SANCTUARY: Beards & Bondage Read online

  Not yet.

  You know her.

  No. I get it. She’ll show up strapped

  And start questioning suspects herself.

  Okay. I won’t tell Brook.

  Or the girls.

  Thank you.

  Oh babes. I wish I could be there.

  It’s okay. Really. I’m fine.

  I’m glad you aren’t here for this.

  I know you, tough gal.

  But you don’t have to deal with this alone, okay?

  Noa can ditch fucking Stone to keep you company.

  And you know Claudia and Shep will

  fly back in a heartbeat. Just ask.

  Really. I’m fine.

  So fine that I jump when my phone starts ringing in my hand. I don’t recognize the number.

  “This is Liz Lewis,” I say. My voice doesn’t sound right.

  “Miss Lewis, this is Chase Smith from District Attorney Rivers’ office. I’m calling in reference to the incident in your residence last night. Are you free to speak with D.A. Rivers today?”

  I glance at the clock at the top of my phone screen. Kleinman’s will be open soon. “I can be there in an hour and a half.”

  The district attorney’s office is not where I want to be right now, but I know I need to talk to the D.A.. Detective Cohill doesn’t seem to give a real shit about a man breaking into my place and trying to beat me to death or choke me out, but maybe I can get the D.A. to listen. It’s their job to listen. I talk to a few people. I’m shuffled around a bit until I end up sitting opposite Flora Rivers in a large, cold conference room. I don’t realize until I’m sitting that I’m sweating again. Fuck this heat. Between the dressing room at Kleinman’s and another hot trip on the subway, the blasting air is welcome.

  I sit up straight in my chair and go over exactly what I’m going to say again in my head. Flora Rivers straightens her files and smiles at me. She’s a small blonde White woman with a perfect face of makeup. I can’t help but envy the sleep she must have gotten the night before. She looks completely fresh and ready to go. I’m wearing a brand new outfit and I managed to fix my sew-in at the MAC counter. My wavy bob looks good enough, but I feel like shit. I want my life back.

  “How are you this morning?” she asks as she opens up the file in front of her.

  “I have been much better, actually, thank you for asking,” I say.

  “I just wanted to talk to you a bit about the incident in your home yesterday evening. It sounds like it was quite the ordeal. I’m glad you made it out okay.”

  “Thank you,” I say, even though it sounds like a question and I know I’m making a face. I hate this shit so much. Already feels like we’re getting nowhere. “Listen. There’s something I need to say.”

  “Please go ahead.” She sits back a bit.

  “I spoke to the detective last night and he seemed to have a hard time comprehending parts of what I was saying.”

  She scowls and almost glances down at her files, but she keeps her eyes on me. “Okay. Go ahead.”

  “The man who assaulted me last night explicitly said that David Dorrit Jr. sent him, which I took to mean hired him to come kill me.”

  “Yes, Detective Cohill did mention that. We are still collecting evidence. It appears our suspect, the deceased, had quite the record. Armed robbery, breaking and entering. They found a lock pick set on his person. You told detectives you didn’t know how he got into your apartment.”

  “No. My door was locked when I got home and he was already inside. And I do want to talk about that, but I really want to address this Dorrit situation,” I say, keeping my voice measured and calm. “I know how this all sounds, but I did lose a case for him. He was upset. He was ordered to pay damages. This is not a reasonable reaction, but that is what happened. He said the exact words ‘he told me to put you to sleep.’”

  She looks at me for a second too long. I know exactly what that second means. I try not to roll my eyes. I remember women like me can’t scream at women like her. I can’t grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she listens. I need to cooperate. I need her on my side. I’m already in the negative with her. My build, my skin—shit, even my voice. Brooklyn and I both, since we hit puberty, have deep and raspy voices that can carry across a few rooms. Those Lewis girls sure pack a presence. To the detective, I’ve already been hysterical. To D.A. Flora Rivers, the next step paints me as someone who overreacts, the step beyond that means I’m unreasonable, then hostile and then I’m the one getting arrested.

  “Do you mind if we record this?” she says, her voice overly light. She’s trying to pacify me. “I’m just gonna have them bring in a camera so we get your full accurate statement. Okay?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  She leaves the room for a moment and when she comes back, a young clerk is following her with a digital camera and a little tripod. And Detective Cohill. I take a deep breath and push everything down so I can answer all her questions. Their questions. I show her my bandaged wrist as he takes more notes. I show her my jacked up toe. I point to every inch that aches.

  D.A. Rivers takes my phone to verify if I was where I say I was last night. Just to make sure I wasn’t busy trying to lure a strange man to my apartment so I could drive my high heel into his throat. They are gonna finish processing my apartment. It shouldn’t be too much longer, she says. I have no idea what the fuck that even means. By the time she tells me she’s finished, that she’ll be in touch, I don’t feel any better. I feel worse. D.A. Rivers believes I went through something. She might even think David Dorrit Jr. has something to do with it, but I know how these things go, especially for women like me. D.A. Rivers isn’t going to do shit about it.

  “We’ll be in touch,” she says as she politely ushers me to the door. I know I should just chill and let her at least try to do her job, but…I grab the door and turn to her, ignoring the fact the Detective Cohill just tensed like I was gonna put Flora Rivers in a headlock.

  “What am I supposed to do?” My throat clenches and I swallow again. Push it down. “I don’t feel safe. Is there any way you can help me with that?” I know it’s a huge ask. I’m a good lawyer, but I’m not the mayor.

  “Unfortunately we just don’t have the resources for a protective detail.”

  I nod slowly. I run my teeth over the side of my tongue and ignore the pain there. I push it down.

  “Listen. I know this feels very overwhelming right now. But take a few days. Let us handle our end of the process,” she says.

  And how exactly am I going to hear from you? I almost say. You took my fucking phone into evidence.

  Instead my home training forces me to thank her and then I head to the nearest public exit. I don’t stop walking until I get to the train. I’m pretty sure there’s a cell phone store near the office.

  Three

  As soon as I get my new phone, I call Brooklyn. She doesn’t answer, and I leave her a message and tell her to call me. I can keep her safe. Keep her away from me, but I can’t keep this from her. I know when I’m sitting at my desk ignoring the sounds of my office around me as my new phone resets that eventually I have to talk to my sister about this. So when the cloud brings all of my contacts back, I make the call.

  After I leave that voicemail, I open a new group chat with just Noa, Claudia and Rayna. I think for a moment before I type out the words. I think about exactly what I need to tell them and what will just make them more upset. Like how I have no idea if Kelsey got caught up in this, if she’s lying dead on her own kitchen floor somewhere. Or if the cops are gonna tell me they think I’m crazy and I need to take my life as a blessing and let this whole Dorrit thing go.

  I start typing. I explain the bare details of what happened. There was a man. I defended myself. I’m okay. That’s what matters. I don’t tell them about Dorrit. I don’t tell them how scared I am because there’s nothing they can do except get themselves wrapped up in some shit I’m pretty sure they want no part of. I tell them
I want to have a personal conversation with Brooklyn when she gets out of court so if they could not mention this to her that would be good. I tell Noa not to come running to me now or after she finishes for the day. I have too much to do anyway. My caseload is not little. I’ll be at the office late.

  I tell Claudia to stay right where she is in Northern California so she can enjoy this time with her man. I know they are all busy, but each of them start messaging me back right away. I do my best to convince them that I’m alright, shaken up, but alright. They believe me. They know me. If anyone was going to fight for her life the way I did, it’s me. They’ll check in with me, they offer. I can come to them. They are here for me. I know, I tell them and then I say I have to get back to work.

  Not five minutes later, Claudia calls. I know to pick up. She’s been through enough for five lifetimes and it would do nothing to stress her out more by not answering the phone.

  I hit accept, then I get up and close my office door.

  “Hey, bitch,” I say.

  “Hey, bitch. Talk to me. Are you really okay? You know you can tell me.”

  I think for a second, take two long slow steps back to my desk. “No running? No hiding?” I say. Something Claudia’s therapist shared with her, and something Claudia shared with me. She laughs a little and I know I should have told her first. I don’t regret telling Rayna, but Claudia’s been here before. We’ve been here before together. She knows.

  “Exactly no running, no hiding.”

  “I’m not thinking,” I tell her. “I’m numb, but not numb enough.”

  “I know exactly what you mean. I do. I felt that way for months and it is different than when our parents died. There’s loss and then there’s violation.”

  I close my eyes ’cause even though I’m not even close to processing, she’s right. And fuck I miss my mom so much. “Yeah.”

  “What can I do? How can I help?”

  “You can’t. I can’t tell you the rest. I promise I will when I can, but there’s more to this.”

  “How much more?” she asks in that mother hen tone she and I trade off when we know the other is slipping. The exact tone our moms used.

  “More. It's… work related.”

  “Work related how? The guy who broke into your place is work related? It wasn't Scott was it?!?!”

  I laugh at the leap she makes because Scott is the only person she knows from my office. “No. Scott didn't try to kill me.”

  “Okay good. He's kinda cute,” she says and then I hear her fiancé, Shep, grumbling in the background. “No, you don't need to fly to New York to fight anyone. Fucking ridiculous.”

  “Just trust me. Okay?”

  “I trust you. That doesn't mean I trust this situation, but I'm gonna give you what you need. For now. I'm keeping an eye on this, Lizzie Love. Be careful with yourself. I mean it.”

  I look out the window at the reflective building across the street. “I will. I—” I turn around at the knock on my office door. “Come in.”

  Deanna, one of the partner’s assistants pokes her head in the door. “Hi, Mr. Murrell wants to see you.”

  “Thanks, Deanna. I have to go,” I tell Claudia. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay. I’ll call you if you don’t call me.”

  “Deal.” I end the call then check myself out on the six foot horizontal mirror that hangs on the wall. I look only slightly better than I feel. I touch up my makeup, ditch the bandage wrapped around my wrist and then I head down to the partner’s office.

  Of all the partners, I hate Murrell the most. He called me a diversity hire to my face, but he stays out of my way for the most part and I love my paychecks so I try to ignore him as much as possible. I manage to recover my confidence in stride before I make it to his office, ignoring how much my toe hurts.

  “Lewis. Come on in,” he says the second he sees me approaching.

  I sit opposite his desk. I’m sure he’s going to ask me about the Fullerton case. I’m on top of it. He has nothing to worry about.

  “Heard you had a bit of a rough night last night,” he says.

  “Yes,” I say slowly. “There was an incident at my apartment with an intruder.”

  “When you missed our meeting this morning, I asked around and McInroy seemed to be the only one who knew where you were.”

  Shit. I did forget all about that meeting. “I had to go speak with the district attorney. The… uh, intruder didn’t survive our incident.”

  Murrell’s eyes spring wide, then they soften as he sizes me up. It’s creepy as shit. He usually never looks at me directly. His eyes travel back up to mine and then his lips turn down in an impressed smirk. “So it was that kind of incident. Well if anyone could handle themselves in that kind of situation, I’m sure it’s you. You’ve got the fortitude for it.”

  “I’ll ask Deanna for the notes from this morning. Did you have any questions for me?”

  “No,” he shakes his head. “Just checking in. Not like you to miss a meeting. It’s definitely not like you to come into the office in the afternoon, looking like hell worn over.”

  For a moment I forget to bite my tongue. “Yeah, but someone did try to kill me last night. With all the blood, a trip to the ER, some bruises and sprains and having to talk to the cops, it did slip my mind to spend that extra hour in front of the mirror glamming up. I’ll make sure I plan ahead better the next time this happens.” You fucking dick.

  He stares at me for a second, then stands and straightens his jacket. “Yes. Well. As long as you bring your A game to the Fullerton situation. You need this win in your corner.” I mean I guess. Fullerton’s bullshit labor dispute isn’t something I’ll be bragging about at happy hour.

  I stand and hide a wince when I put too much weight on my toe. Murrell catches my show of weakness. Blood in the water. I excuse myself and leave before he realizes that I realize what I’ve done.

  Before I can make it back to my office I run into Scott.

  “Hey,” he says, all cheerful and shit like he wasn't up half the night with me.

  “I have to get back to work.”

  He stops me with a light hand on my wrist, which he drops the moment I look down at his fingers. He's friendly, but I'm sick of people right now.

  “Hey, what did Murrell say?”

  “Did you tell him about Dorrit?” I ask.

  “No. Why? I just told him that you fucking handled a B and E last night. He was pissed no one had heard from you. I figured attempted murder was reason enough for you to be out of the office. What did he say to you? You're shaking.”

  “I'm fine. I'm overcaffeinated.”

  “What did he say?”

  “To stop being a fatalist and get back to work.”

  “What?” Scott says, like he’s shocked. Like he doesn’t know that Murrell is a huge dick.

  “Can you please stop?”

  “What? What did I do?”

  “I just—”

  “Wait. Come here.” He nods toward the corner. “Come here.”

  I roll my eyes and follow him down the hall. Our office has a surprising number of quiet nooks and crannies filled with things like extra copy machines and water coolers. We find a quiet alcove outside of a small conference room no one ever uses. He turns to face me.

  “Talk to me.”

  “Stop acting shocked. Okay?” I say. “I’m accusing a man whose family owns half the wealth in the Northern Hemisphere of trying to kill me. I killed the person he supposedly sent to kill me last night. The cops probably think I just killed a guy and I’m trying to pin it on Dorrit like an actual insane person. Murrell couldn’t give less of a shit if I died. Bringing the Dorrit aspect to his attention would probably give him reason to toss me to the curb just so he doesn't have to deal with the hassle. So I should just go back to work. Right?”

  Scott sighs and runs his fingers through his slicked back hair. Seriously, I can't stand how fresh and well rested he looks. How calm. I want my fucking calm back
.

  “How can I help?” he asks.

  “I don’t think you can. I don’t want to go back to my place. I’m not even sure I should have stayed at your place last night.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Dorrit tried to have me killed, Scott,” I say slowly. “I feel like a fucking broken record and everyone is hearing all the music but that one key part. If it was that serious to Dorrit, you don’t think he’ll try again? I don’t want him to try again. And I don’t want him to hurt you or anyone else.”

  Scott smiles.

  “What?” I say.

  “I’m just thinking about Jeffers calling you a frosty bitch. If he could see you now. You do have a heart, Lewis.”

  “Yeah if only Jeffers wasn’t busy being indicted for fraud. I've always had a heart. I just don't share it with you soulless people.” I let out a deep breath. I know what’s coming. I’ve been through trauma before. I tried to hold Brooklyn’s hand the best I could as she processed our parents’ death in her own way. I tried to be there for Claudia. I know how this goes. It gets worse, so much worse, before it gets better. And that’s if I can get anyone to take this murder for hire situation seriously.

  I swallow and tell Scott the truth. “I’m scared. I'm scared to go back to my place. I'm scared to be alone. I'm scared to be near anyone I care about. I'm scared that my body is gonna wash up in the Hudson some day very soon. And what about Kelsey? I have no clue if something happened to her. I feel like I have to warn her. I need to try and get in touch with her.”

  “I have an idea. Let me look into this.”

  “You don’t—”

  “I want to. Look, I get it. I know how this looks.”

  I stare back at him. He has no fucking idea.

  “I do. There’s all this shit stacked against you. And it is clear that even if anyone believes you, they don’t give a shit. Murrell’s not gonna back you going against Dorrit. Even if he actually gave a shit about any of us as human beings, he’s not backing any Black woman in any cause unless there are a lot of zeroes involved.”