Turn To Me (27 page)

The light above the bar shone directly down on Kade’s back as he leaned against the counter, nursing his drink.  I stared in shock at the dozen or so round pockmarks, each about the size of a dime, scattered all over his back.

“Kade,” I choked, then stopped, unable to say anything more.

He glanced at me over his shoulder.  “What?”

“Your back...” 

I reached out one shaking finger to gently touch one of the marks, the scarred skin slightly puckered.

“It’s nothing,” he dismissed, “just chicken pox scars.  No big deal.  Not everyone has perfect skin like you, princess.”  He smirked at me, his smile fading when I said nothing.  I could only stare.

“I know those aren’t from chicken pox,” I said, my voice hardly above a whisper.  The only reason I even knew what they were was because of a horrible child abuse case my dad had once worked.  A case where the stepmother had thought it amusing to put her cigarettes out on the child.  “Who did that to you, Kade?”

My stomach lurched at the mere thought of Kade, an orphan at the age of six, enduring something like that.  Blane had said that Kade would never tell him what had happened in the foster homes he ran away from, and I thought I might be sick just imagining what he’d gone through.  I reached for him again, I wasn’t sure why, but found my wrist suddenly caught in his vice-like grip.  Kade jerked me toward him, pulling me between his spread knees.  My hand instinctively came up to his chest to brace myself.

“I don’t want your pity,” Kade snarled, his face inches from mine.  Gone was the softening of his eyes, the genuine smile curving his lips.  In their place, his eyes were empty pools of blue, his mouth set in a firm line.  A nerve pulsed in his clenched jaw.

“I’m not...I don’t-” I stammered, unsure what I was trying to say.  Kade interrupted me.

“What are you doing anyway?  This playing nursemaid crap?”

“I’m just trying to help you-”

“Well I don’t need your help,” he bit out.

“Everybody needs somebody.”  He was starting to scare me.  My wrist hurt from where he still tightly gripped it. 

“I don’t.”

“Okay, fine.  You don’t need anybody.”  I wanted to cry.  Whatever had happened to Kade, whoever had abused him so awfully, had taught him to not trust people – even if they cared about him.  To my surprise, I realized I now fell into that group.  I cared about Kade and I hated to see him hurting.

Kade abruptly released me, turning back to the bar to grab his shirt.  I watched him uncertainly, thinking I should probably retreat while I had the option, but not wanting to.  The scars on his back seemed to stand out in stark relief until Kade dragged his shirt down to cover them.

“Maybe,” I began hesitantly, “you could talk to someone.  There are people that specialize in that sort of thing.”

“Why the fuck would I want to do that?”

I was at a loss for words, the hostility in his voice making me reconsider putting some space between us. 

Shrugging on his jacket and grabbing his glass, he slid off the stool and approached me.  I gulped but stood my ground.  He watched me for a moment, then swallowed the last of the bourbon.

“I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened,” he finally said, “and I suggest you do the same.”

“But Kade-”

I gasped when he threw the empty glass on the floor at our feet, shattering it into a thousand pieces.  I stared in shock at the mess.  I could see shards of glass caught in the nylon covering my legs.  Kade’s boots crunched on the glass and suddenly his hands were on my shoulders.  I winced when his fingers dug into my bare skin.

“Do you think I want to relive it?” he snarled. 

I shook my head.

“Do you think I want Blane to feel guilty for what happened?”

“No, Kade-”

“I don’t want Blane to know anything-”

“I won’t-”

“-and I don’t need you feeling sorry for me-”

“I never said-”

“-and I don’t want you inside my head!”

I was shaking now, the force of his rage both scaring me and making my heart break inside my chest.  Tears spilled unchecked down my cheeks, but I didn’t dare blink.

In the next moment, he was out the door and gone. 

I stood alone in the silence for a long time.

Chapter Ten

I was woken by my alarm clock the next morning and my hand slammed down on the snooze button, silencing the insistent beeping.

I groaned.  I was exhausted.  I’d been at the bar later than I’d planned, cleaning up the mess Kade had left on the floor, then I hadn’t been able to sleep after I finally climbed into bed shortly after 2 am. Worry for Kade ate at me, and my argument with Blane made me feel sick to my stomach.  I hadn’t heard from either of them, which probably wasn’t surprising.

I showered and got ready for work on auto-pilot.  When I walked into the kitchen, I was startled to see that Kade's suitcase had moved.  Glancing at the couch, I realized that the quilt from the Christmas tree farm had been neatly folded and left on the cushions.  Kade must have come by last night after I'd gone to bed and he was already up and gone. 

I saw he'd made a pot of coffee that was still warm.  As I poured myself a cup, I noticed a note on the counter.

Have business to take care of.  Stay put.  I'll be back to take you in tonight.

Well, at least last night hadn't pissed Kade off so completely that he'd decided to forgo the whole security detail, which made me feel a little better.  Though if he thought I was just going to sit around my apartment all day watching Oprah and eating chips, he'd thought wrong.  Kade had given me a new job and I was going to do it.

Digging in my purse, I pulled out a scrap of paper on which I’d scrawled the address of Adriana Waters, ex-wife of Kyle Waters.  It seemed she was staying at the Crowne Plaza hotel downtown for the duration of the trial, and since she was a witness for the prosecution, it was probably on the taxpayers’ dime. 

I grabbed my purse and coat and headed out the door.  A half an hour later, I walked into the lobby of the Crowne Plaza.  Knowing they wouldn’t just tell me her room number, I paused at one of the tables and pulled an empty envelope from my purse.  Folding a hotel brochure, I stuffed it in the envelope and sealed it, then scrawled “Adriana Waters” on the outside.  I walked to the front desk.

“Excuse me,” I said, giving a friendly smile to the man behind the counter.  “Would you please deliver this to Adriana Waters?”

He eyed me suspiciously, but I maintained my smile.  Taking the envelope from me, he said, “Of course.”

“Thank you.”  I turned and walked a few steps before pausing to glance back, watching as he slid the envelope into one of the myriad mailboxes on the wall behind the counter.  The one he chose was marked “1282.”

I took the elevator to the twelfth floor.  The hallway was empty and quiet when I got out.  The thick, beige carpet muffled my footsteps as I walked.  I passed a maid cleaning one of the rooms, the noise of the vacuum obscuring my passage.  When I reached room 1282, I knocked and waited.  No one answered.  I knocked again, harder this time.  I heard the scrape of a lock and the door eased open.  A woman stood there, and I was taken aback at how young she appeared. 

“Yes?” Her tone was cold as she surveyed me.

“Adriana Waters?” I asked.

“Who wants to know?”

“My name is Kathleen,” I said.  “I’m with the Kirk and Trent law firm and I’m investigating your ex-husband’s case.  May I speak with you?”

She grudgingly nodded, standing aside so I could enter the hotel room.

The room was large, the space encompassing a large sitting room and dining area complete with a table and chairs for six.  I walked to a sofa situated next to a chair and sat.  Adriana sat across from me, crossing her trouser-encased legs primly at the ankles.  She was dressed simply, a black sweater and black pants complete with black heels.  She was very fair, her hair nearly white it was so blonde.

“How may I help you?” she asked once we were both situated.

“I was hoping you could tell me of anyone who might hold a personal grudge against your husband,” I asked as I reached into my purse for a notepad and pen.

“You mean other than the family of that poor dead man?” she asked belligerently.

“Yes,” I said simply.

She sighed.  “I’m not surprised it’s come to this.  Those guys think just because they’re SEALs and have guns they can do whatever they want.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, startled at her accusation.

“Do you even watch the news, Miss Turner?” she asked condescendingly.  “We shouldn’t even be over there, but that’s where Kyle is, killing unarmed civilians.  That damn lawyer you work for turned it all around, made it seem like they did the right thing.”  She glared at me.  “Lawyers are nothing but lying bastards.”

“Blane Kirk is trying to get your ex-husband acquitted,” I defended Blane.  “Do you really want to see Kyle go to prison?”  I couldn’t imagine that.  Even if they were no longer married, did she not care anything about what happened to him?  What would happen to a US soldier put in a prison with thieves, rapists and murderers?

“He deserves what’s happening to him,” she said angrily.

Now my temper was starting to rise as well.  “Ms. Waters, do you know of anyone who would want Mr. Kirk to lose this case so badly they would threaten him?”

“Losing this case would move the country a big step forward,” she said.

“Why do you say that?” I asked, surprised at her vehemence. 

“You are so ignorant,” she said with disdain.  “If Kyle is convicted, that sets a precedent.  The soldiers won’t be allowed to just kill people anymore; they’ll know they have to answer to the courts for their actions and the family members left behind.”

Her gaze was unflinching and she spoke as though she were absolutely sure of the outcome of this case.  The passion in her voice sent a chill through me.  I wasn’t at all sure her vision of what the military should be and do was the ideal solution.

“Do you have any idea where Brian Bowers is?” I asked.  “He disappeared a few days ago and the police can’t seem to find him.”

She shrugged, unconcerned.  “Brian is Kyle’s buddy.  You should ask him, though I wouldn’t blame him for leaving town, the coward, rather than face the press and the public.”

Something occurred to me as I studied her implacable features.

“You know,” I said, “if it were me, I'd think it would have been really hard to handle my husband having such a dangerous job, and then to have him re-enlist.  That must have been difficult for you.”

Adriana winced ever so slightly, but didn't reply.  Convinced I was on to something, I continued.

“You and he were married for two years.  Did you and Kyle ever plan to have a family?” I asked.

Adrian's lips were pressed in a thin line and I thought she wasn't going to answer me.  I waited and after a moment, she spoke.  “I was pregnant,” she said.

“Excuse me?” I asked, sure I'd misheard.

“I was pregnant,” she repeated, her voice very quiet.  “When Kyle decided to re-enlist.  I told him that I couldn't do it, couldn't have a baby alone, constantly worrying that the next phone call was going to make me a widow and our child an orphan.

“Can you imagine what it's like?” she continued.  “To love someone so much, only to realize that they don't love you in return?  Kyle wouldn't put us first.  He said he needed to go back – that he was needed over there.  It didn't matter how much I needed him – they came first.”

I could hear the pain and heartbreak in her voice.  I realized that all her bluster and anger was really a defense, protection against what had never healed.

“What happened to the baby?” I asked, afraid I knew the answer.  The file hadn't mentioned any children.

“I miscarried four months into Kyle's deployment,” Adriana answered.  “I filed for divorce a month after that.”

“I'm so sorry,” I said.

Adriana's eyes were very bright, but no tears fell.  “Be sure to fall in love with someone who loves you more than you love them,” she said bitterly. 

“So all of this is to just get back at Kyle for not loving you enough,” I said baldly.

She flushed and abruptly stood.  “I don't think there's anything else I can tell you,” she said angrily, and I could see that the wall had come down again.  The trace of vulnerability she'd shown me was nowhere to be seen.

“Okay, well thank you for speaking with me,” I said, rising to my feet.  She walked me to the door.

A few minutes later, I was back in the hotel lobby.  I was glad to be out of there.  Adriana’s heartbreak and disillusionment had turned to anger and bitterness.  It was sad to see.

It suddenly occurred to me that I had never given Adriana my last name, but she had called me “Miss Turner.”  It seemed Adriana knew more about this case than she was letting on.  I decided to stick around and see if she left anytime soon.  Taking a seat in the hotel’s lounge, I ordered a Pepsi and waited.  I could see people coming and going through the lobby from my vantage point.

Time passed and I had more Pepsi refills than I wanted to count, conceding to hunger around one and ordering a sandwich from the annoyed bartender.  I took my time, slowly munching on my cold French fries. 

Finally, my patience paid off a short while later when I saw Adriana walk through the lobby towards the doors.  I tossed some money on the table to cover my lunch and hurried to the elevators.

As I walked down the hall, an idea came to me, and I searched to find a room where a maid was cleaning.  Following the sound of a vacuum, I came upon one.

“Excuse me,” I called over the noise.  Startled she turned to see me standing in the doorway before hurriedly switching off the machine.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, “but I’ve locked myself out of my room.  Can you help me?”

“Senorita?” she asked, confusion written on her face, and I realized she probably didn’t speak English.

I mimed a key in a lock as I said, “Locked out.  Help me?”

Understanding dawned and she smiled.  “Si, si.”