All Fall Down (19 page)

V
eronica glanced at her watch, anxious for the team meeting to conclude. Anxious to check her messages. Mia had promised to call the minute Boyd left for the hospital that morning. Veronica hadn't heard from her even though she had held off joining the Person's Team meeting until the last possible moment.

She peeked at her watch again, the other lawyers' conversations swirling around her.
Almost eleven. Surely Mia had called by now.

In the month that had passed since Mia's unexpected visit that Saturday, they had become the best of friends. Inseparable. They shopped together. Did lunch. Movies. An occasional dinner or drinks. They spoke on the phone first thing every morning and the last thing at night.

Veronica crossed her legs. She thought about Mia all the time. She worried about her, longed to protect and care for her. The hours they were apart seemed never-ending, the ones they were together, unbearably short.

She'd had many female friends over the years, women she had cared deeply for—loved as friends, or sisters, even. But she had never felt about another woman they way she felt about Mia.

Truth or dare?

Truth. She was falling in love with Mia Donaldson.

The thought ran through her head, bringing with it a flush. White-hot, breath-stealing. Bringing with it denial.

It wasn't possible. She wasn't that way, had never had those kind of feelings for another woman.

Until now. Until Mia.

And with each passing day, she was finding it more and more difficult to deny those feelings.

“Veronica, do you have anything to add?”

She looked up, not having a clue what had just been presented or by whom. She met her team leader's eyes. “Not a thing, Rick.”

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. “All right. Then, if there's nothing else, let's get to work.”

Veronica sprang to her feet, quickly collecting her things. Before she could bolt for the door, Rick was at her elbow. “Veronica, could I have a moment?”

She curbed the impulse to check her watch again and smiled at the other lawyer. “Sure. What's up?”

“That's what I'd like to know.”

“I don't follow.”

“Is something wrong? Is there something going on in your life that I should know about?”

What could she say? I think I'm falling in love with another woman and it's really freaking me out?

She forced a casual smile. “Not a thing, Rick. Why do you ask?”

“That should be obvious, Veronica. In the past few weeks you've transformed from my most aggressive,
vocal and opinionated lawyer into the one sitting at the table today.”

She looked blankly at him, and he shook his head. “Veronica, you didn't comment on one case. Not one.”

She felt her cheeks flame. He was right. She had spent the entire meeting mooning over Mia. Like a teenager, for God's sake.

Her job was the most important thing in her life, she couldn't afford to be daydreaming during team meetings. “I'm sorry, Rick, it's just that I…I've been fighting this bug and…it's left me without much energy. I'm not sleeping well and…I guess, I'm just not feeling myself.”

That part was certainly true. She hadn't felt herself in some time now.

She cleared her throat. “I haven't wanted to take the time to see a doctor, but now…I think I'd better.”

He smiled sympathetically, looking as if he bought her story. “Get some antibiotics, that bug'll be history in no time. Then I'll have my pit bull back.”

“A pit bull?” she murmured. “Is that the way you think of me?”

His smile faded. “I didn't mean that in a negative way, Veronica. You gave this group a real shot in the arm, I just don't want us to lose that.”

“Don't worry, Rick,” she murmured with a reassuring smile. “This dog hasn't lost her bite. Of that I can assure you.”

They chatted a moment more, then parted. Veronica went to her office by way of the message desk. She collected the stack of message slips, sifting through
them the moment she closed her office door behind her.

None were from Mia.

Why hadn't she called?

Veronica flipped through them again, just to be certain she hadn't somehow missed it.

She hadn't and, frowning, Veronica dropped the stack of messages on her desk, then sank into her chair. Now she was really worried. Last night, Mia had been upset. No, more than upset. She had been shaken. Afraid.

Veronica brought a hand to her right temple and rubbed. Mia's mood had had something to do with Boyd, something he had done, though she had refused to reveal what, no matter how Veronica had coaxed. They'd ended their conversation abruptly, because Boyd had returned home. Before Mia hung up, Veronica had made her promise to call in the morning, the minute Boyd left for the hospital.

So Veronica would know she was all right.

But Mia hadn't called.

Something was wrong.

Heart in her throat, Veronica picked up the phone and dialed Mia's number. The machine answered and Veronica left a message. She repeated the process ten minutes later, then ten minutes after that, her panic growing.

She got to her feet, all manner of horrifying scenarios racing through her head. From what Mia had told her, her husband was capable of anything. He could have locked her up somewhere, in a closet or the attic. She could be hurt. Or worse.

In a final, desperate attempt to reason away why she hadn't heard from her friend, Veronica wondered if perhaps Boyd hadn't gone into the hospital today. Perhaps he was ill, or had taken a personal day—easy enough to confirm.

Moments later Veronica hung up the phone. Boyd had, indeed, gone into work this morning. At present, he was in surgery.

Light-headed with fear, Veronica buzzed Jen, informed her that she would be out of the office for a while, then grabbed her purse and ran.

She made it to Mia's in record time, pushing the upper edge of the speed limit and sliding through yellow lights, praying she didn't get pulled over. She wheeled into the other woman's driveway, slammed out of the car and raced up the walk to the front door.

She rang the bell, then pounded, calling out to her friend. Moments passed—they seemed an eternity. Veronica rang and called out again, leaning toward the door, listening for signs of life.

Finally, she heard a stirring on the other side of the wood panel, then the key turning in the lock. The door opened, Mia stood on the other side. Though her eyes were red and puffy and face blotchy, she was very much alive and unharmed.

“Mia!” Veronica exclaimed, relief rushing over her. “Thank God! You were supposed to call. When you didn't, I was sick with worry.”

Mia simply stared at her, her eyes flooding with tears. Without a word, she turned and hurried back into the house.

Veronica stared after her, confused. Concerned. She
had been right—something was wrong. Terribly wrong. She stepped into the house, shutting the door behind her.

Mia stood at the far end of the foyer, her back to Veronica, head bowed. Veronica saw by the way her shoulders shook that she was crying.

Her heart breaking for her friend, she went to stand behind her. “Mia?” she whispered. “What's happened? Are you all right?”

She touched Mia's silky, blond hair. It was almost unbearably soft. “I was so…scared. After everything you told me about Boyd, I thought…I imagined the worst.”

Unable to stop herself, she touched Mia's hair again, stroking. This time Mia moved slightly into the caress, almost like a cat rubbing itself against its master's hand.

Veronica drew in a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. “I was so scared. Don't do that to me again, Mia. I beg you.”

Mia made a sound, small and lost. “I wanted to call you. You were all I…all I could think about. But I was so…ashamed. I couldn't face you, even over the phone.”

“Ashamed?” Veronica repeated, dropping her hands to Mia's shoulders. “Of what, Mia? I don't understand.”

“How could you? You'd never—” She bit the words back and shook her head, as if unable to continue.

“You'd be surprised what I can understand.” Veronica turned her friend so she could look into her
eyes. “What is it, Mia? You can tell me anything. I promise you can.”

“I don't deserve your friendship. I don't—” Her eyes welled with tears once more, swamping her words when she spoke. She fought them off. “When I allow him to…to hurt me the way he did last night, I don't deserve—”

“He hurt you?” Veronica pulled in a steadying breath. “Where? What did he—”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

She attempted to pull away, but Veronica tightened her hold. “Don't shut me out, Mia. Please.”

“I told you, I don't want to talk about it!” With a sob, she jerked free and ran down the hall.

Veronica went after her. She found her in the master bedroom, sitting on the edge of her unmade bed. Slumped over in defeat. Veronica stopped in the doorway. “Mia?” she whispered.

“It was…awful.”

Veronica felt her friend's words like a blow, like a personal cut to her own heart. “Tell me,” she said softly. “And I'll help you.”

She crossed to Mia and knelt in front of her, taking her hands, cradling them against her cheek. They were wet with tears. “How could I not understand? Your pain is my pain, your hopes, dreams, your disappointments. All are mine, too. I love you, Mia.”

As she uttered the words, it was as if she opened up inside, fully alive, brilliant with light and promise. “I would do anything for you.
Anything.
Don't you know that?”

Mia lifted her gaze to Veronica's. Veronica brought their joined hands to her mouth. “It's true, I would.”

A tear slipped down Mia's cheek, splashing on their joined hands. “He…forced me to have sex with him,” she whispered so softly Veronica had to strain to hear. “I told him no, I struggled, but he—” She drew in a broken breath. “He held me down. He hurt me.”

Veronica closed her eyes against the image, against the rage the image wrought. The thought of him forcing Mia, her gentle, sweet Mia…it was too horrible to contemplate. “Where?” Veronica managed to say. “Where did he—”

Mia stood. She unfastened her slacks and slipped them over her hips and down. She was trim, her body almost boyishly thin. She wore plain white cotton bikini briefs. Veronica's gaze was drawn to the dark triangle of her bush, visible through the thin cotton.

Her mouth went dry. The blood began to thunder in her head. She felt dizzy. Aware and achingly self-conscious.

Then she saw the bruises. The first, on Mia's left, inner thigh was large, at least three inches in diameter and an ugly purple-black color. The others, on her other thigh, were small and roundish—like fingerprints.

Veronica made a sound of disbelief. And outrage. She brought her hand to the large bruise and with trembling fingers, touched it tenderly, lovingly.

A breath, a sound, almost like a sigh, whispered past Mia's lips. Veronica lifted her gaze. Mia's eyes were shut, the expression on her face one of intent expectation. Veronica moved her fingers ever so slightly
higher, then higher still, until they brushed against warm, white fabric.

This time there was no mistaking the sound that slipped past Mia's lips. Emboldened, the breath shuddering past her own lips, Veronica moved her hand more, cupping Mia's sex.

Veronica stroked, softly at first, kneading with her fingertips, exploring a woman for the first time.

“I'm frightened,” Mia whispered, beginning to tremble. “This…can't be…happening.”

Veronica quieted her without words. Gently, she coaxed. And wooed. She loved.

With a small cry, Mia dropped her hands to Veronica's shoulders for support. “Don't…leave me, Veronica. Please…never—”

“I won't, love. I couldn't.”

“Then don't…stop. Yes…there—”

Suddenly, Mia stiffened, her thighs closing tightly around Veronica's hand, trapping it. She arched her back, crying out in orgasm.

At the sound, at the reality of what had happened, what she had just done, Veronica exploded, too, spontaneously.

Weeping, Mia sank to the floor, into Veronica's arms. Veronica held her, tears slipping down her own cheeks.

After a time, their tears abated. Still, neither spoke. Nor moved. Veronica was afraid to loosen her hold on Mia—afraid of what Mia might say, of how she might look at her. She was afraid and embarrassed and so hopeful it hurt. Nothing in her life had ever felt so right as these last minutes with Mia.

If the other woman didn't feel the same, she feared she would die.

Finally, aware of time passing, Veronica found her courage. She looked at Mia. In the other woman's eyes she saw her own wonder mirrored back at her. Her own hope and hesitation.

Veronica wept with joy again. She cupped Mia's face in her hands and kissed her, not as a friend but as a lover.

When the kiss ended, Mia touched Veronica's face with trembling fingers. “What am I going to do about Boyd?” she asked. “I'm afraid.”

“You don't need to be afraid. I won't allow him to hurt you again, Mia. I won't allow him to touch you.
We
can't allow it.”

“No,” Mia agreed, “we can't.”

M
elanie rushed into the dojang dressing room. As she had known she would be, Veronica was already there. She was sitting on the bench with her open gym bag between her feet, but she hadn't dressed out yet. They had continued to meet every Friday night to spar and if one of them couldn't make it they always called.

Since the official launch of the Dark Angel investigation in mid-July, it seemed to Melanie that she was always rushing. Always apologizing to someone for being late. Tonight that person was Veronica.

“Sorry,” Melanie said, dropping her bag on the bench beside Veronica. “I was on my way out the door when a reporter from the
Charlotte Observer
called for an update. I couldn't get her off the phone.”

The attorney looked up, her expression tight. “The Dark Angel.
Big
surprise.”

Melanie's mouth dropped at her friend's words and their sarcastic tone. “Excuse me?”

“Everything with you lately has been that damn case. I swear, you're obsessed with it.”

Melanie stiffened, as hurt as she was offended. “It's a big case, Veronica. An important one. And I'm in charge. I would have thought you, of all people, would understand.”

“Maybe I understand, but what about the other people who love you? What about them?” Melanie opened her mouth to respond, but Veronica cut her off. “You know, Melanie, you can't lose your life in a case. Take it from me, there's always going to be another one around the corner, one that's bigger, more important.”

Melanie wasn't quite sure what to say. She was surprised by her friend's speech, embarrassed because the other woman was right. And also resentful of the way Veronica had dressed her down.

They changed in awkward silence. As Veronica tossed her gym bag into a locker, she looked at Melanie, her expression almost apologetic. “How
is
the case going?”

“We're up to eight probable victims.”

“Eight? Your Angel's been a busy man.”

“Woman,” Melanie corrected automatically.

“Right. Any leads?”

Melanie shook her head as she shoved her gym bag into a locker, then snapped the door shut. “We have a string of victims and no concrete evidence. Because of the nature of the murders and the amount of time that's passed in some of the cases, we have no crime scenes and no physical evidence to link them.”

“That's tough. I suppose it's pretty much a waiting game now.”

“Pretty much,” Melanie agreed, although she hated the thought of them all sitting around waiting for fresh blood, as they called a new murder. But fresh blood meant new leads and evidence, both of which they needed desperately right now.

They headed out to the training room. “It'll be a juicy case to try,” Veronica murmured. “Almost makes me wish I was on the homicide team. Of course, considering my history with batterers, I imagine it would feel a bit like being on the other side of the law.”

Melanie murmured that it would, though she didn't really feel that way. For her, she didn't think about who the Dark Angel had killed, only that she had killed. For her, she didn't see the shades of gray in the Angel's acts—only right and wrong.

They stretched and moved through their poomses in silence, then readied themselves to spar. Over the weeks they had fallen into the practice of freestyle sparring with light contact. After the first few weeks, with Mr. Browne's permission, they had decided not to wear body armor. Tae kwon do blows were delivered with an incredible amount of force; one slip could do serious damage. However, both women were experienced enough in pulling their punches and kicks to avoid injury without forgoing the feel of real competition.

Plus, they had developed a high level of trust with each other. Of comfort with the other's fighting style. Veronica was a charger, Melanie a bull. Melanie relied on a direct, methodical attack, Veronica indirect and unexpected. They had learned each other's way and although Melanie hadn't yet bested the other woman, she hadn't lost faith that one night she would.

Tonight, it seemed, was that night. Veronica's timing was off, her moves neither as sharp nor focused as usual. Veronica left herself open and Melanie
landed a blow to her forehead. Then when Veronica took a step back in surprise, Melanie delivered a roundhouse kick to the side of her head. In a tournament, she would have received a point for each, three points would take the match.

“Next point and the match is mine,” Melanie teased, dropping back into her ready stance. “You sure you're up to this tonight? You're making it awfully easy.”

“All part of my master plan,” Veronica retorted, also readying herself. “Now that I've got you feeling cocky and overconfident, I move in for the kill.”

Melanie laughed. “Give it your best shot, lawyer-girl.”

Veronica charged. Melanie blocked her punch, Veronica her returning blow. They repeated the exercise. Then, without warning, Veronica landed a direct kick to Melanie's sternum. Pain exploded in her chest and she flew backward, landing on her back, gasping for breath, ears ringing.

She opened her eyes—her vision swam. Veronica was bent over her as was the instructor. And the other black belts. Veronica was smiling.

That couldn't be.
Moaning, Melanie closed her eyes, and when she reopened them her vision had cleared.

“I'm so sorry, Mel,” Veronica murmured, bending closer, expression distraught. “I don't know what happened.”

Melanie stared at her, unable to speak. She ordered herself to sit up, but her body seemed unable to react to her command. She opened her mouth to ask Mr.
Browne why and a whimper slipped past her lips instead.

“Don't move,” the instructor ordered, laying a hand gently on her shoulder. “Don't talk. Close your eyes and breathe, slow and deep.”

Melanie did as her teacher described.

“Good,” he said. “Now as you breathe in, focus on the oxygen, on its healing properties. Let them fill you. That's right,” he murmured. “Now as you breathe out, imagine the pain being expelled with the air. With each breath, more of the pain is being carried away.”

Again she did as he instructed and gradually her head cleared and her equilibrium returned, though her chest still hurt like the devil.

“I think I can sit up now,” she whispered. “I'd like to try.”

Veronica and the teacher helped her. Though her chest ached, there were no sharp pains that might indicate a broken rib. Melanie brought a hand to the spot Veronica's foot had connected and gently rubbed. It was hot to the touch.

“What happened here?” Mr. Browne asked, looking at Veronica.

She paled. “I don't know, we were sparring and—”

“You lost concentration,” he said, angry. “You lost focus. A blow of that force, directly to the heart, can kill. You know that. This could have been serious.”

Veronica lowered her head. “Yes, Instructor.”

“Body armor from now on. Both of you.”

Both women agreed without a murmur of protest.
Melanie wasn't sure she would ever spar without armor again.

The two helped Melanie to her feet. She swayed slightly, then righted herself. Veronica helped her to the dressing room, unlocked the locker for her, retrieved her bag.

“I'm really sorry, Melanie,” she said. “I feel awful about this.”

Melanie pictured Veronica leaning over her, smiling. She brought a hand to her aching chest. “Do you?”

Veronica's face flooded with color. “Are you suggesting I made contact on purpose?”

Dear God, she was.
Had she lost her mind? She and Veronica were friends, why would Veronica deliberately try to hurt her?

Melanie drew in a shuddering breath, cheeks growing hot. “When I opened my eyes, I saw…I thought I saw you smile…”

Veronica drew back, expression wounded. “Smile? Thanks a lot, Melanie. I thought we were friends.”

The last of Melanie's anger and suspicion evaporated, leaving her feeling small and unkind. And more than a little ridiculous. She held out a hand. “I'm sorry, Veronica. I guess, that blow…it shook me up. If it had been slightly to the right, it could have stopped my heart. I didn't mean what I said. Forgive me?”

The other woman forced a stiff-looking smile and agreed to forgive. But as Melanie watched Veronica walk away, she worried she'd permanently damaged their friendship.