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  “Victoria, this can’t wait…” Parker began, doing his best to ignore the mountain in his way.

  “Mrs. Harrington, would you like me to show Mr. Craven out?” Travis’ smug demeanor immediately morphed to the bodyguard persona, the one that had always somewhat intimidated as well as creeped me out.

  Gathering my wits, I stood. “Parker, I appreciate your taking the time to come over last night and this morning. As you can imagine, things are a little out of control right now.”

  “Yes,” his tone dripped with compassion. “That’s why I’m here. Stewart had legal matters that cannot be left unattended. All I need is a few signatures. We don’t even need to discuss them until later. Just sign and I’ll take care of everything.”

  Did he think I was a fucking idiot? Travis’ warning glare had new meaning. Could I trust the feeling that now he was protecting me? I’d always assumed I was the prey.

  “May I see the papers?” I asked, ignoring Travis’ suddenly clenched jaw.

  Parker stepped around Travis, opened his briefcase, and pulled out a folder. “Victoria, you’re not making a mistake. This is the best thing for your future and Stewart’s memory.” He opened the folder to a marked page. “You just need to sign…” He pointed. “…here.”

  “No, Parker.”

  He looked quizzically in my direction. “No?”

  “I asked to see them. Leave them with me. Let me look at them.” I cocked my head to the side and forced a grin. “I mean, even Stewart let me review my contract before I signed it. Surely, you’ll grant me the same privilege?”

  “I would,” he began, “however, we’re dealing with a tight deadline.”

  “Oh, I believe I had a tight deadline ten years ago, too. When do you need my answer?”

  His brow furrowed as his hand ran through his fine, dark hair. From the light of the windows, I noticed the renegade gray strands. “Now, Victoria, I need it now. This can’t wait.”

  I scooped up the folder and handed it to Travis. “I’m sorry, Parker. I believe that as a grieving widow I should be granted some leniency with deadlines. I’ll get back to you after the funeral.”

  He gasped at my forwardness and assessed Travis, no doubt deciding if he could retrieve the folder. “Listen, you don’t understand—”

  “Thank you, Mr. Craven.” Travis’ voice filled the office. “Mrs. Harrington has just given you her answer. She’ll get back to you after Mr. Harrington’s funeral.”

  I pressed my lips together, the tips of which were only slightly turned upward. It took every ounce of my strength not to say, nod if you understand, motherfucker!

  Parker took a step backward. “Victoria, I was Stewart’s lead counsel for a reason.” He tilted his head silently toward Travis. “My counsel to you is to be careful whom you believe. You owe it to Stewart and the world that he created for you to know all the facts. Don’t let emotion override good sense.”

  Was that the same as saying I was more pussy than brains? I didn’t trust either one of these men. “Goodbye, Parker. At this moment, I don’t intend to let my emotion or good sense make any decisions. Right now, I’m going to concentrate on burying my dead husband.” I sat back down in Stewart’s chair. “Would you like Travis to show you out?”

  The two men eyed one another. I was thankful for the marble flooring and ornate rugs. They could more easily be dry-cleaned after their little pissing contest was concluded.

  With a slight nod, Parker finally turned and said, “No, thank you, I believe I know the way.”

  “I CAN’T RISK being seen at some hotel,” I said into my phone, behind the protection of my closed bedroom door.

  “Vik, I need you.” Compassion and desire oozed from Brody’s declaration. “You need me, too. Not just to sort out all this legal shit, but I want to hold you. Shit, Vik, you’ve been through so much. Don’t you just want to lean on someone?”

  Did I? Had I ever truly had that?

  “Brody, I don’t know what I want. I know I want to hear that the cremation is complete, and I want to get this damn funeral over. I know I need to know what’s in those papers that Parker wanted me to sign.”

  “He really expected you to sign them and talk about it later?”

  I nodded in the privacy of my suite. “He must think I’m pretty stupid.” They probably all did.

  “Vik, I’ll come over there. We can go through the papers together.”

  His reassuring confidence was exactly what I needed; however, with my emotions on a roller coaster, I wasn’t sure it was wise. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Why? I was there last night. Why would anyone question my presence?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I smirked, letting my mind take a well-needed break from the stress of my reality. “Maybe when the moans and screams start coming from Stewart’s office we’ll raise suspicion?”

  “Moans and screams? Fuck! I like the sound of it. Where are we doing it? In the motherfucker’s chair or on his desk?”

  My insides tightened as I considered the possibilities. “I think the desk with the fucking blinds open to all of goddamned Miami. We could even spread Parker’s file and papers over the top. I like the idea of soaking the pages until the print is no longer legible. I mean, that would null and void anything in there, wouldn’t it?”

  “Jesus fucking Christ! You’re killing me here! I want to help you and hold you, and you’re making me blow a fucking wad. I’m going to need to change slacks if you don’t stop.”

  My cheeks rose into a welcome grin. “You know what you’re doing to me?” I ask.

  “What? Tell me.”

  “You’re making me smile. Despite all this shit and one fucking bombshell after another, you’re making me smile.”

  “Is that all I’m doing?”

  “No,” I reluctantly admitted. “No, that’s not all. I want to do what we just said. I want to have you take me all over this damn apartment, but right now I need to understand what Travis and Parker are trying to do, what Stewart was trying to do.”

  “What Stewart was trying to do?” Brody repeated cynically.

  I closed my eyes and listened.

  “Well, let me help you. Let’s start with the fact that he was a controlling warped son-of-a-bitch, who had a damn fifteen-page contract that spelled out specific sex acts you would agree to perform. He let you sign that contract without informing you of what it truly entailed. Then, while he was at death’s door, he tried to pass that contract to Travis Daniels, a lowlife, two-bit racketeer who’s worked with him for the past fifteen years.”

  “But why? And why did Parker want it?”

  “Why did he want it to go to Travis?” Brody repeated. “I have no fucking idea. Why did Parker want it? Well, I hate to say this about one of my senior partners, but damn, Vik, that should be obvious. He knows there’s no way you’ll do with him what he spelled out in that contract, without proprietorship of said contract.”

  “Like I said before, I agreed to Stewart’s sick shit because he was able to hold Val over me. I know Marcus and Lyle aren’t through college, but the money is mine. I can pay for their education and continue to fund Harrington Society. What does Parker think he has that will make me agree to the contract?”

  “I’m assuming the only way to find out is to hear him out.”

  My already knotted stomach tried for another flip. “I don’t want to hear him out today. I don’t want to do any of this today.”

  “Vik?” Brody asked, with a hint of anxiety.

  “Yes.”

  “What did Travis say? Why does he want you to agree to his taking it?”

  I laid my head on my pillow and covered my eyes with my arm. I should really close the blinds and allow myself to hide in the dark, away from Parker, Travis, Stewart’s funeral, grieving friends, everything…

  “Vik? Are you all right?”

  “I’m great,” I replied sarcastically. “Travis said something about business dealings that would come due. He
implied that if I thought I could walk away from the agreements Stewart had made with no repercussions, I was…” more pussy than brains. “…dumber than I looked.”

  “Well, baby, I think you’re beautiful. I think you look like you’re intelligent and cunning. Shit, I know you are. I know you’re more than Stewart ever gave you credit for.”

  I fucking was. I was much more than Stewart gave me credit for. That was painfully obvious as he stared me down, just before I slammed the lid on his urn.

  Brody had continued talking. “…he’s done to you. Never think of yourself that way. You’re amazing in bed, but like I keep trying to tell you, it’s not just the idea of fucking you that turns me on. It’s the thought of holding you. The other night… falling asleep. Shit! I know there’s more to that beautiful body than a tight pussy. You’re the whole package. Stewart was the idiot for never realizing that.”

  I shook my head. What had Travis said? That what Stewart did was to save me. Save me from whom? What wasn’t Travis telling me?

  “Vik? You keep leaving me. Are you there?”

  “Yes, I’m here. I think it’s all catching up to me. If I scan these papers that Parker left, will you look at them?”

  “Of course, I’ll come over and pick them up.”

  My arm still over my eyes, I sighed as my head shook from side to side. “No, I need to meet with some people from the funeral home. Kristina and Lisa are making all the arrangements, but I need to finalize and agree to everything. Let me email them to you.”

  “Vik, that’s too risky. I’ll stop by.”

  “Meet me at the funeral home.”

  “I can do that. What time?”

  I looked at the clock. “Half past three.” I knew I’d have Travis there, watching my every move. I had to figure out a way to get the papers to Brody without Travis seeing me. First, I’d scan them. Then it hit me.

  Thank God for technology!

  TWO DAYS LATER and wound tighter than a freaking rubber band on one of those cheap, little propeller planes, I stood at the front of the funeral home and continued my perfect-wife role. I wasn’t sure when the Academy Awards would be calling, but I expected at least a nomination. Somehow it was easier to meet the lustful eyes of the male mourners without Stewart’s whisper in my ear, the one that would ask, “Do you ever wonder if his cock has been in your pussy? Would you want it to be? Maybe he’s never been there, or maybe he’s a friend with an affinity for other uses of his cock?” Then with a brush of his lips against my cheek, he’d add, “Smile, Mrs. Harrington. I just wanted to give you a little something to think about.

  I pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on the present. I couldn’t think about his cruel words and pretend to be mournful at the same time. Besides, even those memories were clouded with Travis’ revelations. Stewart had saved me? That seemed preposterous. I mean, I’d been there all along. When had he ever saved me? Well, other than from Travis. And now Travis wanted me to believe that the men from the warehouse and others I’d never met, or perhaps met, but never intimately, were calling for the final bid on Stewart’s deals.

  Each person who shook my hand or offered a sympathetic hug was suspect. With each contact I did what I’d learned to do. I closed my eyes and inhaled.

  It wasn’t that I wanted to know. I didn’t. But as much as I wanted this to be over, until I came face to face with the truth, I knew it wouldn’t be. It never could be. I steeled my shoulders, fixed my façade, and faced the next person. When I gazed upward, it seemed as though the line went on forever.

  As each and every person sighed and gave me their heartfelt condolences, I stared into their eyes, judging their sincerity. I knew that life would be better without the great Stewart Harrington, but did they? Were they outside his realm and saw him as the world did, as I may have for a brief time? Or were their words as much of an act as mine? Did they truly know him for the cruel, manipulating bastard whom I had the unfortunate displeasure of knowing and being married to for over ten years?

  If that were the case, were their grim expressions no more than masks hiding their true feelings of elation. Mine was. Yet below the elation, I also had confusion. What kind of a mess did he leave me?

  “Victoria,” Sheila Keene said, pulling me into the present, forcing me to acknowledge her presence. Her kind eyes teared as she shook her head slowly. “We’re so sorry for your loss. Your poor, dear Stewart suffered for so long. Cancer is such an ugly thing. And you… you never left his side.”

  Sheila was one of the first to truly accept me into Stewart’s world. She understood the pressure that our sudden marriage would inflict. While her situation was different, being married to a senator, she dealt with similar scrutiny. Perhaps that was why we found common ground with the Harrington Society. She was the president of my board, and thankfully, we saw eye to eye on many of the pivotal issues.

  That said, her husband made me uncomfortable. Usually he was too busy to attend couples functions, other than ones that could second as campaign fundraisers. That was what I appreciated about Sheila. She didn’t have the single mindset of supporting her husband. She actually had a brain and believed that her time and energy could go to genuine causes that warranted her attention.

  Squaring my shoulders I repeat the words I’ve said over and over, “Thank you, Sheila.” Looking up into her husband’s cold, calculating eyes, I continued, “And Senator Keene. I just couldn’t leave him, not as ill as he was. I didn’t want to be anywhere but by his side.”

  “I’m so sorry they had to call you to the distribution center,” Sheila offered. “I’d told that imbecile of a secretary that I’d be home in just a few days. Of course, we cut our vacation short and came home as soon as we received word about Stewart.”

  “That was very kind of you. Truly, you didn’t need to do that.”

  Sheila patted her husband’s arm. “Robert insisted. He said he knew Stewart would have done the same for him.”

  I looked back up to Senator Keene’s ruddy cheeks and less-than-mournful expression. Travis had said politicians—he’d watched me be fucked by politicians. I stiffened my neck and leaned toward Sheila, hugging and thanking her for her support. Her heavy perfume permeated my senses.

  “My dear,” she continued, “you really do need to get out, now that…” Her words trailed away. There are so many ways to end that sentence: now that the bastard is dead… now that you will have some freedom… now that you’re filthy rich and can tell the entire world to stick it up their… Her mouth continued moving even though I was lost in my own world. I’d missed a few sentences, but it wasn’t difficult to figure out the meaning. “…very busy with all the arrangements and legalities, but soon, soon…” She squeezed my hands. “…we must do lunch. You need some girl time.”

  “Thank you Sheila. I appreciate the offer. We will need to do that.”

  I moved my eyes to the next couple, hoping that Senator Robert Keene wouldn’t attempt conversation. That hope was immediately dashed as his hands embraced my shoulders, and his rank, warm breath whispered the appearance of condolences into my ear. “Mrs. Harrington, the loss of your husband will create many voids in our world. I certainly hope you’ll make the right decision and carry on.”

  I didn’t need his words or his implications: his acetone breath brought back a rush of memories. Had I never stood this close? Had I not tried to know, or did I just not want to know? The answer didn’t matter. Fatal Lullaby played in the distance as I remembered scenes.

  Closing my eyes for only a second, I backed slightly away from his touch and made the most of my five-foot-six-inch frame. With my red-glossed lips pressed into a smile, I allowed my steel-gray eyes to give him the recognition he apparently thought I was too simple to obtain. “Thank you, Senator. I appreciate your concern for my husband’s arrangements and for my future. I can guarantee you that my future will be considerably different from my past.”

  Senator Robert Keene stepped back from the determination of my stateme
nt. I’m sure it wasn’t what he’d expected. After all, I’d never been allowed to speak. Sheila’s eyes flickered back to her husband’s and then to mine. As she was about to speak, I saw Travis and his familiar narrow-eyed glare.

  “Robert,” Sheila began, “this is no place to be discussing business. Victoria has her plate full. I’m sure that whatever you’re discussing can wait.”

  Before Robert could respond, I reached for Sheila’s hands. “Thank you again, Sheila. I’m sure Robert meant well. I promise, I’ll be fine.” Blinking, I focused my newfound disgust into the right amount of emotion and fostered a tear. “I’ll see you next week at the Harrington Society meeting. Maybe after that we can get coffee?”

  “Oh, I didn’t think you would… so soon.”

  “Stewart would want me to do that. He was so proud of my work with the foundation.”

  Smiling sadly, Sheila agreed, “You’re right. We’ll let you get to your next visitors. Once again, we’re so sorry for your loss.”

  If only she knew. I wasn’t sorry, but I couldn’t help but think that if her husband pursued his current train of thought, he would be.

  “Mrs. Harrington…” The condolences continued.

  I nodded and responded mechanically, until the familiar aquamarine appeared before me. I had difficulty not reaching up and stroking Brody’s cheek as he respectfully extended his hand and began a speech about how much my husband would be missed. There was a comical relief to his words. Though not each one of them registered, I listened, taking in their cadence as a melody to my dark soul. It was the infusion of energy I needed to continue my role.

  “Thank you, Mr. Phillips.” My hand lingered for a little longer than normal in his warm embrace. Finally, I removed it, afraid of watchful eyes. A similar greeting two days before had been our perfect secret rendezvous for slipping him Parker’s information. I had scanned the papers, but not to paper form; instead, I placed them on a flash drive. A quick reach into my pocket and a lingering handshake, and magic: the papers were in Brody’s possession. “Thank you for all of your support. We’ve had a wonderful turnout from Craven and Knowles this evening.”