Shadows of Deception Ch. 02

All good lies begin in truth.

"I went to the club looking for someone to help me get over my ex." Her deadpan response was met with a scoff from Craven and a chuckle from Ramirez, they exchanged glances and made some sort of coded hand gesture that she was pretty sure translated into some sort of lewd insult.

"You ex, huh? What happened there?"

"Not really relevant. We've been broken up for six months, he's engaged and I'm not. I was looking for someone to help me forget about his upcoming wedding." She was frank about it. Sexuality didn't embarrass her and these two detectives weren't going to make her feel bad for wanting a hookup.

"I didn't buy any drinks because not long after I got there, a guy I didn't know started to follow me and he wouldn't leave me alone."

"Came on too strong?" There was Ramirez trying to play the good cop.

"Yeah, not really my type so I tried to brush him off. He kept following me and it kind of killed my night so I decided to duck into the back to hide from him till I could make a discreet exit." Craven began to write down some notes, probably what she was saying even though their conversation was being recorded. "There wasn't a window on the door and I got nervous that he'd seen me go into the back and get the wrong idea, so I went to leave out of one of the rear exits."

"And you didn't see our victim?"

She shook her head. "No." They exchanged looks again, "What?"

"Did you see anyone back there?"

Now she panicked a little, up until this point she hadn't really lied about what happened. She'd left out some things, big difference. She didn't know where the cameras in the back were, just that there were cameras but she felt fairly confident that there was no footage of her altercation as it would implicate Roman Aurelius and he was too smart for that.

She felt shaken but fortunately, before she had to answer the detective asked her another question.

"Do you know who owns Nexus?"

"Roman Aurelius." Her toes curled inside her heels, and she resisted the urge to shift in her seat at the mention of Roman.

"You know him?" Sort of.

"I wouldn't say that. Seen him in the papers plenty. Has quite the temper from what I read, if half of what the tabloids print are true." Belladonna thought back to those very tabloids and some of the headlines they featured. Outbursts with paparazzi though she couldn't blame him on that one, angry altercations with reporters, there always seemed to be a well-placed photographer.

"But have you ever met him?" Craven pushed; she didn't like Craven. He was pushing for specific answers and her gut told her she needed to tread carefully around him.

"He caught me in the back of his club trying to find the exit."

"How'd he take that?" Judging by the tone of Ramierez's voice, he was losing interest in being the good cop.

"He wasn't happy. I got the feeling he probably thought I was snooping or stealing."

"Were you?" Fuck you, Craven.

"No." She paused and carefully extracted a partial truth out of their encounter. "I explained what was going on and then he let me leave."

Neither detective looked very convinced and they exchanged glances again, then produced another photo of her getting into Roman's car and Mercer clearly at the wheel.

"Thing is, we also have video of you leaving the club and getting into Roman Aurelius's personal car and leaving with his driver."

"I asked for a ride, and the guy was nice enough-" Both men burst out laughing, it was the most animated either man had been.

It was a solid two minutes of the men chuckling until one of them could speak again, it seemed the most genuine thing about them.

"Do you know who his driver is?"

He pulled out a mugshot and immediately recognized the grim visage of Mercer.

"His name is Gabriel Mercer, and the only nice thing about him is that when we catch him again we'll be throwing away the key." The tone behind his voice suggested a personal vendetta rather than a professional one.

True enough, Mercer had done hard time, his mugshot looked just like his expression that night. Bored. Irritated. Murderous. His record was almost impressive and it seemed nothing was off limits to him.

Assault. Kidnapping. Blackmail. Attempted murder. Witness intimidation. Murder. Arson. Mercer was a busy boy, she'd been right about her initial thoughts on him only waiting for Roman's word to add her body to the growing pile.

"So, you want to try again? Tell me, why would someone like Roman Aurelius care if someone like you gets home safely?"

The implication of his question caused her face to drop into a sour expression, and she dropped all pretense. The detective, however, didn't even look phased in fact, he almost seemed pleased. Her inner voice of self-preservation must have had its back turned because her filter switched off.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed germs over her chest presenting her best 'resting bitch face' which was admittedly pretty good.

"Look, you said this guy was a career criminal, and he was shot to death probably by someone he pissed off. You know, it's sad, it's ugly but it's not rocket science. He lives a life of crime and gets riddled with bullets, a nice little act of God taking him off the census. You really think the world stops turning just because we're short a man like Jimmy Angeloff?"

"Jimmy?"

The detectives smiled at one another and a wave of heat flashed through her. "Got quite the chip on your shoulder, don't you Miss Black?" It was Craven who made this observation, though it was hardly hidden. Belladonna did have a chip on her shoulder, a big one

"Shouldn't hold it against her. Trauma can do that." Ramirez countered clasping his hands on the table. He shook his head and then reached for another file, so much for being 'the good cop.'

"What trauma is that?" Craven asked, his voice dripping with mock concern. The room went silent for a moment as Belladonna found herself looking at a police file she knew very well.

It was hers.

"You were the victim of a violent mugging a year ago, just outside your studio's office. Never found the guy, did they?" The way he, a cop, said it with such nonchalance bothered her, like he knew something about it and was trying to leverage that against her.

"That's right. It was a year ago. I remember, I was there." Her voice went cold. So cold, Ramirez and Craven straightened themselves a bit, and they leaned away from her.

Ramirez opened his mouth to speak but Belladonna cut him off, her voice growing louder with each word.

"Broken orbital socket, broken nose, arm broken in two places, concussion, dislocated shoulder, thrifty three stitches from his butterfly knife. Six. Weeks. In a medically induced coma, and no flowers when I woke up." The corner of her lip circled into a snarl as she looked at the laughably empty file. "I remember it like it was yesterday. Where were the two of you?" One of the detectives began to open his mouth to speak but she cut him off again.

"What I find highly interesting is that a low-level criminal gets a full investigation, there's camera footage, witness statements, and time stamps on his credit cards. But when I came out of my medically induced coma, which I almost didn't survive, I only met with two beat cops for the laziest statement ever, and despite it happening on a street right outside the fashion district and a bank in broad daylight, you guys didn't seem to find anything. No other footage, and no witnesses even though I was screaming at the top of my lungs during rush hour. I guess it just proves that the only victim worth investigating is a dead one." She slid the file away from her, not needing to see it anymore. "So, yeah, I've got a chip on my shoulder. A near-death experience will do that to you."

She hadn't meant to sound so sinister but the subject of her attack was still a sore one for her and not something she liked to talk about on a good day, today was not a good day. And she was especially irritated at having the unsolved assault thrown in her face. She'd had more sleepless nights than she could count, it was what had caused the turmoil with Jackson and arguably been the final nail in the coffin that had been their relationship.

"I'm sure this poor guy's mother would like to know who killed her poor baby boy who just got mixed up with the wrong crowd but the fact is you won't find someone who cares less about someone like him than someone like me. I'm not stupid and I know my rights. Unless I'm being detained, then you can't hold me here, so you either book me or you let me go. Because I'm done answering your questions."

A bit of wind was knocked out of them and it did take about thirty seconds before one of them broke the silence and they recovered quickly.

"Oh, are those our choices?" Ramirez looked at Craven. "What do we do? What do we do?"

"I know what I'd choose."

"I choose 'book you'." Ramirez's 'charm' if you could call it that was gone, she'd made him look like an idiot and knocked him down a peg in calling their bluff.

"On what charges?"

The detectives stood and began to gather papers but left her file. "Oh, I dunno, how about obstruction? Interfering with a police investigation?"

"False reporting to the police is a class A misdemeanor. That could be up to three years of jail time. Hell, we could make a case for lots of charges but the fact is, princess, that we can hold you for up to 48 hours without even charging you."

"So then I am being detained?' Their smiles were the smiles of men who held too much power and they didn't lose sleep over their misuse of it. "Then I guess we don't have anything else to talk about. And I'll wait for a phone call to my lawyer."

She held her hands out, wrists facing up with an expression that read No balls. Unfortunately, calling that particular bluff didn't work. And Ramirez indeed slapped a handcuff on her right wrist a little too tightly and then secured it to the ring on the table.

"Yeah, it may be a little while before you can make that call. Phones are down."

"Seriously? That's the best you could come up with?"

"Enjoy your weekend."

The door slammed and it took every ounce of willpower to not burst into tears or throw up. She knew they were standing on the other side of the window, watching her. Her chest heaved slow and steady breaths and she could do nothing, but panic internally.

She didn't have a lawyer.

She didn't have anyone she could call for any reason. When her job found out about this, she couldn't imagine they'd be terribly understanding. She'd be fired. How in the hell had her life gone to absolute garbage in a week? How had she let any of this happen? She leaned forward, rested her head on the cold table, and closed her eyes.

Moral of the story? Don't go clubbing. Just stay in and drink cheap booze, watch movies, and fuck yourself with a vibrator instead of letting life fuck you.

She had read something in a book or seen TV once that suggested 'Only a guilty person can lay their head down and rest when they're in handcuffs. Was she guilty? If stupidity was a crime she would hardly be on the FBI's top ten watch list but there was certainly a case to be made for her if naïveté was a crime. Then, yeah, she was probably in the top ten most wanted.

She replayed the events of that night over in her head and she couldn't find a scenario where she didn't end up screwed in some fashion or other. Damned if you do. Damned if you don't. Some people were born to get screwed and Belladonna's life seemed to fit that particular mold.

She did not know what to do but a good start would be a phone call to one of the last people she wanted to speak with; her father. Everything was crashing down and despite the panic she was feeling about her situation, it was nothing compared to the outright fear that was coursing through her veins when she thought of Roman Aurelius.

She tried to ignore the ice in her veins when she remembered his warning. As bad as it was, she knew it was probably about to get worse. Losing her job would be the least of her worries.

Would she have to leave the city? It was such a strange thought. It was her home. And no matter how crappy a place it could be, there was something about surviving this place; you had a grit that few other people did. Not that she wanted that grit. In fact, she might have preferred an easier life but 'easy' and this city were two concepts that didn't really mix. Like oil and water.

Unless the sentence had to do with how easy it was to get screwed.

The events of the week were catching up with her and she felt exhaustion settle in her bones. She just wanted to sleep; the room was cold, the table hard and the chair uncomfortable but she smirked in the knowledge that the detectives whom she was certain were watching her weren't getting their desired reaction. She was petty like that.

An hour later, and the door swung open once more, it seemed as if they fixed their issue with the phones.

"You know, I once stayed in a bed and breakfast like this..." She muttered before looking up. She was surprised when she didn't see two detectives but a tall man in a gray three-piece suit looking at her with an unimpressed eyebrow raised. "Who're you?"

"Detectives, can we remove the handcuffs from the hundred and twenty-pound girl?"

"Hundred and fifty." She corrected, though no one seemed to hear it.

Craven and Ramierez looked very unhappy and she felt a bit vindicated when she saw that Craven's pants had soft white powdered sugar stains on one leg. Someone pick up the phone because she called it. Craven unlocked the cuffs from her wrist a little rougher than he needed to and he sneered at her and shook his head.

"Looks like you've got some friends in high places, Miss Black." His voice dripped with malice. He wasn't pleased and he didn't bother hiding it.

"Now if you are through with harassing my client, she's had a very long day and will be returning home. If you have any other questions for her she will only be responding through my office and with myself present." The guy turned to face her and nodded to the door, "Miss Black?"

Thoroughly confused but not stupid enough to sit around and ask questions, she got up and left the room grabbing her bag on the way out. There wasn't a single police officer or detective who wasn't glaring at them as they made their way out of the precinct.

The surprises continued as they stepped onto the pavement, where a black Bentley was pulled up to the curb with a driver in a black suit and tie ushering them inside. She hesitated, uncertain of whether or not she was meant to accept the ride but when the door remained open and both men looked at her with an expectant look, she slid in and the door shut behind her. The car pulled off from the curb and off they drove, to where she wasn't sure.

The lawyer was immediately on his phone texting someone, and he didn't say a word for a few minutes. Finally, finished typing his novel he looked up at her and sighed.

"So, Miss Black from here if out of the police contact you or you see them lurking around you're to call my office immediately." He handed her an embossed business card that reminded her of the movie American Psycho. Eggshell? "The cops are not your friends to begin with and it doesn't sound like you made friends there so let's keep them as far away as we possibly can."

"Who are you?"

"Derrick Monoghan. I'm your lawyer."

"Yeah, about that. I'm ninety-nine percent certain that your jacket alone costs more than I make in a year so you do understand that I probably can't pay you, right?"

He chuckled and went back to looking at his phone. "You don't need to worry about my fee, it's handled. I'm to be your legal counsel until this matter is settled."

"Who hired you? Who even knows about this?"

He looked up at her with an incredulous look. "I think you know." She didn't say anything, but kept his stare, for some reason he needed to hear the words she already knew he would say. "I've been retained by Mr. Roman Aurelius." She dropped her head into a hand and groaned. "Problem?"

"I have a headache." He chuckled, reaching into a compartment and producing a small, chilled bottle of water. "Although something tells me that a headache is about to be the least of my problems."

"Whatever do you mean?" She looked up and drew a finger across her neck. "Being a little overly dramatic, don't you think?"

"Can you come up with a terribly compelling reason for me not to be?"

"My retainer fee is 100k, Miss Black." Yeah, more than she made in a year and then some. "Now if Mr. Aurelius or some other criminal entity wanted you dead, not saying that he does, he wouldn't have paid my retainer fee in the first place, would he? Unless he enjoys setting money on fire."

She wouldn't put it past him. "Yeah, how did you know I was even there?" He tapped his eyes and ears, right. Eyes and ears everywhere. "So, what happens now?"

"I've been instructed to take you home. My office will be in touch to go over our strategy for the investigation."

"And?"

"And I imagine Mr. Aurelius will be in touch with you soon." The car pulled to a stop in front of her apartment, "We've reached your building Ms. Black. Have a pleasant evening."

She was still a bit dumbfounded. As she stepped out of the car looking at her newly retained lawyer "What do I do now?"

"Go to work, do your job, live your life, and keep your head down. No more chats with the police although I think you already know that, and if you see anything or notice anything strange, contact me, otherwise my office will be in touch."

She had barely stepped onto the curb when the car drove off. "Ok..."

Dissociation was a hell of a thing. She should have been a mess of sobs and panic but instead, she was oddly calm, it was as though a wall surrounded her in all her interactions but nothing really touched her yet. Like the reactions were simply buffering. Real-world lag. She knew it would hit later and hit hard enough that she'd need an airbag. The best she could hope for was that she would be blissfully alone when it did.

Everyone has 'that chair' in their place no matter how rich or poor they are. Her purse was haphazardly tossed onto it as she untucked the black blouse she was wearing with the intent of finding something more comfortable to wear. She had already kicked off her heels, swapped out her slacks for a pair of comfy leggings, and had half the buttons of her blouse undone before a deep voice startled her.

" was quite a performance,"

She jumped and spun around to see something, a figure leaning against her bedroom window; Roman Aurelius. She hadn't even noticed him. How long had he been standing there? Probably since before she stepped out of her lawyer's car.

Roman stood before her, dressed in a sleek black suit that exuded power and sophistication. The simplicity of his attire accentuated the sharpness of his features, a cigarette dangled casually between his fingers, the wisps of smoke curling around him. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned, revealing a glimpse of his strong chest, and giving him a cavalier sort of attitude. How had she not smelled the smoke before, especially considering she, herself was a smoker, but it hardly mattered now.

His presence was imposing, just as it had been a week ago, but there was a newfound calmness about him, which was a bit more alarming. Somehow despite the expanse of her bedroom, Roman being there made it feel smaller and more confined. Despite feeling slightly overwhelmed, she managed to take a step back, fully expecting him to close the distance between them. To her surprise, he remained still, watching her with a sense of indifference that hadn't been present in their last encounter. The tension hung in the air, thick, as if waiting for one of them to break the silence.