Angel’s Promise by Aleatha Romig
Emma
My body quaked with emotions I didn’t welcome—pent-up rage combined with disappointment—as Rett’s grip of my wrist tightened. This was another of those moments when sanity was forgotten. Unwilling to budge or look away, I continued my stare. “My answer is yes.” It hadn’t been when I’d committed to this marriage or even earlier when Rett had asked, but after what had just happened, I was confident.
“Yes?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
“Release me, Rett, unless you have more to prove.”
His grip lessened, but my wrist was still not free. “Yes to what?”
“Do I regret marrying you? I’ve changed my answer to yes.”
Exhaling, he loosened his grip further, his attention going to the faint white line around my wrist. For a moment, his dark stare met mine and then he dropped his hold and tilted his chin toward the door he’d indicated earlier. At the same time a buzzing sound filled the room. Its tinny quality reminded me of the sound coming from an old-fashioned intercom.
Leaving me standing barefooted where I was, Rett began walking toward his desk. With each step, he did as I had done, adjusting himself. While my breasts were now covered, his cock was once again hidden beneath his boxer shorts, his pants were fastened, and his belt buckled. In a matter of the seconds it took him to make the journey from me to his desk, Rett looked nearly as put together as he had when I entered the office.
I said nearly because his longish hair was disheveled. Once Rett reached his destination, he ran his long fingers through the waves. By the focus of his stare, his attention was now on one of the large monitors on his desk.
I watched as he hit a button.
It must have been a speaker because Rett began speaking to someone not present. “What happened? I thought you had plans.”
“Boss.”
I tried to place the voice, but one word wasn’t a lot to work with. I was sure that it was coming from one of Rett’s men. I just wasn’t sure which one. The only one I could eliminate from contention was Ian.
“This news shouldn’t come in a report. You should hear it from me.”
Rett’s dark stare came my way. “Go clean up.”
I crossed my arms over my breasts as I kept my lips together.
In the course of three strides or maybe less, Rett’s long legs had him back to my side of the office. He scooped up my sandals and pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped the evidence of our encounter from the table. Shoving the handkerchief back in his pocket, he returned the chair he’d moved earlier to its proper place. Next, Rett handed me the sandals. “Put these on. Our talk can wait.”
Exhaling, I reached for the sandals. “Call Ian. I want to leave.”
He tilted his head toward the bathroom again.
“Go to hell, Rett. I’m going upstairs and soaking in a hot shower. I know that’s the opposite of what they tell you to do after an assault, but you see, my options are limited, and besides, I have no problem identifying the assailant.” My wedding rings caught my attention as I held the sandals. Pulling both rings from the fourth finger of my left hand, I tossed them onto the cleaned table.
The tendons in my husband’s neck came to life as he clenched his chiseled jaw. Retrieving the rings from the table, he handed them my way and said, “Fucking Christ, Emma. You weren’t assaulted.”
Not taking the rings, I dropped the sandals to the floor. “Call Ian, or when you let whoever that is in the outer office inside, I’m leaving.”
“You won’t make it out of this house.”
Easing each foot into its respective sandal, I shook my head. The crude comment Rett had made was now happening—with each movement, my thighs slid one over the other. However, I refused to acknowledge it, obstinately denying Rett the satisfaction.
My thoughts went to the hot shower and perhaps I’d follow that with a bath.
I stared up at him. “Leaving the house wasn’t my plan. I believe I can find my way back to my suite.”
Rett took a step back, pushing the rings into the pocket of his pants. “Fine. We’ll talk later.”
With my arms again crossed over my breasts, I stood there, waiting as Rett pulled his phone from his other pocket and appeared to send a text message. When he was done, he went to his desk and did whatever needed to be done for the bookcase to move. The man waiting to enter was the same one who was present when I arrived. Dressed in a dark gray suit, he was tall with rich dark skin. By the sparse gray in his black hair, I would assess he was older than Rett, but I couldn’t judge by how much.
As the man stepped into the office, I remembered him from the time Rett brought me here to describe my abduction.
“Mrs. Ramses,” the man said with a nod.
“Emma,” Rett said, “I don’t know if you remember Leon Trahan. He was here the first time you came to this office.”
It seemed as though my husband had the ability to be polite in the presence of others. I could do the same.
Stepping closer to Leon Trahan, I offered my hand. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Trahan.” I turned back to the man across the desk, my tone unconsciously cooling. “I assume you texted Ian. I’ll wait for him in the outer office.” As I started to walk away toward the still-open passageway, I paused and made an effort to consciously contain my disgust or at least keep it from infiltrating my words. “If that is all right with you, Everett?”
“Don’t leave without him.”
What could I reply?
The response that was on the tip of my tongue was closer to fuck you than yes, dear. I chose the third option, a simple nod.
“Boss,” Mr. Trahan said, “this information concerns” —he turned his eyes to me— “you too, Mrs. Ramses.”
Rett gestured to the chairs before his desk, successfully thwarting my escape.
As I complied, I wished that I’d taken the time to go into the bathroom. Instead, I feigned a placid expression and took a seat, thankful that the skirt had a silk lining.
“What is it, Leon?” Rett asked.
“I told you I was going to check on a few things. Before I got far...my brother called.”
Rett sat in his throne-like chair and leaned back. “How does this concern Mrs. Ramses?”
My eyes quickly went to Rett, wondering if this was about the statement he’d mentioned I may be asked to make. Before either of us could ask anything more, Mr. Trahan went on.
“They ain’t releasing the information yet. No one’s supposed to know.”
My husband leaned forward, his interest piqued.
Mr. Trahan turned to me. “Ma’am, my brother, he’s a detective with the New Orleans Police Department.” He nodded. “Just so you know, this is coming from a reliable source. He wouldn’t tell me if it weren’t true.”
Rett’s eyes narrowed. “Or he wanted to know what you know.”
“What did your brother tell you,” I asked.
Mr. Trahan sat in the chair to my side, his body stiff as he began sharing his information. “Judge McBride, he didn’t show up to the courthouse today. According to my brother, the judge had a full docket starting at eleven. He says the judge usually shows up about seven or eight in the morning to go through his schedule and read the briefs for the day’s cases. His assistant said she was concerned, but it wasn’t until she realized it was ten in the morning and he wasn’t there that she started making calls.” His head shook. “She said it just wasn’t like him.”
My pulse sped up, racing through me as I leaned forward. “Did they find him? Is he all right?”
Mr. Trahan’s lips came together. “Well, yes and no, ma’am. They found him. When the judge didn’t answer no one’s calls, they sent a patrol car to his house. The two officers found him in his running car in the garage. He was dead. They’re suspecting it’s carbon monoxide poisoning. Of course, that ain’t official until all the tests come back. Visually, there ain’t no signs of foul play.” His head moved again as he hummed. “Says it looks clean, like he just fell asleep. Thing is, it was near seventy degrees by nine this morning. Ain’t no reason he’d be warming up his car in a garage. The police don’t want no news people snooping about. So, right now, ain’t nobody supposed to know.”
My mind raced with brief memories of the man who was here last night, the man who married us. “Does he have family?” I asked. “Are they okay?”
Mr. Trahan nodded. “His kids are grown; one’s here in New Orleans. Mrs. McBride’s a teacher over in the Fifth Ward. She was already gone to work.” He turned back to Rett. “My brother asked why he was here last night. They found your name on his calendar.”
“There’s nothing illegal about a wedding,” Rett said. “We filed the application yesterday afternoon. There’s a paper trail.” His gaze narrowed. “Did he expect to get something else out of you?”
“No, boss, ’cept here’s the thing. The application is on file, but the marriage certificate is gone.”
“What?” Rett and I asked at the same time.
“The judge,” Mr. Trahan explained, “he emailed a picture of it to his personal assistant. She was planning on filing it first thing this morning. Then the judge didn’t show and now there’s no sign of a certificate. Without the actual signed paper, it seems your marriage is in question.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Rett said as he stood. “The certificate is somewhere.”
“When I told Noel” —Mr. Trahan looked my way— “that’s my brother’s name. Our momma was funny like that. When I told him that Judge McBride performed a wedding, he followed up with the judge’s office. That all checks out. The police went through everything inside the judge’s car, including his pockets and briefcase. Now, they’re waiting on a search warrant to go through his house.
“Anyway, so far, there ain’t no marriage certificate anywhere. Nothing else is missing. Noel said the judge had a couple hundred in cash in his wallet and some more bills in a money clip. He also had plenty of credit cards. It’s all there. Judge McBride had other files in his briefcase. No marriage certificate for Mr. Ramses and Miss O’Brien.”
Rett’s brown orbs turned to me. “We’ll sign another one if we have to. I’ll get my attorneys on this. Don’t worry, Emma, we’ll get it settled.”
Did I want it settled?
Utilizing my recently proclaimed obedience to remaining silent in the presence of others, I relished the fact that I didn’t need to make that question known. Instead, it was definitely something to ponder.
As Rett finished speaking, Ian appeared at the passageway. “Mrs. Ramses?”
Standing, I gave Rett my sincerest smile and turned to Ian. “It seems that it may be back to Miss O’Brien...or let’s say North for the sake of argument.”
“Emma.” Rett’s address cut through the air.
I didn’t turn; instead, I began walking toward Ian.
My forward progress barely allowed me a few steps before my upper arm was seized and I was spun back, dark brown eyes filling my vision. “Emma. We’re married. This will get worked out.”
“Or it won’t.” I shrugged. “Of course, seeing as we’re in the presence of others, I’ll refrain from further discussion until it’s appropriate...Rett. In the meantime, perhaps I’ve been given a second chance to decide my fate. That doesn’t often happen.” I feigned a grin. “Could it be a sign? Maybe, I should engage the services of an attorney as well.” I pulled my arm away from Rett’s grasp. “Now, if it pleases your highness, I’ll take my leave. My busy day awaits.”
“Kyle is still out there, Emma. You’re not leaving this house.”
With a nod, I walked away through the passage and into the outer office as Ian followed. I didn’t slow to let Ian lead. I knew the way to the suites. I’d paid attention last night and again today.
It wasn’t until we were climbing the front stairs that Ian spoke. “I heard Leon when I entered. I’m sorry about the judge, Mrs. Ramses.”
“It is sad.” It was. I could acknowledge that, but this also changed everything from a few minutes before. The marriage I’d decided to regret was now in jeopardy. The future course that only minutes ago had named death as my sole means of escape had been rerouted, now offering alternatives.
Rett was right; Kyle was out in the world.
Was he the only person I should avoid for my safety?
The moisture between my legs was my answer.
Rett was here in this house. I had choices to make and as Ian and I climbed the stairs, I decided that this wasn’t the time to make a rash decision.
I needed my questions answered and time to think.
When Ian and I arrived at the door to my suite, I turned to him. “Ian, I’d like to move some of my things to the third floor. I believe I’ll spend some time upstairs.” Something else occurred to me. “I will also need someone to help me with the handle and lock on the third-floor suite. Can you help me?”
