Bed of Lies Page 5

  “I’m sorry, sir, but this young woman told me she was his fiancée,” the nurse argued. “I wouldn’t have—”

  “Well, she fucking lied!”

  C. J. stood frozen, like a deer caught in headlights. She wanted to escape, but she felt paralyzed. The woman at Evan’s side suddenly wrapped an arm around C. J.’s shoulder and steered her back toward the elevator, catching C. J. by surprise.

  “Let’s go,” the woman whispered into C. J.’s ear, walking swiftly down the corridor and dragging C. J. along with her. “You need to get out of here before he kills you.”

  The woman was being hyperbolic, right? C. J. gave a wary glance over her shoulder at Evan Murdoch, who was still railing.

  “Ev’s not normally like this,” the woman said, stopping in front of the elevator doors. She pressed the Down button, not giving C. J. a chance to tell her where she wanted to go. “Terry’s accident really scared him. He’s more than just a little distraught.”

  “I’m sorry,” C. J. whispered again.

  “It’s okay,” the woman replied as the elevator doors opened. “You just came at a very bad time.”

  C. J. stepped onto the metal elevator and turned to the woman. “Thank you, Miss—”

  “Hawkins,” the woman said. “Leila Hawkins. But everyone calls me Lee.”

  Leila Hawkins. She recognized her now. Evan’s mistress, according to the town gossip.

  The elevator doors shut and C. J. collapsed against the metal walls.

  Chapter 5

  Dante

  Dante whistled a peppy tune as he strode and practically skipped off the elevator and down the corridor. He was excited and could barely contain the enthusiasm that surged through him at that moment. He felt like today was Christmas and the Fourth of July rolled into one. Dante hadn’t been this happy in weeks, maybe even months and it was all because his half-brother, Terrence, had decided to crash his Porsche into some poor old lady at a D.C. intersection.

  Just thinking about it made Dante beam.

  “Umm, excuse me,” the nurse called out as Dante passed the hexagon-shaped desk. “Excuse me, sir!”

  He didn’t pause or even acknowledge her. Instead, he glanced at the doorways of each hospital room, in search of Mavis Upton—the woman who had been in the accident with Terrence.

  Dante had used his legal connections as a lawyer to finagle her name from the local cops and now he was on a mission to not only meet Mavis but also to make her his client. They were going to sue the pants off of Terrence Murdoch.

  To say that Dante disliked his wealthy siblings was putting it lightly; he utterly despised them. While they had been born and raised in the lap of luxury, he had grown up poor in the inner city. While they carried the Murdoch name, his father had succeeded for decades in keeping Dante a secret. In fact, Dante hadn’t known that George Murdoch was his father until he was a grown man. The week after his mother made the deathbed revelation, he had gone straight to George’s office at Murdoch Conglomerated to introduce himself.

  “Why are you here?” George had asked Dante coldly within seconds of him stepping through the office door.

  Dante had just laid eyes on his father, gazing in awe at the man he strongly resembled. George had had the same skin tone as himself, had been balding, and had shrewd hazel eyes that seemed to bore into Dante’s very soul. He had admired George already based on what he had heard and read about him over the years. Seeing George in person, looking so dignified and commanding in the penthouse office of the company he had built from the ground up, only made Dante admire him even more. But his father’s chilly tone had been like a splash of frigid water.

  His mother had warned him that George had been embarrassed about his liaison with her—a poor waitress he’d had a one-night stand with in the early days of his marriage. Because of that, Dante hadn’t expected a bear hug or even a tear-filled apology for ignoring him for thirty-six years, but he had at least expected his father to offer him a seat in one of the two leather wingback chairs that had been facing the immense mahogany office desk. He hadn’t expected the first words out of his mouth to be “Why are you here?”

  “Do you want money?” George had asked, eying Dante. “Is that what this is about?”

  “Money would be nice,” Dante had said. He had forced a laugh to let his father know he had been joking, but he had stopped laughing and cleared his throat when his father remained silent and continued to glare at him. “But no, the real reason I came here was to meet you, to . . . to see the man who made me.”

  “Well, you’ve met me. You’ve seen me.” George had raised his hands in a “Now what?” motion.

  “I was . . . also hoping that I could . . . uh, get to know you,” Dante had said, feeling his usual overwhelming confidence starting to falter. “I’d like to meet your fam—”

  “That’s out of the question.” George had shaken his head, risen from his chair, and adjusted his tie. He had walked around his desk. “Look . . . Dante, is it?”

  Damn, Dante had thought, feeling a stab to his chest. He doesn’t even know my name.

  “I see no reason to change the arrangement that I had with your mother before she died. She agreed not to make your presence known if I agreed to help her financially. I’ll offer you the same deal.” George had walked the short distance across his office to stand in front of Dante. The two men had been the same height and had the same build. They were almost replicas of each other. “I’m assuming you’ll want an amount more substantial than your mother’s. I sent her a stipend of five thousand dollars a month. How about I increase it by another five thousand for you?”

  “You think . . . you think you can just buy me off?” Dante had asked tightly, feeling an acidic burning in his throat.

  And besides, if he got money from George, it wouldn’t be a measly ten-thousand-dollar check once a month. He wanted what was rightfully owed to him as the true eldest son of George Murdoch. He wanted his father to treat him like he mattered.

  “I don’t think I can buy you off, I know I can.” George rested a hand on his shoulder, making Dante sad to realize his father only touched him when he was attempting to bribe him. “Come on, you seem like a reasonable man. I’m willing to negotiate a monthly stipend. And hey, if you continue to keep my secret, I’ll even add you to my will. Just name your price.”

  Dante had angrily shoved his father’s hand off his shoulder. For a second, he was too furious to speak. “To hell with you,” he had muttered before storming out of his father’s office.

  Dante knew he had a chip on his shoulder the size of Gibraltar, but he felt that chip was warranted. He had been ignored and rejected by his own father. He had tried to take his rightful place as the head of the Murdoch family, but his siblings had thwarted him at every turn, uniting against him and shutting him out entirely.

  But that’s okay, Dante thought as he peered into another hospital room, finding an old man sitting in his hospital bed with a plastic tray at his waist. The old man turned and gazed at Dante quizzically while chewing on mushy string beans.

  I’ll fix their asses, Dante thought as he continued his search.

  Dante saw Terrence’s latest mishap as an opportunity. Dante still might not be the head of Murdoch Conglomerated, or even officially part of the Murdoch family, but this would offer him a chance to exact long-overdue revenge on the so-called Marvelous Murdochs, the M&Ms. He was almost salivating at the chance.

  “Hey, don’t try to blame me for this shit!” he heard a woman shout. Dante slowed as he drew closer to the room where the voice came from. “Nobody told you to run into that damn car!”

  “But Tasha said you left her alone in the apartment again. She was scared, Renee,” another woman replied. Her voice sounded older and fatigued. “You can’t just leave a child alone like that and go running around in the streets all night! I told you that before. She’s only six years old!”

  Dante stepped into the doorway and saw an older woman with graying hair proppe
d up by a stack of pillows. A bandage was on her right cheek. Her left eye was bruised and swollen like someone had punched her. A younger woman in a pair of skintight jeans and black knee-high boots with towering high heels paced back and forth in front of the older woman’s hospital bed. She was dressed like she had just walked out of a night club.

  “Whatever, Ma!” Skintight Jeans shouted, dropping a hand to her hip and pushing out her chest over her low-cut, sequined top. “Like I said, don’t try to pin this on me. Because I ain’t—”

  “Excuse me, ladies,” Dante said, striding into the room. He glanced between the two women. “I hope you don’t mind if I interrupt, but—”

  “Who the hell are you?” the younger woman snapped. Her burgundy lips curled with a sneer.

  “It would behoove you not to speak so loudly about the accident,” he continued, “especially here in the hospital. We wouldn’t want everyone to hear. And from what I understand, Terrence Murdoch is also on this floor.”

  He likely would get moved to a private room in one of the nicer parts of the hospital, but for now, he and Mavis were both in the recovery ward.

  “You definitely wouldn’t want him to hear all of this,” Dante said.

  The younger woman fell silent while the older woman’s eyes pooled with tears.

  “I-I can’t remember what happened, but I know I was in such a . . . such a rush to get to Tasha,” the woman murmured, her voice shaking with emotion. “I didn’t mean to go through that stop sign! I wasn’t trying to—”

  “Ssshhh,” Dante whispered, stopping her midsentence. He walked toward the bed and raised a finger to his lips. He then removed his wool coat and tossed it over the plastic handrail. “Your name is Mavis, right?”

  She hesitated, then nodded.

  “Well, Mavis, my name is Dante Turner. I’m a lawyer with the law offices of Nutter, McElroy, and Ailey, and I’m going to offer you some free legal advice: Don’t confess to something you didn’t do.”

  She frowned and fisted the bed sheets in her hands. “But I-I don’t know for sure if I didn’t do it. I mean, I-I think I—”

  “Mavis”—he placed his hand on top of hers and gave it a squeeze—“you’re a caring woman. I can tell. You have the best of intentions. But, believe me, you don’t want to accept responsibility for what happened today. Do you know the other driver in the accident?”

  Her frown deepened and she slowly shook her head.

  “What the hell difference does that make?” the younger woman barked. “Who the hell cares?”

  “Renee, don’t be so rude,” Mavis admonished, though Renee waved away her chastising. “He’s only trying to help.”

  “Yeah, I bet he is,” Renee snapped, tossing her long ebony weave over her shoulder.

  “She’s right, I am trying to help. And you should care who the other driver is,” Dante said, shifting his gaze to Renee. “His name is Terrence Murdoch of Murdoch Conglomerated, a multimillion-dollar company that specializes in food products and restaurant franchises. Terrence comes from money—lots of money. And if he and his family decided to unleash their lawyers on you for the accident, your mother would end up in the poorhouse. They’d find a way to destroy her.”

  “Oh Lord,” Mavis whispered. She looked visibly shaken. She started trembling again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! Please tell him I didn’t mean to—”

  “Mavis, I told you to stop apologizing,” Dante repeated. “You weren’t the cause of that accident. As far as I’m concerned, he was the one who went through the intersection and hit you, and that’s what you should say in court.”

  “Court?” Renee raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her bountiful chest. “Who said anything about going to court?”

  “Well, your mother would have to go to court if she intends to sue Mr. Murdoch,” Dante said.

  Mavis looked confused. “You . . . you think I should sue him? But I don’t know for sure if he was the one who caused the crash. I wouldn’t feel right blaming him for something he might not have done.”

  Dante returned his gaze to Mavis. The old woman was going to be a challenging client, he could tell. She was obviously crippled by guilt for what had happened and would not be willing to lie—at least for now. He glanced at her daughter, Renee, who was listening to him keenly. She was hanging on to his every word. He might have an ally in Renee. That woman looked more carnivorous than a gray wolf. She would have no problem lying and probably could aid him in pressuring Mavis to say what needed to be said when the time came. But for now, Dante would have to choose his words carefully.

  “You’re not really blaming him. This is more of a pre-emptive measure, Mavis,” Dante explained. “If you sue Terrence first, he’s less likely to try litigation with you.”

  “That makes sense,” Renee said, vigorously nodding. “You fire the gun first, Mama . . . the warning shot to scare him off.”

  “You’d file a lawsuit for your injuries,” Dante said, “for your pain and mental anguish. You’d argue that it’s only right that Mr. Murdoch pay a sizeable settlement to make you whole again.”

  “But I wouldn’t . . . I wouldn’t really be expecting that money, though, right?” Mavis asked. Her gray brows furrowed with distress. “I’m not really suing him for real. I’m . . . I’m just doing it so that he won’t sue me . . . first?”

  Dante nodded and indulged her with a warm smile meant to convey empathy, though he felt absolutely none.

  She lowered her gaze, then finally nodded. “Well, I-I guess it’s all right, then. But only if I’m not really going to get the money in the end.”

  “Of course not,” Dante lied.

  “So I guess you’re offering to be her lawyer, then,” Renee said, pointing her long silver nail at him that looked like the talon of a vulture. “Is that what all this talking’s about?”

  “I’d be happy to assist Ms. Upton.” He quickly turned to the older woman. “On a pro bono basis, of course.”

  “Pro bono? That means you don’t get paid up front, right?” Renee asked.

  “Exactly,” he said, giving her a wink.

  Renee’s smile widened. She stuck out her chest even further, almost pushing her breasts entirely over the top of her shirt.

  Oh, he definitely had an ally in Renee, and judging from the heated gaze she was now giving him, he might have a lot more.

  “It all sounds good to me, Mama,” Renee urged. “I say hire him.”

  Mavis pursed her lips, forming them into a thin line that almost looked like a grimace. Finally, she nodded. “Okay. You’re . . . you’re hired.”

  Chapter 6

  Terrence

  Terrence sat alone in the dark in his spacious living room, gazing through one eye at his television, where ESPN played on the flat screen. One leg—the one he had shattered during the accident—was perched on the suede ottoman in front of him. A beer, already warming to room temperature, was in one hand. He absently scratched at his beard with the edge of his remote, careful not to touch his eye patch and the sensitive tissue underneath it.

  When a commercial came on the screen, he raised the remote to flip to another channel and gazed at an action movie where the leather-clad hero ran across jungle terrain on two legs.

  Two healthy legs, Terrence noted bitterly.

  The hero also had two working eyes, rather than one that had been mutilated and blinded during a car crash.

  Terrence had always been vain about his eyes. “They’re like drops of liquid caramel,” one of his girlfriends had told him back in college, before bestowing his eyelids with a sultry kiss. But they didn’t look like “drops of liquid caramel” anymore. Now the damaged eye beneath his black patch made him shudder with disgust whenever he looked at it. It was red and inflamed tissue, mangled meat that would never serve its purpose again.

  The eye and the leg weren’t the only things that had changed since the accident. He looked like a completely different person now. Gone was the immaculately dressed, handsome man he on
ce had been, and in his place was a slovenly couch potato.

  Terrence hadn’t shaved in weeks and now vaguely resembled a crotchety backwoodsman. All he needed was the flannel shirt and ax. He hadn’t changed his clothes in days, either; he had been sporting the same stained, wrinkled T-shirt, striped pajama bottoms, and gray terry-cloth bathrobe since Tuesday. He didn’t see any reason to change clothes unless it was for the mailman’s benefit. That was the only person he had seen in more than a week.

  Evan and Paulette had tried to visit, but he had told them he was busy. A few of the women he dated had called in the nearly two months since the accident and asked if they could stop by and play nurse.

  “I can wear my French maid costume,” Georgette had cooed over the phone.

  But he had refused. He didn’t want any of them to see him like this. After a while, the women stopped calling—even Georgette.

  That’s just fine with me, he thought before taking a swig from his bottle. He wanted to be alone. That was the reason Terrence hadn’t left his condo in days, even though the doctor had encouraged him to walk around and get some fresh air.

  “Your leg and arm are healing nicely, but you’ve still got to work those muscles, Terry,” Dr. Sidda had lectured in his lyrical Hindi accent as he’d lowered his stethoscope from his ears and draped it around his neck two weeks ago. He had stared at Terrence over the plastic rims of glasses that sat on the tip of his aquiline nose. “That is the only way you will regain full use of your limbs. It is how your strength will return, my friend. Have you been doing those exercises the physical therapist showed you?”

  Physical therapist, Terrence had thought with annoyance. You mean the asshole who kept barking at me, “One more! Two more! You can do it! You can do it!”

  Meanwhile sweat had poured from Terrence’s brow as he held onto the handlebars in the hospital gym and tried to walk with his busted leg. He had felt like he could collapse at any moment.