Selective/Memory: The "Depth of Emotion" Book 2 (The Depth of Emotion) (31 page)

The prideful countenance fell from Declan’s face.

“We’re not back together
yet
. There are…complications.”

His evasiveness set the tone for the remainder of the session. He knew he was in for an interrogation. There was no way Dr. Rhodes was letting that comment slip by without a list of questions.

“Complications?” the doctor asked. “What happened? Did she think that she made a mistake?”

The doctor got his answer by the look of shock on Declan’s face.

“No. Yes—well, not really. It’s complicated,” he answered, and ran his hand over his face, settling back and crossing his leg uncomfortably. “Oh, hell! Just let me explain the whole thing.”

Dr. Rhodes chuckled low, sitting back himself.

“That would be good.”

Pushing up the sleeves of his sweater, Declan grinned and shook his head.

“How the hell do you do that?” he asked. “Make me feel like a kid in the principal’s office?”

The doctor laughed in response.

Declan continued, trying to explain.

“I went to Hawaii for work. A mutual friend of mine and Aria’s also went for the same reason. To make a long story short, what I didn’t know was that she asked Aria and another friend to come with her. One night, we ran into each other at a party and things got, well, a
little
heated,” he said, slightly embarrassed. “So…Aria and I did connect in Hawaii—
really connect
—emotionally
and
physically. The next morning, we started to talk about serious things. I wanted to tell her how I felt, how I wanted us to mend things—for us to be together again. I wanted to tell her that I was sorry and that I thought we could work things out—if she wanted to—but I need a little time to put some things in order. It started out okay…”

He paused, looking out the window, tight-lipped and shaking his head. Dr. Rhodes jumped in to assist, encouraging Declan to continue.

“But…”

“But there’s this woman—Marisol…”

A harsh tone entered Declan’s voice and he suddenly became serious.

Directing his gaze straight at Dr. Rhodes, he said the next words with one breath.

“The thing is…we think she may have killed my sister-in-law…She may still be a threat and I don’t want her to hurt Aria—so I need to keep a bit of distance between us right now.”

Dr. Rhodes said nothing. He waited for the words to settle, and for Declan to regain control of his thoughts.

When a few moments had passed, Declan was the first to speak.

“Say something!”

“Alright,” Dr. Rhodes began. “If you think this woman committed murder, why haven’t you gone to the police?” he simply asked.

An edge of sarcasm hinted in Declan’s reply.

“Gee. I don’t know why my brother and I didn’t think of that,” he said, giving the doctor a cocky look.

He continued, expecting the doctor would be against their plan.

“We’re letting Marisol think she has a good relationship with me, and that Aria and I aren’t getting back together. Look, I know this woman, Doc. She’s into me. I have to let her think that I’m into her too. If she was involved in Lacey’s death, eventually she’ll want to tell me about it. I don’t want to put Aria in her crazy ass way. She’s already put up with enough hurt from her.” He glared at Dr. Rhodes. “You, of all people, with all the shit I’ve told you, know how much hurt that actually is.”

Declan waited for the doctor’s overreaction to his, Carter, and Blake’s plan, but he was amazingly silent.

“So?” Declan prodded. “I’m waiting.”

“What do you expect me to say, Dec?” Dr. Rhodes asked. “It sounds like you have a plan, and you have your brother supporting you.”

“…and a friend,” he interjected.

“…and a friend.” The doctor continued. “…and if I remember correctly, isn’t your brother a cop?” he said in a semi-supportive tone, not waiting for an answer to the rhetorical question. “I also have to say, your plan is self-sacrificing—it puts your needs last. I have to admit, I’m impressed,” he said, surprising Declan. “A few months ago, you were pretty self-centered. It sounds like you’re looking out for your brother—and for Aria. I’d say that’s positive progress.”

Although he didn’t shock easily, at the moment, Declan was speechless. He was mentally prepared for a challenge. Adrenaline was steadily flowing, and in the absence of a verbal conflict, he did something unexpected—he burst into laughter.

Dr. Rhodes began to laugh as well.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“You. This.
All
of this.” Declan continued laughing, waving his hands in front of him, but more subdued. “I might have changed, but so have you, Doc.”

“Really?” Dr. Rhodes asked, a bit of confusion frowning his thick eyebrows.

“Yes,” he answered. “It’s the first time you didn’t handle me with kid gloves—like I had a handicap. You didn’t tell me to
consider how it would affect me
or
make me feel
,
or consider my emotions
—all that crap. You just treated me like a man.”

The doctor shrugged his shoulders, his salt and pepper hair hitting his collar.

“I’m still going to tell you to be careful, Declan, but I’m always here if you need to talk about anything,” he said, assuring him.

That was something Declan had come to rely on…

She had arrived without inconvenience. The directions to this particular property were competent and without incident. The driveway was very long and the route lightly trafficked. Of all the properties she’d had Mr. Dietz purchase for her, this one was the most perfect in her mind.

Marisol insisted on visiting each property after its acquisition, walking through the building to see if that particular space would meet her need. Her tolerance and patience had served her well in this regard, and the structure that met all of her desired requirements had finally presented itself for purchase. The irony was that Aria had amended and refined the exact setting of her own demise. This made Marisol smile poisonously, delighting in the hostile images that came to her mind of how she’d exact her retribution on Aria. Once she had disposed of her, Declan would be crushed, and any hope for the two of them would be gone. He’ll think Aria had abandoned him. Of course he’d then turn to her for comfort, and she’d take complete control of him—physically and emotionally. She’d demand that he live with her if he wanted relief and consolation—she’d tell him it was for his own good.

What man wouldn’t want me?

She fixated on the rush of physical pleasure at the image of manipulating them both.

It was perfect—at least, for this purpose. This was the location. That was, after all, what she had come to expect, wasn’t it?
Perfection.
Nothing more, nothing less, and it pleased her. An ocean view because he liked it, seclusion because she did. It wasn’t an enormous house, but would be adequate for her needs; she truly didn’t consider his. She had only picked the ocean view house due to the seclusion, and she could make him believe that she chose it for him. It was all an illusion, really—as were most things for her accommodation.

The furnishings had arrived earlier in the week. She didn’t inconvenience herself for their arrival—there were people who handled that sort of thing—and she hated mingling with those that didn’t matter. Money took care of them and what they did to suit her.

As she walked from room to room, she took in some of the mediocre choices she had made—all for his taste—so she could achieve her ultimate goal—him.

How did that beach bitch ever stand the look of this shit?
she thought as she wrinkled her nose in distaste at the overstuffed sofa and chairs in the living room. It was a bit more elegant a display than was in Declan’s home. Of course it would be—
she was Marisol Franzi
! Her taste was much better than Declan’s or his former plaything. That was evident to even the most mundane decorator.

Walking through the kitchen, she snickered at the coffeemaker, thinking it almost blasé.

Did he never think of cappuccino, espresso? Did the man even remember he had been all over the world?

The kitchen looked adequate enough, but no matter, she wouldn’t be there long enough to think about it—and she certainly didn’t cook! The idea was appalling.

As her stiletto heels made a clicking sound on the shiny hardwood stairs, Marisol ascended as a queen in a kingdom. The master bedroom suite at the top of the stairs held a breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean, its iniquitous waters as black as the void in her soul. The dark night sky held not a single star, to spare her a flicker of hope in her malevolent beauty. An imposing full moon cast a sinister light into the room. It beckoned her to walk up to the large window, which could be seen from the massive bed, the wood expertly carved in the four posters.

“Oh…the things you will see me do, Mr. Moon…” she said suggestively as she reached up, first one arm, then the other, behind her to unzip her dress.

Letting it fall to the floor, Marisol made her way to the bed and crawled like a cat into the middle of its grand size as a contemptible shadow followed her from the window.

Lying there, she stared out at the moon, reveling in the knowledge that she could hear nothing but the objectionable ocean, and that no one would be able to hear the screams and moans that would come from this house. The thoughts that crossed her mind gave her the most delicious sensation running through her veins. She closed her eyes to savor the mental pictures. She had been tolerant, compliant, and even passive until she felt she would scream, but for this she had planned every small detail. She shivered with the intensity of joy that flooded her, knowing that her efforts would not be in vain, and the time was coming soon. She’d finally get what she had planned and waited for. Nothing—and no one—could stop her. No one ever could.

When she had come to this country, and she, Marisol—THE supermodel—was created, they told her she’d never want for anything again—and they didn’t know how right they were.

She was invincible.

She had conquered everything.

She was a
vencedor
—a winner!

…and
her
plans would begin with the two of them in this house…

“What do you mean by
you’re in love with her, but you can’t be with her?
” Jeannie words slayed him as she slowly and forcefully pronounced each one with a machete-like slice. “You promised me that you wouldn’t hurt her again.”

For the first time in his life, Declan understood with complete clarity what people were talking about when they said mothers were like a lioness protecting her cubs. Jeannie wasn’t a large woman by any definition, yet the anger she projected in his direction caused a sizeable lump to form in his throat.

“I’m in love with her. I’m positive of that, and I think she loves me—but you can’t tell her,” he said, pleading with her.

This was going to be harder than he thought.

“Stop being so cryptic!” she said hatefully. “Spit it out, Declan! If you’re going to play games with my daughter, then I’ll leave here right now. I’ll find her and I’ll tell her myself that you’re no good for her. I’ll use any influence I have as her mother to persuade her to stay away from you to insure that she doesn’t get hurt—again.”

Her aggravation had peaked to a monumental level.

His concern was that she’d do exactly as she said, so he made a decision to reveal more to her than he had planned.

“Jeannie, you have to trust me,” he said.

Registering disbelief at the arrogance of his statement, she shook her head at him and rose to leave.

“Oh, no I don’t!” she said.

He quickly stood, blocking her way.

She looked up at him, furious, and said in a stern voice, “Move out of my way, Declan, or no matter how big you think you are, I’ll move you myself!”

“Jeannie, please sit down,” he pleaded. “I’ll explain as much as I can…as much as I feel is safe.”

Bewildered with his last words, she held her purse to her and backed up to the chair, gently sitting down.