Eyes On You Part 31

As he ran into the house, I saw him glance up and scan the second story of the house. He disappeared inside.

My head was throbbing, as if someone were whacking it with a hammer. I wanted to lie back, but I didn't dare let Ann out of my sight. A minute later, Alex was back, talking to the 911 operator on the house phone.

"You don't remember Lisa's number, do you?" he said after hanging up.

"No, everything's in my phone."

"Okay, I'll figure something out. We need a lawyer for when we deal with the cops."

Alex found rope in the tool shed to better secure Ann. Next, he helped me out of the sopping wet robe and led me to one of the dining chairs, easing me into it, and draped a dry towel around my shoulders. He pulled up a chair next me. Haltingly, I described the circ.u.mstances and Ann's confession. She had come to and was thrashing on the patio, trying to escape.

"Stop or I'm going to punch you again," Alex yelled to her.

Five minutes later, two sets of cops from the town arrived. I related what had happened. Ann was screaming, demanding to be freed. They placed her in handcuffs, and two of the cops led her off somewhere. An ambulance arrived, and the EMTs examined me. They tried to pressure me into going to the hospital, but I insisted that I was okay. One of the cops said detectives would be there soon.

I rested my head on the table. My brain felt clogged with water, as if I were still in the pool. After a while I could hear Alex talking to someone, but I couldn't make out the words, and then a detective was sitting next to me, introducing himself. He was young, only in his thirties, I guessed. I quickly told the story, trying to make the shivering stop.

"Why don't I let you put on dry clothes," he said, "and we can talk more in a minute."

I staggered back into the guest bedroom, stripped off my bathing suit, and changed into jeans and a sweater. I grabbed my purse from the chair. When I returned to the patio, I saw that the overhead lights around the pool had been switched on. It was bright out there, like a photo shoot.

"They're taking us to the police station in separate cars," Alex said, approaching me. "I've found a lawyer to meet us there. You don't need to say anything else until he arrives, okay?"

Inside the car, my shivering began to subside, but I still felt shaken to the core. Ann was a murderer. She'd killed Sharon, and she would have killed me if it weren't for Alex. She'd been my friend for over four years, offering advice, sharing her home, sometimes just sipping wine by my side at a bar in our part of town, and I'd been blind to the resentment and rage that had been building in her. Was it because I was so caught up in my own saga, in my unrelenting drive to be on top again?

At the police station, I explained I needed to wait for my lawyer and was taken to a room by myself, with no idea where Alex was. I rummaged through my purse for a comb, blush, and lip-gloss and tried to make myself look less bedraggled. I still felt sh.e.l.l-shocked from what had happened, from everything I'd learned.

It was over an hour before the lawyer was ushered into the room. He was dressed in white pants and a navy blazer, looking as if he'd been interrupted mid-surf and turf at the yacht club.

"Butch Harrison, Robin," he said, thrusting out his hand. "Alex has filled me in to some degree, but why don't you take me through it."

I did, including the backstory. "Ann's going to deny the whole thing," I said at the end. "She'll say-"

"Don't worry," he said, raising his hand. "Alex saw her throw you in the pool. There's security video, too. Alex spotted the camera on the roof."

I closed my eyes, savoring the relief.

"Let's get your statement out of the way now," he said, "so you can go home."

Two hours later, Alex and I were together again, headed toward the house in Sag Harbor where he was staying. While I'd been interviewed, one of the cops had driven him back to Ann's to retrieve his car. Because of the high humidity, his clothes hadn't fully dried yet. "You're still squishy," I said, half-smiling.

"I know," he said. "I feel like a big sponge."

"Thank you, Alex," I said, overwhelmed with grat.i.tude. "Thank you with every ounce of my being."

When we stepped inside the clapboard house on a side street in town, a man jumped up sleepily from the couch. He was fortyish, slightly balding, dressed in sweat-clothes.

"This is my friend Dereck," Alex said. "I've filled him in on the phone."

"I'm just glad you're both okay," Dereck said. "How did Butch do?"

"Excellent," I replied. "Alex said you were the one who convinced him to come to our aid. Thank you."

"The guy owes me a favor. Julie finally went up to bed, by the way. Want me to rouse her?"

"Nah, we'll fill her in at breakfast," Alex said. "Thanks for everything, man."

Alex said that he'd show me to my room and led me upstairs. I was exhausted, and my legs ached as I climbed each step. The bedroom was under the eaves, with a slanted ceiling, but that seemed comforting to me. Part of me wanted to crawl under the duvet and close my eyes; another part didn't want to let Alex out of my sight.

"Do you need anything?" Alex asked. "Tell me what I can do."

"Would you mind fixing me a cup of tea?" I asked. "I can't seem to shake these chills." They had started again on the drive from the station.

"You need something to sleep in, too," he said. He rifled through a duffel bag on the floor and handed me a soft gray T-shirt. He also pulled out fresh clothes for himself.

"I guess I've co-opted your bedroom," I said.

"That's okay. They have a daybed on the screened-in porch, and it's a great place to bunk down."

After he left, I changed into the T-shirt and slid under the covers of the double bed, propping myself up against the headboard. Briefly, I was overwhelmed with the terrifying sense that I was sinking all over again.

Alex was back in ten minutes, wearing dry clothes and carrying a mug with steam rising from the top. He set it on the bedside table and lowered himself onto the bed. I could feel the warmth of his body through the covers.

"How do you know Dereck?" I asked.

"Law school. He was older, but we hit it off. Thankfully, his home number was listed with 411."

I took a long sip of tea. Swallowing, I realized my throat was raw and sore. "I never asked you," I said. "What made you come to Ann's house?"

"Dereck, Julie, and I were eating nearby at someone's house. You sounded a little freaked on the phone, and I didn't like it. I knew you'd been worrying that someone at work had betrayed you, and I wondered suddenly if it was Ann. I just flew out of the dinner and swung by the house to check on you. I'll be honest. I invited myself to Dereck's this weekend because I was worried about you."

"I still can't believe it. If you hadn't come, Alex, I would have drowned. She would have cut the belt off and dragged the chair out of the pool and then told the police the next morning that she'd gone to bed, leaving me sitting out there. I'd had a couple of gla.s.ses of wine, and it would have looked like I'd stupidly taken a swim and died. Or even that I'd drowned myself because of the mess my life was in."

"Did you ever sense any animosity from her?"

"No, not really. A couple of times she'd seemed slightly annoyed with me, but I a.s.sumed it was because I was burdening her with so much." I picked up the edge of the white duvet and ran my fingers along it. "From what she confessed tonight, though, she'd been seething underneath for a while. It was probably fine when I was out of work and needy-she seemed so supportive of me then-but once I got the show, her resentment built, and it finally ate through any good feelings she had for me."

"She always looked so cool-headed."

I nodded. "Little things are starting to bubble up," I said. "Like the night of my book party, she had this kind of lame excuse why she could only pop in. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now I'm wondering if it's because she couldn't bear seeing me as the center of attention that night."

I tapped my hand to my mouth as another revelation hit me. "There's something else. That quote in the Times piece about my ambition being as naked as a p.o.r.n star? I wonder if she was the insider who said that. She wanted to help me with the piece, but she couldn't stand that I was being profiled.

"And then once she found out about Carter," I added, "I had to be stopped."

Alex crossed his arms over his chest, thinking. His hair was still slightly damp, contrasting even more with that lovely luminescent skin of his.

"When I was in the police station," he said, "I flashed on something that happened when I about ten years old. My family used to rent a place on Cape Cod for part of the summer, and one year my sister and I put on a talent show with a bunch of kids. She had a great voice, and with every rehearsal, it was evident she was going to steal the show. One day she was rehearsing on this low porch, and one of the other girls, who was standing on the ground below, took a bite out of her calf. It was crazy-she didn't just draw blood, she left this whole row of teeth marks. A few adults came running over and kept trying to figure out if there'd been some kind of altercation, but even as a ten-year-old, I could see that this girl was consumed with jealousy of my sister. And you wouldn't have had a clue until then."

"I've felt jealous at times, like when I saw other women bag jobs I wanted. But nothing like that."

"There's one point I keep wondering about. How do you think Vicky found out that Ann had made the brownie?"

"I have a hunch she guessed it. Vicky apparently has an uncanny way of reading people. It's like she smells their weakness, senses where the soft underbelly is. Vicky found out from the reporter that Ann had leaked that item saying I was the show's real star. After that, Vicky knew Ann had something against me. When Vicky heard about the brownie, she knew she hadn't done it. So she guessed Ann had and let her think she had proof."

I felt my eyes grow heavy and closed them for a second.

"You need to sleep," Alex said.

"Can I ask you a question?" I said. "Why did you leave the DA's office?"

He c.o.c.ked his head, puzzled. "What brings that up at this moment?"

"When I arrived at Ann's, she made a comment about it. I think she wanted me to be suspicious of you so I wouldn't be turning to you for help."

"There was a case that shouldn't have been tried. I was overruled, and it went to another ADA. The guy ended up with a ten-year sentence. After that, there was no way I could stay another day there. I left in a huff. I hated myself for not doing more to change the situation."

"Is that partly why you wanted to help me?"

He smiled. "That," he said, "and total infatuation."

I smiled back and set down the mug of tea. I reached for his hand, brought it to my lips, and kissed it.

chapter 29.

It was just before eight in the evening, a little later than when I'd arrived at the same spot two months ago. I was standing outside Bettina's apartment, though this time there were no festive party sounds pulsating inside.

It was ironic, really, as I thought of it, me all decked out that night in my f.u.c.k-you shoes. I should have known a pair of booties that pinched my feet like a son of a b.i.t.c.h couldn't be counted on for much.

I rang the bell, and Bettina's male Filipino housekeeper answered. He led me into the ma.s.sive living area, gestured for me to take a seat, and asked if he could bring me a refreshment. I declined.

After he departed soundlessly, I rose and drifted over to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that faced west to the Hudson and the densely packed New Jersey waterfront. The vista was even more spectacular tonight than it had been the evening of my party; because it was fully dark out, lights twinkled fiercely everywhere.

"Please forgive me," Bettina said when she swept into the room a good ten minutes later. She was dressed in a deep-orange pantsuit, a nod to fall, and carrying what looked like a vodka on the rocks. "I had a call I just could not get rid of. No drink for you?"

"I'm fine, thanks," I said, turning from the window. "I have to ask. Is it as magical now as it was at the start?"

"What, darling? You're not inquiring about my s.e.x life, are you?"

I smiled. "No, the view."

She shrugged. "I'm going to tell you a little secret, Robin," she said. "I appreciate my view, I do. I worked hard for it. Unfortunately, it's like going to bed with a gorgeous man. After a while, things become familiar, and some of the magic does disappear. Now, come talk to me."

We took seats opposite each other, she in a curved white armchair set on a Plexiglas base and me on the couch.

"It seems as if some of the drama is finally dying down," she said.

"Yes, a bit," I said. "For the first time in days, there were no reporters camped out in front of my apartment this morning."

"You said you had a question for me. I'm eager to hear and to help if I can."

I had called two days ago and requested a meeting. I knew my question would surprise her. But it was something I'd been mulling over for the past four weeks.

It had been a truly crazy month for me, and tough at times. Not just because of the trauma of East Hampton but because I was still wrestling with grief over Sharon's death and my failure to see the ugly mix of emotions I'd triggered in Ann.

She'd been charged that night with trying to drown me, and afterward the police in New York City had taken her DNA in conjunction with the investigation of Sharon's murder. The story had been everywhere in the press for two weeks but only the bare outlines: Ann Carny had tried to kill me. She had also allegedly murdered Sharon Hayes. The full details had yet to surface. Ann had been painted as a career girl come unhinged, and one of the tabloids ridiculously had made her a cautionary tale for chicks leaning in too far.

Vicky had been spared. So far, at least, there was no evidence linking her directly to Sharon's murder. Ann had tried to take her down, but it hadn't worked. Vicky admitted that she'd called Sharon but claimed it was only out of concern for her own career. Sharon, Vicky said, had tried to sully her reputation years ago, and she'd feared another attempt. She also said she'd shared her concerns with Ann, but she had no idea why Ann would try to become her avenger.

I'd retained a PR person to a.s.sist me, and he'd issued a statement saying very little but saying it well. I used the ongoing investigation as an excuse to be discreet; at least I was controlling the information.

The Monday after I returned from Long Island, Lisa Follett met with Potts and Carey. They agreed to search my computer and within days had found the botnet. During Lisa's frank discussion with them, a few more details emerged. It had been Ann who'd told Potts about my history with Janice, and she who'd revealed that Carter and I were involved. Ann always led me to believe she was working on my behalf when behind the scenes she was doing her best to undermine me.

Lisa found out that there'd never been a mystery suspect, as Ann had implied to me the night before I was axed. It had been her way of toying with me, cat-and-mouse-style.

On Wednesday, Lisa had yet another meeting with Potts. He conveyed that he planned to offer me my job back. Because of the impending sale of the network, the decision had to be run by others.

I should have been frustrated by having to wait longer, but I wasn't. I used the time to run and to think and to connect with a few old friends. And to talk to Alex. We walked together sometimes and ordered in food at my apartment, discussing what had happened and trying to make sense of it. I still felt overwhelmed by what he'd done for me. We both knew that a physical relationship was going to happen. Some nights it felt wildly erotic, sitting on the couch next to him and feeling the charge between us. But we were taking our time. I had work to do before I became invested in another romantic relationship.

After the Ann story hit and word began to gurgle up that I might be exonerated, I heard from a couple of people in management at the network. Never from Tom, though. Within days it came out that he was going to a bigger show at a whole other network.

Maddy called right after the weekend in East Hampton. She was all fluttery with her concerns. I arranged to meet her on Tuesday and told her I'd discovered that she was pa.s.sing my research along as her own.

"Oh, I didn't realize I wasn't supposed to do that."

"Of course you did, Maddy," I said. "And until you can examine what you did and realize why it was wrong, I have nothing more to say to you."

I'd learned by this point that Alex was the guy she was so taken with. She had confessed her infatuation to him after the weekend, to his total surprise.

A few days after Ann's arrest, I arranged to meet with Jake. I told him I wanted to come downtown one night to pick up my boxes and asked if he'd order us a pizza. I knew the request floored him.

It was unsettling to spend an evening at the loft, sitting at the same pine table where I'd eaten so many meals as we laughed and talked. But I fought off my discomfort. I also forced myself to adjust to seeing Jake in reading gla.s.ses. I ate three slices of pizza, drank a beer, and related what had happened to me.

"I really appreciate you sharing all of it with me, Robin," he said.

"That's not the only reason I came down here. There's something else I wanted to talk about with you."

"Don't tell me this is one of those 'I've met someone I'm serious about' moments."

I laughed out loud. "No, not that. I wanted to respond to one of the points you made when I was here last."