The Dirty Secret (45 page)

“I pursued this course after speaking with David Anderson, Governor Royal’s campaign liaison in West Virginia,” Marcus said, running his forefinger across his chin before returning his right hand to the table in its former position.

What?! He’s never talked to Dave! What’s going on here?

Then, the realization hit her like a cold washcloth to the face and she struggled for breath. Their maternal grandmother had been deaf and she taught both her grandchildren sign language at an early age.
We decided not to use sign language during the recount, but it looks like he’s trying to send a sign here!

Watching her brother’s hands, she instantly recognized the word he was communicating.

Helpless.

“Rewind this! I need to watch the whole clip again, but turn the volume down a little.”

The sheriff looked puzzled but complied. As the clip played, Monica watched Marcus’ hands instead of listening to his words. The message revealed was dramatically different.

“My name is Marcus Boley,” he began.

He’s pointing to his chest, which means, “I am …” Then he moves both hands downward and leaves them lying on the table. “ … Helpless.”

As Marcus described Dave’s role in the scheme to steal the election, he subtly ran his right index finger across his chin.

That means he’s speaking out of the side of his mouth. That statement’s a lie.

“Throughout this process,” Marcus said, sweeping his right index finger across the table from left to right a few inches, then shifting the position of his thumb so that it looked like the hammer of a gun in relation to the barrel shape of his finger.

They. Guns.

“I received updates from a staff member regarding the recount figures being reported from Mingo County,” he said, pointing to his chest again. This time, after placing both hands palms down on the table, he subtly shifted them to the right and flipped his right hand over, palm up.

Monica gasped and started sobbing.

I am helpless. Dead.

As the video played on, Marcus stared into the camera like a robot, impassively reciting words Monica knew he had been forced to say. His left hand remained motionless, palm down on the table while his right hand slowly twisted into carefully camouflaged sign language letters.

INNOCENT DO NOT BELIEVE LIES.

Monica wiped away tears and clamped down on her rising rage with an iron will.

I don’t know who killed him, but I
know
he didn’t kill himself. Now I have to convince these people Marcus was framed so they can start figuring out who murdered him.

“Before you jump to any conclusions, Sheriff, could you have someone who understands sign language watch this video? I think you’ll be shocked at what they tell you.”

CHAPTER 102

ESQUIRE HOTEL
CHARLESTON, WEST VIRGINIA
SUNDAY DECEMBER 14, 8:20 P.M.

Tabatha lounged in bed watching a movie on Lifetime. Wearing a peach silk camisole and matching French-cut panties, a bag of microwave popcorn and a glass of wine sat on the bedside table to her right.

The movie’s heroine had learned that her supposedly devoted husband was actually a convicted murderer living under an assumed name in California after escaping from an Alabama prison. Making matters worse, he was living a double-life, spending half his time with another wife he maintained in a city two hours north.

You should have known better, sister. Men are dogs. You need to use them before they can use you. Get leverage on them and
never
give it up.

The lying dog begged the heroine for forgiveness. “She means nothing to me, I swear! I just married her because she got pregnant and she wouldn’t let me see my son otherwise.”

Don’t believe him.
Act
like you believe him, then clean out his bank account before his other wife beats you to it. Take care of Number One first. Everyone else can fend for themselves.

The phone rang. Tabatha answered without even looking away from the TV. “Hello?”

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but you have a visitor down here,” a husky male voice said.

Tabatha sat up, smirking. “Oh, really? Who is it?”

The caller paused. “Someone from the Capitol, ma’am.”

A-ha. How very thoughtful of you to drop by, Mr. Governor. I knew you couldn’t resist the chance to tap this again.

Swinging her pedicured feet to the floor, she smoothed her camisole. “Tell him I need five minutes to freshen up. After that, you can send him up. The door will be propped open.”

“I’ll let him know.”

Tabatha hung up and walked into the bathroom, toting the bag of popcorn with her. Throwing it away, she quickly brushed her teeth, put on some lip gloss and sexed up her hair.

There. You look absolutely edible. Now you can give the governor some of that pussy made of sunshine God gave you. Then he’ll remember why it’s good to keep Momma happy. Because if Momma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.

As she walked out of the bathroom, preparing to provocatively drape herself on the bed, the door creaked open, then shut. She donned her best studio-perfect smile, and just as she turned toward the door, she heard three quick, heavy steps ominously rolling toward her.

The collision knocked her to the floor. She landed with one arm trapped beneath her.

What’s happening?!

It felt like a Volkswagen was parked on top of her. Thick, gloved hands clutched at her hair, ripping her head backward.

“If you scream, I swear to
God
I’ll fucking kill you,” the man said, grabbing a fistful of hair with one hand and rolling her onto her back. Then he slipped his humongous fingers from her hair and began gripping them tightly around her throat.

Oh, God! I can’t breathe! Help! Somebody help!

Tabatha clutched at her throat to no avail. The massive bald man on her chest brushed her hands aside while closing his grip on her windpipe even tighter. Wearing black denim jeans and a matching long-sleeved mock turtleneck, he looked old but was as strong as a bear. “I know you’ve been paid a lot of money for your vote tomorrow, you fucking cunt. That vote is the
only
reason you’re still alive. Do you understand me?”

Wide-eyed, Tabatha kept squirming, desperately trying to hurl her attacker off her chest.

Get off! Can’t breathe! Oh, my God!!!! Help!!!!

“You better get real smart, real quick, Tabatha,” he growled. “I’m not talkin’ to hear my fuckin’ head rattle! Do you want to live another five minutes or not?”

Wordlessly, she nodded emphatically though he was jamming the back of her head into the carpet and pinching her trachea shut.

“Good. Then listen closely, because you only get one chance to get this right.”

Tabatha stared into the man’s eyes and was terrified by what she saw there. Unshakable, dark, cold, pitiless, non-negotiable
rage
stared back at her as the Lifetime movie played through the television’s speakers.

“You
will
vote for Melanie Wilson and Luke Vincent tomorrow at noon,” the man said flatly. “You can keep every fucking penny you’ve been paid to prostitute yourself that way, I don’t give a shit. Enjoy it. But you will
never
speak to Luke Vincent again. I could live with you screwing his brains out as long as you were discreet. But for you to have the fucking
gall
to use that against him – threatening to tell his wife about it and then trying to bribe him to leave his wife in exchange for the vice-presidency …” The man sneered, using his grip on her windpipe to jostle her head. “That’s unforgivable. You’re
way
out of your league here, Little Missy. Stupid, greedy sluts like you have been gang-raped and left floating dead in a river for less than that.”

Tabatha feared she was losing consciousness, as her brain vainly screamed for oxygen. She wanted to sob, but her lungs were empty. Lying on the floor with this monster on top of her, she realized she was very much in danger of dying. Her lips trembled uncontrollably and she felt the hot sensation of urine trickling down the backs of her thighs.

“Do I make myself clear?”

Tears welled in her eyes. She nodded like her life depended on it.

“Good,” the man spat, easing his grip on her throat. “Because if you
ever
try to contact Luke again, or speak of your affair to
anyone
, I will hunt you down and do vile, mortifying things to you. I will treat you like the unspeakable whore you are. And then I will kill you.”

With that, he let go of her throat and kneed her once in the stomach. As she doubled over in pain, gasping for air, he stood up, casually walked over to the door and exited the room.

As oxygen re-entered her lungs, Tabatha laid crumpled on the floor in her own urine. The sound of hysterical screaming filled the room. Then she realized she was the one screaming, and she clapped her hands over her mouth as she stared around the room through tear-filled eyes.

Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God! I have to call the police! No, I
can’t
call the police! He’ll find me. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill me.

Rising from the floor, she flung herself onto the bed and cried uncontrollably with her face planted in a pillow, muffling the noise.

Think, Tabby! Think! You’ve got to get control of yourself! Think!

CHAPTER 103

ST. MARYS, PLEASANTS COUNTY, WEST VIRGINIA
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 14, 8:50 P.M.

Three slender candles lazily burned atop the coffee table. Rikki reclined on one sofa arm holding a glass of red wine. Wearing a pink cotton sweater and light blue jeans, her feet were curled beneath her as she watched Dave sitting at the other end of the sofa. As he stared into the gas logs, the flames’ shadows flickered across his face. Instrumental music from the Big Band era softly flowed from the stereo speakers.

As she studied her ex-fiancé’s profile, Rikki smiled faintly. His green eyes sparkled, hinting at the intelligence she had long admired and found desirable. The gray flecks scattered through his short-cropped brown hair gave him an air of maturity, and the youthful cocksureness that used to grate on her nerves at times had been replaced with an aura of gravity and serenity.

No one has ever accused him of lacking self-confidence. But he seems more
humble
now, and that combination of confidence and humility is downright sexy.

The sound of upbeat saxophones filled the room and Dave grinned widely. Glancing at Rikki, he bopped his head and snapped his fingers in beat with the music. “I love this song! It reminds me of my grandparents.”

“What is it?”

“
Little Brown Jug
. Glenn Miller Orchestra. It’s just …
catchy
.”

God, it takes so little to make him happy. He’s like a kid at Christmas
all the time
.

Rikki sighed. “How you can be so aloof, knowing what we’re facing in the morning?”

Dave shrugged, still bopping. “No sense worrying about what we can’t control. There’s nothing else we can do tonight, so why worry about it?”

It must be nice to be so carefree. Care to bottle some of that attitude for me?

Rikki raised her wineglass. “Here’s to stopping Tabatha in her tracks tomorrow.”

“Here’s to
you
,” Dave responded. “For having the courage to seek justice for Jack, even though you think Melanie Wilson should be President. You’re a brave, amazing woman.”

The prosecutor bit her lip. “You’re too kind. I’m just doing what my father would have expected me to do. But thanks for acknowledging my dilemma.”

Rikki took a sip of her wine. Its sweet, yet somewhat tart taste filled her mouth as she pondered the strange twists of fate that had brought her to this moment.

I’m sitting here drinking wine with my ex-fiancé. It should feel bizarre, but it just feels …
right
.

The stereo played the finishing flurry from
Little Brown Jug
and, after a few seconds of silence, the haunting clarinet intro to
Moonlight Serenade
began to play. Dave sat his wineglass down and extended his left hand across the couch, palm up. “Care to dance, Rik?”

Rikki’s stomach dropped. As if in a dream, she took his hand and stood up, allowing him to guide her to the middle of the floor. Dave wrapped his right arm around the small of her back, grasped her right hand in his left, and they slowly began moving in rhythm with the song.

Following his lead, her pulse slowly quickened. Softly rubbing her left hand against his muscular shoulder, she tilted her face toward his cheek and got a whiff of his aftershave. The scent made her smile, as did the feel of his hand holding her close without forcibly pulling her against him.

God, this feels right
, she thought. Closing her eyes, she leaned closer as they slowly rotated again, and she felt Dave’s fingertips softly nudge into the small of her back.

Then, as the hypnotic tones of the muffled brass instruments played on, she felt his lips press gently against her cheek. Consciously attempting to control her breathing, Rikki subtly turned her head to the right, and his lips softly made contact with hers.

The kiss went on, slowly at first. Opening her mouth slightly, she felt his tongue delicately explore the inside of her full lips. After two more circles on the dance floor, Rikki felt Dave put his left hand on her cheek and the passion from their kiss built in her chest.

“I have missed you
so much
, Rikki,” he whispered between nibbles on her lips.

Her breathing sped up and she ran her long fingers through the short tufts of hair on the back of his head. “I’ve missed you, too,” she said breathily. “God knows I wanted to forget you ever existed, but being in your arms just feels so
right
. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t.”