Vortex by Catherine Coulter

Alex and Kent

East Sixty-Seventh Street

New York City

Thursday evening

Alex opened his front door, frowned at Kent, looked down at his Piaget watch. “What’s going on with you? Why did you call? You know I’m busy with the campaign. What is it?”

Kent stepped in, forcing Alex back. “We need to talk. Now. I wasn’t about to do it over the phone.”

Alex had never seen Kent look so upset. “All right, I can guess what this is about. It’s that bitch reporter, isn’t it? What did she do now?”

Kent followed Alex numbly into his newly redecorated black-and-white living room. It was signature Pamela, the walls stark white to match the carpet, the furniture all black, the only splashes of color a single blood-red pillow on the black leather sofa and the orange flames shooting up in the hearth. Even the paintings on the walls were lined up like soldiers, all of them white with a single black streak across the middle that lined up perfectly with the next canvas. Kent couldn’t look at them, they made him mildly nauseated. Alex claimed he liked the new look, but Kent didn’t believe him. Standing in this room Kent felt like the life was being leached out of him. He took off his coat, tossed it over the back of the sofa, and sat down. He picked up the red pillow, began fretting with the fringe. He managed to say calmly enough, “Not only the reporter. I couldn’t believe it, Alex. She brought Juliet to my office. Juliet!”

Alex eyed him. Kent looked pale, shaky. “Juliet? You’ve got to be kidding me. What did she want?”

Kent sat forward, squeezed the pillow between his hands. “They know, Alex, they know everything. They even claimed there was an FBI agent waiting outside.”

Alex felt a punch to the gut, but he wasn’t about to let Kent see it. He shrugged, looked dismissive. “Get a grip on yourself, that’s impossible. So Briscoe got Juliet to come to New York. Now, that does surprise me. Pleasant, shy, nonconfrontational Juliet. Wonders never cease. So what did she say to you, Kent? Wait up a minute, you need a drink first. You look like you’ve been shot.” Alex turned and walked to the glossy black sideboard, splashed whiskey into two glasses. He handed one to Kent, tapped his glass.

Kent downed the two fingers of whiskey in one gulp, savored the jolt of heat in his gut, and leaned back against the leather sofa. He hated he was afraid, hated it. He closed his eyes and saw Aolith—her face blurry from passing time—but there she was, excited, laughing up at him. Then he saw Mia Briscoe’s bruised face. His eyes flew open and he jerked forward. He saw Alex had moved to stand behind a winged chair, his whiskey in his left hand, looking impatient. With him? Of course with him.

Kent said, “Mia had bruises on her face, Alex; it was obvious she’d been hurt. I couldn’t believe it when she asked me which of us tried to run her over last night, you or me.”

Alex jerked back. “What? Run her down? That’s ridiculous. Sure, I saw the bruises. She told me it was an accident, most likely some drunk. Now she’s accusing one of us of trying to kill her? Why would either of us do that? That’s beyond stupid, it’s crazy. Kent, I’m running for mayor of New York City!”

He looked both insulted and disbelieving. Was Alex that good an actor? Kent could never be sure if Alex was telling the truth since they were three years old. He remembered the first girl Alex had roofied as a lark at Bennington. She was sixteen years old and her nickname was Perky. She’d been unconscious for eighteen hours, and it scared the crap out of everyone. But not Alex. Not that he let on anyway. When she surfaced, she didn’t remember a thing. Alex had calmly told Kent what he’d done then, that now he knew to use a smaller dose. The two of them could have at it, a banquet lay spread out in front of them. And Kent had gone along. No, Kent could never be sure if Alex was telling the truth. But to try to kill Mia Briscoe? Could he be that reckless?

Alex said finally, “So somehow Briscoe got Juliet to come to New York, got her to come see you. Tell me exactly what happened. And don’t tell me Juliet threatened to go public, accuse us.”

“She’s not the Juliet we knew two years ago, Alex.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“She was calm, angry at me, at you, for what we did to her. She seemed strong, more determined.”

“So she put on a good show, what with the reporter there propping her up.” Alex smirked. “It doesn’t matter; at her core Juliet is the same. Who she is will never change. I know she couldn’t handle going public, no way could she stand up to what would happen next. Her pleasant little world would crumble around her. Her career would go down the toilet. You know she’d never subject her parents to that kind of scandal.”

“You didn’t see her, Alex, you didn’t hear her speak.”

Alex actually laughed. “Juliet knows very well what I’d do if she went public. I’d tell the world she’s a bitter, vengeful woman and this is her revenge for my dumping her. I’d bury her, Kent, blow up her world. Don’t doubt it. I know she doesn’t.” He paused a moment, searched Kent’s face. “All right, tell me exactly what Juliet said to you.”

Was that worry Kent finally heard lurking under the bravado? “She accused me to my face of raping her, Alex, and she asked me why I did it. She said she knew why you’d raped her, for revenge, to humiliate her. Did you want her to remember, Alex? Did you lighten the roofie so you’d be able to look at her and smile later, knowing she wouldn’t say a word?”

Alex saluted him with his glass. “You have me there. Juliet was always about herself—just listen to me play, listen to all the people applaud me and worship me.” He took another sip of whiskey, shook his head. “You want the truth about Juliet? I thought she was a beautiful cow, exquisite to look at, like a beautiful painting to be admired, nothing more, but boring to be with, and as uptight as her mother. She and that ridiculous piano she polished herself every frigging day. What we did to her—it served its purpose. Don’t try to tell me now you didn’t want her, that you didn’t enjoy that gorgeous body. You had her two times.”

Kent said nothing.

Alex stepped away from the fireplace, looked off in the distance. He wondered again how Briscoe had gotten Juliet to New York. He’d have sworn Juliet would take what he and Kent did to her to the grave. He’d never underestimate Briscoe again. Briscoe had taken Juliet to see Kent first because she’d read him, seen what he was, and she’d used Juliet to frighten the spit out of him, hoping he’d break. And there he was, sitting in Alex’s living room, a scared little boy. Alex raised his glass and toasted it toward Kent, a smile playing on his mouth. He remembered taking Juliet, seeing how pliable she’d been. He remembered kissing her hard, biting her lip, not caring if he hurt her.

Kent said, “If she did go public, it would end your campaign. You’d be blackballed at the slightest hint from her of what we did.”

Alex said, “True enough. And yes, my parents would hate that, but they’d believe what I tell them, Kent. They’d back me to the hilt, particularly my father, and he’s the one who counts. Of course there wouldn’t be a trial, there’d only be speculation, and sooner or later it would all die down. You know as well as I do my family has the power and the money to spin anything Juliet accused me of. So stop your worrying, I don’t think she’ll say a word publicly. Not the Juliet then, not the Juliet now.”

He watched Kent worry the pillow fringe some more. How could he be so weak, like a hysterical woman? Alex took another small drink of his whiskey. “Kent, think about it. Even if Juliet did accuse us, Briscoe’s paper couldn’t print anything she said except as an allegation, without proof. And there is no proof and there never will be.” Still, he had to give Briscoe credit, figuring out what happened to Juliet, but he knew the only reason she’d been able to was those damned photos. She’d somehow put it together.

He said, “Briscoe somehow managed to get Juliet down here hoping to frighten you, to manipulate you into panicking, maybe even confessing.”

“I didn’t. I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about.”

Could he believe him? Alex said, his voice very quiet now, “Good. Because they went to you hoping to turn you against me, to put us at odds. Don’t you understand? If they had any evidence, they wouldn’t have approached you. Why would they?”

Kent sat forward. “You still don’t understand; what I’ve told you isn’t the half of it. Alex, listen to me, the Boston FBI has impounded the Jag you gave Pamela’s sister, Belinda, the one you drove to Godwyn seven years ago. They’re going to look for her DNA—Aolith’s. Her name was really Serena, and she was Briscoe’s best friend. She said they’ll find traces of blood in the trunk or maybe a hair and they’ll have her DNA.”

Alex felt a punch of gut-cramping fear, shook it off. Why hadn’t Kent told him this already? Because he was an idiot, always confusing pythons with garden snakes. Who cared about Briscoe’s accident, or about that pathetic Juliet? It always amazed him Kent was so successful in business. Patience, he had to have patience. But there was no way he would let Kent be a loose cannon. He went into what he thought of as his “Kent mode.” He kept his voice deep and soothing. “Calm down, Kent. I haven’t heard a word from Belinda, and believe me, she’d have called me if someone took her car, or she’d have called Pamela.”

“They must have ordered her not to tell you. Or maybe she doesn’t know. You know Pam and her little sister don’t get along all that well, given how Belinda is always eyeing you, so I’ll bet she didn’t tell her.”

“Look, I had the Jag detailed after we got back from Pennsylvania seven years ago and a few times since then, and once again when I gave it to Belinda. There won’t be any DNA, they won’t find anything in that car. It’s a bluff. How did they even know about the Jag?”

“Briscoe said they found a photo taken that night outside at the rave. Your Jag was in it, with the license plate.”

Alex laughed again, and Kent saw the hint of contempt, for him. He wanted to put his fist in that arrogant face.

“Kent, you’re not thinking logically. There’s a big difference between being at a rave and killing someone. So they know we were there. That’s not a crime.”

“I told them I’d never been to Godwyn, so they know I lied.”

Alex shrugged. “So you forgot. Who’d remember a dippy rave after seven years? Even if they say you lied, that’s not a crime, either. You weren’t under oath. Out of the blue, these two women were attacking you, you were understandably flustered. Don’t forget it was seven years ago. You went to a freaking party. And that’s all. You should have told them to call your lawyer and ordered them out of your office.”

Kent stared at him, listened to his smooth dismissive tone, and for the first time, the curtains parted. It hurt to say the words, but he did. “What you’re saying is that Briscoe brought Juliet to me because they think I’m the weak link.”

Of course you are, you idiot. You’re only now realizing it? Alex shook his head. “You’re a good businessman, Kent. Think of this as a business crisis. You examine the facts, weigh the risks, the pros and cons, the possible fallout. Use your skills, like always, Kent.”

Kent studied his friend’s face, so arrogant, so certain he was smarter than anyone else. Was he even capable of seeing what could happen? They could both be destroyed, even end up in prison, despite all their money and influence. Kent shook his head. “No, Alex, it’s not the same thing at all. This isn’t a freaking business problem. If my father finds out about Juliet, and there’s any publicity, an official investigation, and there could be, he’ll have me removed from my position. It’s not just your bloody campaign, it’s my career, my life. And that’s not all. They’ll be looking at charging us with murder.”

“Murder? Tell me all of it, Kent.”

“Briscoe said they’re getting a warrant for our cell phone records. I remember you called Alan and we drove to Philadelphia—after—and we stayed with him that night. What if they interview him? What if he tells them we arrived with dirt all over us? Did you tell him what we’d done? Did you?”

“Of course not.” Alex gave an elegant shrug. “Don’t worry about Alan. Sure they keep cell phone records. We live in a big brother world now. So if we must, we admit that yes, we were in the area. But there’s no way they could pinpoint where we were seven years ago closely enough to help them find her body. It’s another bluff.” He rose from his chair and poured Kent more whiskey. “Drink up and relax, okay?” He remained quiet until Kent had downed his second glass, gave another little shudder. “You shouldn’t have let that bitch get to you, Kent. Sounds like she played you like a violin. Murder, that’s ludicrous. There was no murder. It was an unfortunate accident, that’s all it was.”

Kent clearly saw the moment Alex hit Serena’s head with his fist, remembered her falling down, remembered carrying her between them out to the Jag. He remembered the moment he realized she was dead and Alex had calmly tossed her into the trunk. If only Aolith hadn’t seen Alex put the roofie in her glass. If only— Kent shut it down, he couldn’t bear to hear her voice, see her face, her lifeless body. He took another drink, let himself relax into the whiskey’s pulsing warmth. Could Alex be right? Could it all be a bluff? He said nothing, leaned his head back against the sofa again, closed his eyes. It felt cold and expensive, smelled almost alive. He heard Alex get up, heard more whiskey splashing into his glass. Kent started to drink, realized he had to stop or he wouldn’t be able to think clearly. When he opened his eyes, he saw Alex was leaning against the mantelpiece, stark white Italian marble that cost a small fortune.

Kent got slowly to his feet. He eyed his lifelong friend. “I told you, they said an FBI agent was waiting outside. To make a deal with me. They wanted me to throw you under the bus.”

Alex’s heart skipped a beat. “Which, of course, you’d never do, right?”

“Of course not, but you’re making light of everything. The FBI is involved, Alex. Briscoe is relentless, and now they’ve got Juliet.” He looked around the living room. “And why did you let Pamela turn your living room into this soulless pit of hell?”

“What?” Alex took a step forward. “What did you say?”

Kent only shook his head. “Nothing, not important, it’s the whiskey, I guess. They said I’ve lived my life under your thumb, that I’ve done pretty much everything you’ve told me to do. That I’ve always been second to you.”

Of course you have, you pathetic piece of crap.Alex put humor in his voice. “Not a bad strategy, trying to set us against each other. They probably flipped a coin, and that’s why they came to you. But we’ve always been too close for that, nearly brothers.”

Kent said more to himself than to Alex, “I’m a successful, respected businessman in New York City. Our profits are up, and that’s because of me, no one else. I’m not second to anyone.”

Alex kept his voice soothing. “Of course not. Everyone knows what an excellent job you’ve done. And you’re my best friend. We’ve been together, done everything together, all our lives, two halves of a whole.

“Go home, Kent, get some rest. There’s nothing for you to do now but hunker down, make sure there’s nothing incriminating on your cell phone or your computer. Get yourself your own lawyers, don’t ever speak to the reporter or Juliet again. We’ll get through this together, Kent. We always have.”

Kent said slowly, “I never asked you, never had the nerve. I remember you were so angry when Jordan Jeffers ripped your ear with his lacrosse stick at Bennington, tore it in two. I always wondered, did you run him down? Did you try to kill him, Alex?”

Alex looked directly into Kent’s eyes. “I cannot believe you’d ask me that. Do you think I’m a monster? I had nothing to do with his accident.”

Kent didn’t believe him, not for an instant. He felt sober as a judge, and the sober judge saw a cliff coming up fast. He said slowly, “For the first time in our lives, Alex, I really see you. You never really cared about me, you can’t care about anyone. You needed me to play your wingman, you needed someone to lord over.

“I saw seven years ago exactly what you were, but I refused to accept it. I felt horrible about what happened to Aolith, how we dumped her into that grave, how you killed her. You didn’t care, you had no remorse. All you felt was irritation she’d had the nerve to die and you didn’t get a chance to have sex with her. And we never talked about her, once she was under all that dirt. She no longer existed for you. I’ve never forgotten her.”

Kent grabbed his coat, walked to the arched doorway, and turned. “I’m going to be looking after myself now, Alex, doing what’s best for me. I won’t be voting for you, by the way. If you make it that far.”

Alex stood motionless, the blazing fire behind him hot on his back. He heard the front door open and close.