked at her assistant for several beats. Of all the things she could have said, that would’ve been last on her list. She and Perry had talked about him taking time to acclimate to the outside world, his new world, before he worried about the practice. Yet the receptionist’s report contradicted that.

  “Why?” The question was out before Gen could recall it.

  “I don’t know. She said he wore a suit and was gathering his briefcase from the back seat. What would he be doing at the office this soon after his release?”

  It was Genevieve’s turn not to know, and she shook her head. Janney released her hold, and Gen turned toward her desk. She fished her phone from her purse and checked the screen for messages. There was a text string of mischief from the girls but nothing from Perry. She checked her inbox on the office phone. Nothing.

  “I hate to tell you this,” Janney whispered, “but Deanne nearly hyperventilated when she heard he was on his way up.”

  Genevieve’s mouth opened, but no words came. Their researcher wasn’t one to overreact. After all, she lived in the same world they all did, raw and aware of the terrors that happened in it every single day.

  “Rosalyn practically ran to her office and slammed the door.”

  “Maybe she had a conference call,” Gen hedged. Damn Perry, but this was another reason she’d urged him to take his time before coming into the office. He’d been cleared of any wrongdoing, but people still needed time to get used to the idea he was out of the state’s custody and moving forward with his life one small step at a time. Hell, she’d interacted with him nearly every day since the murders, and she wasn’t ready to do it in the context of the real world.

  “He needs normalcy. As much as we can give him. So go act busy and slyly watch YouTube baking tutorials.”

  “Hey, now.” Janney crossed her arms over her ample bosom and cocked a hip to the side.

  “Are you really trying to argue the point?” Gen hiked a brow.

  Janney’s hands dropped to her sides. “I only watch them when my work is done.”

  “Usually. Not only.”

  “So fire me.” She propped a hand on a full hip and flashed her green eyes at Gen.

  “Work harder and I won’t have to.”

  The women engaged in a fierce stare off. Immediately, the urge to blink clawed at Gen’s eyeballs, and every ounce of moisture evaporated from their surface. The confident tilt of Janney’s mouth said the fight was futile. Her teeth ground together. Her breathing labored. She opened her eyes as wide as they would go and willed the older woman to blink.

  Loss tainted the sweet relief that came from closing her eyes.

  “Ha,” Janney celebrated.

  “That’s fine.” She blinked her opponent into view. “How about a drinking contest this evening?”

  Her assistant placed her index fingers together, formed a cross, and held it up to Gen. Janney warded her off as if she were a demon. The first and last time they’d tried that contest, the poor lady had ended up expelling some demons of her own … all over the mahogany bar.

  Janney backed out of the office and reached for the door handle.

  “Leave it open.”

  “Okay.” Janney winced. “We’re acting normal, right?”

  “Right.”

  “If you need me, I’ll be out here, acting normal.” Her assistant’s too wide, too fake smile didn’t bode well for the interactions about to unfold inside the firm. The middle-aged auburn beauty swiveled in the doorway, drew a breath that lifted her shoulders and cinched her waist, and marched from view.

  Gen stared at the vacant space, willing inspiration to strike, but a vast desert made itself at home in her frontal lobe. The grit of wind-swept dirt and dehydrated air gridlocked every movement, every thought. At least it kept her from running out through the fire escape and down the stairwell to avoid the discomfort.

  Too soon, Perry’s usual jovial voice filled the front office and filtered down the long corridor. “Good morning, all.”

  If anyone responded, it wasn’t loud enough for Gen’s strained ears to hear. In fact, the hum of the office turned mute. Gone was the shuffling of papers, the singing of the copy machine, and the flap of gossiping gums in the break room. The phones didn’t ring. Even the espresso machine called in sick.

  Perry’s heavy tread heralded his entrance into the hallway.

  Saliva pooled in Gen’s mouth, but the fluid refused to travel down her paralyzed esophagus. She tried to clear her throat, to prepare to speak, but the spit tried its best to cut off her airway. This wasn’t her. All her life, she’d handled situations head on. It was what made her successful. Determination. That, and Perry. He was the man who’d leveraged everything to take a chance on a wet-behind-the-ears, smart-mouthed attorney from a family with no greenery nor prestige behind its name.

  She snapped her shoulders to attention, plucked her shirt, and waited for her mentor to stop in the doorway of her office, the office he’d given her when no one else would even give her the courtesy of a callback. The saliva still stuck in her throat, but if she had to, she’d talk around it.

  Perry’s steps drew nearer, each one a tiny earthquake that shook the plaques of law firm accolades and pictures of partnerships forged that hung on the walls. Being a curvaceous, petite woman, she scarcely had to worry about the force of her footfalls. Her boss never worried about it either but not because h
is didn’t have an effect. He’d always liked the effect his larger-than-life presence had on legal proceedings and business dealings. In his personal life, though, everyone who’d really known him called him the gentle giant. Right up until the day the police manacled his wrists, wedged his massive frame into the back of the police cruiser, and carted him off to prison.

  “Another day, another scale to balance, hey Holst?” The all-too-familiar words rolled from Perry’s mouth while his booming steps carried his hulking frame past her office and on to his own.

  In response, Gen usually gave a whoop, a groan, or an expletive, depending on the day’s caseload, but this was no ordinary day. She gagged down the spit that had pooled inside her mouth far too long and gaped at the once again empty space of her doorway. Utter bafflement unspooled her nerves and invited a herd of kittens to toy with them, leaving her tangled in a knot of irritation.

  A fire grew in her belly. Where Genevieve was concerned, there was never a smolder or a slow burn of anger. She went from spark to evacuate the town in seconds. Some cited it as a character flaw, but it allowed her to attack a situation head on and snuff it out before it became a problem.

  Through the walls and open doorways, she heard the thunk as Perry set his briefcase atop his desk and the squeak of his office chair as he rolled it back from his desk.

  Call the fire department.

  Gen placed one heel in front of the other and tried her best to stomp down the hallway toward her client’s, her boss’s, her mentor’s, her friend’s office.

  He lowered himself into the cushy leather chair with a strength in his legs she hadn’t noticed until that very moment. How had she not noticed the blatant change during the trial?

  The last time she’d watched him sit at his desk—before the murders—he’d only squatted a quarter of the way before gravity had taken over and dumped him into the seat. Before the murders, what had once been an athletic physique had given way to a bulging middle and drooping ass. Years of overindulgence in the finer things and hours spent under the stress of a law firm’s leadership roll had taken their toll. But now …

  Now he wore a freshly tailored suit that accentuated the reduction of his middle and the newfound definition of his ass. Now the buttons were clasped at his waist, a feat not seen in years. Now his shoulders stood at the ready. Now he looked less the gentile giant and more the capable killer nearly half of Manhattan thought him to be—because of the sensational media coverage and an overzealous population thirsty for the next Gary Ridgway or John Wayne Gacy.

  Thank all the fucks in the world the trial was over before the reveal of his new and improved physique. Any hint of his physical changes had been hidden under thick woolen suits or oversized prison garb. How had she not noticed? Why hadn’t he mentioned the development?

  Call the fire department, indeed. Maybe an ambulance too.

  Gen stepped inside Perry’s office and slammed the door behind her.

  Instead of appearing startled, which had been her aim, his still thick jowl turned toward her and offered a penitent quirk of his lips. “Genevieve.” The smile didn’t reach the tops of his cheeks, much less his shifting gaze.

  There wasn’t shit else to look at in the office. The police had taken almost everything into their custody, though no crimes had taken place here. She stomped to his desk and braced her fingertips on the uncluttered top.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking at my star prosecutor and now, star defender.” His smile brightened a touch.

  “Don’t do that,” she snarled.

  “Do what? Compliment you?”

  “Try to derail me.”

  He reclined in his chair. “Give me some credit, Genevieve. I’ve known you for nearly your entire career, and I’ve never known you to lose course.” His thickly veined hand lifted in the air. “Shoot, give yourself some credit. Your closing arguments moved mountains.”

  Her fingers relaxed, easing her palms onto the desktop. Unlike any before, her closing had come from her heart. “It was pretty damn great.”

  Perry’s head bobbed. The overhead light glinted off the gray hair that had multiplied and migrated up from his sideburns over the course of the trial. He was more salt than pepper. Somehow, the lack of color smoothed the harshness of the wrinkles on his brow and around his eyes, taking five years off his appearance.

  People who went through hell were supposed to look worse, not better.

  “You know, as a defender, you could name your price, and people would pay it.”

  Gen straightened. “And you know this is a conversation we’ll waste our breath having.”

  “I thought maybe—”

  “No, Perry.”

  “You’re so hardheaded sometimes.” He snapped forward and slapped both fists on the arms of his chair.

  “My hardheadedness saved your life.”

  “Mine, yes. Why not others?” He stood. The breadth of his shoulders towered over her. He was actually smaller than he’d been six months ago, but a strength in his stance wedged her rebuke inside her lungs.

  “Before, I wouldn’t push you into something you didn’t want to do. But now I’ve seen what good you can do for people like me. Think of all the people who are caught up in circumstance. In the wrong place at the wrong time. Who have the wrong associations.” He pointed at himself. “Who need someone to fight for them.” He pointed at her.

  “Are you finished?”

  “No. Because of you, I’m not finished.” He offered her a smirk.

  Gen made a show of shoving her finger down her throat. She gagged and simultaneously glared at him.

  “Ugh! I hate when you do that.” Perry wiggled his shoulders and shook his hands.

  “I know.” She grinned.

  “You’re not even going to hear me out?”

  “I’d have left already, but you still haven’t answered my question.”

  His brows hiked.

  “You were supposed to give it some time before you came back to work.”

  “That’s not a question.”

  “God, I don’t know how the police kept from bashing your head into the interrogation table.” Her hands formed impotent fists.

  “I had a great defense attorney.” This was the first smile that reached his eyes.

  “Perry.” Her voice shrilled in the near empty confines.

  His smile fell.

  “You were supposed to hang low until the firestorm died down. It’s been less than a week since they read the verdict. Six days, to be precise.” She shook her head. “We were supposed to warn people and warm them to the idea of your presence around here. They’re freaking out, Janney among them, and she doesn’t let much upset her.”

  “Look around, Holst.” He motioned to the empty office. “It’s past time I get back to work. There’s a lot to do, and I’m ready to tackle it. I’m ready to move on with my life.”

  Ready to get on with his life … like he’d gotten a traffic ticket. Genevieve stared at him with no words.

  “I ripped the Band-Aid off this morning. It was uncomfortable, but people will forget the sting by lunch.”

  “You give people too much credit. Me, most of all.”

  “You deserve all the credit. What you get is more work.” His even shoulders shrugged. “Make people okay with me being back because I’ll be here tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.”

  “And when the reporters show up?”

  “My spectacular defense attorney will give a statement.”

  “We came up with this plan to keep you safe and out of the public eye.”

  “You came up with it. Not me.” He sat and rolled his chair to his desk, effectively dismissing her.

  “Goddamn you, Perry.”

  He was being so pigheaded. Her hardheadedness didn’t endanger her safety nor her livelihood or the livelihood of those around her. Genevieve turned and stalked to the door.

  “He already did.”

  She stopped with a death g
rip on the doorframe and looked over her shoulder. Perry’s eyes held none of the jubilee she’d heard in his greetings. None of the pizzazz he’d used in his arguments.

  “I hired people to replace some things in the house. They were coming today, and I didn’t want to be there.”

  Gen’s lips gaped. Sorrow dashed all irritation. Compassion seeped through her pores. “You’re back at the house already? I thought we agreed that the hotel—”

  “The security was good, but it didn’t stop reporters from finding ways around it.”

  Her heart dropped. “Perry, I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not the sorry type. Don’t start now. Just do what you have to do to soothe people’s consciences or tell me who I need to fire. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

  A nod was all she could offer. When she didn’t move, he shooed her with a wave of his hand. But her feet remained rooted until she asked the question gnawing at her.

  “You’re staying in the house?” The words squeaked between her collapsed throat.

  “This is my practice. I’m not going anywhere. That is my home. I’m not going anywhere.”

  No matter that someone slaughtered his family inside it.

  A knot formed in Genevieve’s stomach. She carried it with her throughout the day and into the evening. It embedded there as a new, unwelcome companion.

  Five

  Her shoes stuttered. The underside of royal red caught the gritty sidewalk twice, nearly tipping her over onto her head before coming to rest. A wince crinkled her cheeks. Could she have nothing nice? An image of red trailing behind her on the ground caused her brain to stagger. That image. Blood. Red.

  Gen’s gaze scaled the smooth and ornately carved concrete façade of Perry Carter’s home. She blinked away the pictures. All 397 crime scene photos were burned into her memory, creating smokescreens in her dreams and haunting her. And here she was at the origin of her nightmares.

  Well, not the origin, per se. The epicenter of her disquiet began long ago. Her unbalance was deeply rooted … in the past. This was her present. This was her life. And she had a duty to live it.