Forever After: Book Five in the Unrestrained Series Read online

  I hoped I was imagining things, and that my sense of how it could go was wrong.

  Finally, a couple of minutes later, Detective McDonald came around the corner and nodded at the two of us.

  “Come right this way,” he said to Lara and then tilted his head towards me.

  He was joined by Detective St. James as he led us down a couple of hallways to an interview room in the interior of the building. It was small, with no windows. There was a lone table in the room with two chairs on one side and two on the other. Lara and I went behind the table and took our seats. McDonald and St. James sat down across from us.

  “First of all, thank you for agreeing to come down and speak with us further, Dr. Morgan,” he said and flipped open a file. “We want to ask you a few questions, clarify what happened the day your wife was attacked.”

  “No problem,” I said, although there was a big problem, as far as I was concerned. “I’m at your disposal.” I held my hands out, and then folded them, trying to relax and not look as frustrated as I felt.

  “Good. First thing, I want to say that we spoke with your wife yesterday and went over her statement once again, to clarify a few things. Very routine and nothing to be concerned about. The same applies in this case. We’re just making sure we have everything right.”

  I nodded, impatient for him to start the real questions.

  “First, I want to show you these," he said and flipped open a file. Inside was a stack of papers that looked like the printout of emails. "Can you identify the email address and contents?"

  I glanced at the first three. They were from a Yahoo account. DMorganMD and were dated during the past two years. I read a few over. Intensely romantic and using a lot of terminology from the lifestyle – limits, submission, punishment, obedience. One demanded that she did certain things to prove her willingness to follow orders.

  I want you on your knees, Lisa, blindfolded, waiting for me when I come to you. Naked. Wet. I’m going to push your boundaries tonight. Every single one. As soon as I can get away from her, I’ll be there and I want you ready for me. Every hole in your body open and ready for me. In every way…

  These were all things a Dom might do as part of training a sub, but they were completely fabricated. I hated that they had shown the fake emails to Kate. That was the very last thing she needed, given her delicate mental state.

  Then I found one email that contained texts from one of my letters written as guidelines for my new subs.

  Your naked skin is sensitive now, exposed to the ambient temperature change. The silk of your pillow is cool against your calves as you sit waiting. A cool breeze wafts in from your open window, and your nipples pucker. You think of my mouth on them, my tongue wet and warm, and a stab of lust flows through you.

  My key clicks in the lock, the door creaking open, my footsteps loud on the hardwood floor, the thunk thunk as I remove my boots.

  I open the refrigerator and remove the bottle of vodka you keep just for me, pour the liquid in a shot glass, and then my lips smack in satisfaction. It's my favorite Russian vodka infused with anise, called Anisovaya. I have only one shot, for I must keep my mind clear so I am in total control of everything – you, the scene, and most of all, myself.

  Then, the zhrrr of a zipper and the swish of fabric sounds so loud. Your body tenses for a moment as you anticipate my next move.

  My pulse increased. She'd copied the letters and included them in emails from me. Like she wished I had written them for her.

  Did she do this to incriminate me? Or did she write these emails and create this fake account because she wished it were true?

  Either way, she was insane.

  "These aren't my emails. I never wrote these," I said and threw the letters onto the table.

  "They're from an account with your name, signed with your name. We found them at her apartment."

  "I didn’t write them. I mean, I wrote some of this, but she copied it from material I posted on a private website. I’m sure if you do some forensic work, you'll see."

  "We're doing it as we speak," St. James said, a note of gloating in his voice. "We'll know what IP address was used to send those, so if you sent them from work or from home, we'll know."

  "I didn’t send them. You won't find anything."

  St. James shrugged. "We want to ask you to go over your relationship with Ms. Monroe. When did you meet her, how did you meet, what was your relationship with her.”

  I sighed and then re-told the same chronicle of events I told them in the hospital – that I met Lisa through her then-Dominant, who was a voyeur and liked to watch her with other men. I had two encounters with her on separate evenings over the course of six months. That was it until she showed up in my Fellowship course the previous year.

  McDonald seemed satisfied with my account up till then.

  “So, nothing transpired between the two of you between the time you last saw her at the mansion in Yonkers and when you saw her again at New York University for orientation to the Fellowship program, where she was one of the students?”

  “Yes,” I said and nodded. “I never saw her socially between then.”

  “But after, when you discovered she was a resident in the program, you did see her socially? Is that when you sent these letters?”

  “I never sent her any letters. I only ever saw her as part of the course,” I said, trying to correct him. “We held group social events every week – drinks after work was finished. The occasional dinner at a local pub that many of the residents and faculty frequent. That was it.”

  “What about at the hospital?”

  “We had coffee on occasion in the break room, but that could be said of any number of residents and the other Fellow in the program.”

  “So you didn’t seek her out or invite her to do anything social with you?”

  I shook my head. “Not at all. In fact, I tried to avoid her.”

  “Why?” he asked, frowning. “Were you uncomfortable with the fact you had a previous sexual relationship with her?”

  I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “I was newly married, had a wife who was expecting, and I didn’t want her to get any ideas. When I learned she was in the program, I decided to pull out and postpone my Fellowship for a year to avoid her. I even went to Fred Parker, the head of the program, and told him of my intention, but he talked me out of it.”

  McDonald nodded. “Yes,” he said and glanced down at his notes. “We spoke to Dr. Parker and he confirmed that you did, in fact, come to him to try to pull out.”

  That made me feel somewhat better. Fred corroborated my statement. That had to show the detectives that I felt concerned and uncomfortable with her being in the program, but was talked out of withdrawing.

  “So, Dr. Morgan, tell me about any time that you and Dr. Monroe were alone.”

  I thought back to our encounters. “Do you mean alone in the hallways? Or alone in an office?”

  “Either,” McDonald said.

  “We would often walk down the hallways together after morning rounds. She came into my office a couple of times, but I always quickly tried to get her to leave, using excuses like I had to make a phone call, that sort of thing.”

  “You actively tried to not be alone with her?”

  I nodded. “Yes,” I said and took in a deep breath. “I had the sense that she expected more from me because of our past relationship and I didn’t want to give her the wrong impression. I wasn’t interested or available. Period.”

  “And how did she react to your attempts to rebuff her? Did she accept them or did she seem upset?”

  I sighed. “She seemed upset. She kept reminding me that we had been intimate previously and that we should be able to be friends and colleagues. I told her that we were colleagues but not friends. I said I didn’t need friends. I had enough already.”

  “And she didn’t agree?”

  “No,” I said, crossing my legs. “She threatened to tell everyone of our past, and of my involvement in BD
SM, if I wasn’t friendly with her. If I didn’t do the kind of things I would do with any other resident in the Fellowship program.”

  “And how did you respond to this threat?”

  I shrugged. “How could I respond?” I shook my head. “I’m not embarrassed by my participation in BDSM, but I’m aware of how sensitive it is and how many people have certain preconceptions about those people who are involved in the lifestyle.”

  McDonald nodded, but his face gave nothing away. He merely flipped a page or two in his file. I would have loved to be able to read his notes, to see what he had written down and what evidence he had about me. McDonald didn’t speak for a moment, then he glanced up at me.

  “So you claim that she threatened to reveal your past involvement in BDSM to Dr. Parker? Your colleagues?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I knew that I’d have to quit at that point and so I spoke with my wife about withdrawing--.”

  “When did you first speak with your wife about Dr. Monroe?”

  “Not right away,” I said, although I had regretted troubling Kate with the whole business. “I waited until after our wedding. Then, we had Christmas. To tell you the truth, Lisa stopped bothering me for a while, so I thought it would all blow over. I told Kate about Dr. Monroe after Christmas and she encouraged me to stay in the program. That it would be a shame if I was to withdraw because of her.”

  McDonald shook his head. “What do you think of that decision now?” he asked.

  I frowned and Lara leaned forward. “Detective,” she said. “We’re not going to second-guess his decision at this point. He spoke to his wife, they agreed that he’d continue in the program. It wasn’t Dr. Morgan’s fault that Dr. Monroe is delusional or an outright sociopath.”

  “Fair enough,” McDonald said and shrugged. He turned a page in his file. “So tell me about any time you were alone outside of the hospital. I understand from your previous statement that you were alone with her on two occasions.”

  I thought back to those two times we were alone. “The first was when I drove her home because she was very drunk at one of our after-work parties at the local pub. She had pretty much threatened me in front of my colleagues. I probably shouldn’t have offered to take her home but I didn’t want her blurting out private details about our sexual encounters in front of the other residents. I thought I could talk some sense into her on the way home.”

  “And did you?” McDonald asked, his eyebrows raised.

  “Obviously not,” I said. “She continued to harass me, and told me she would be upset if I tried to avoid her. I did my best. I decided once more to withdraw, but Kate,” I said and then corrected myself, “my wife, talked me out of it.”

  McDonald flipped another page. “And the second time you recall being alone with Dr. Monroe outside of the hospital?”

  I leaned back and took in a deep breath. “She asked me to give her a ride home and if I would help her install a flat screen TV she had purchased. I didn’t want to, but when I declined, she reminded me that we were supposed to be friends. That a friend would help another friend install a flat screen TV. I decided to go ahead.”

  “And what happened?”

  I sighed. “I drove her home, and we went up to her apartment. She showed me the flat screen. I installed it – she had it pretty much ready, but couldn’t lift it on her own. I had my back to the room, and when I turned around, she was dressed in something revealing and tried to kiss me.”

  “What did you do in response?”

  “I rejected her, pushing her away. She persisted and tried to undo my belt buckle, but at that point, I opened the door and left.”

  “How did she respond to that?”

  “I thought she finally got the message,” I said and remembered back to that next week. “She seemed to avoid me but then, once again, she began insisting that I be friendly with her. I finally went to see Fred Parker, the program director and told him it was either her or me. I had to quit because she crossed the line.

  “What did he say?”

  I shook my head. “He didn’t want me to quit. I told him what she did and he said that he felt she wasn’t stable enough to continue in the program. He told me that he’d tell her she had to withdraw or they would expel her.”

  “What happened next?”

  “You already know,” I said. “She was hanging around my office and must have heard me talking to Kate, to my wife. I mentioned that she was walking along 5th Avenue to Central Park. Dr. Monroe must have decided to go and find her after she was expelled, with the intent of either confronting Kate or attacking her.”

  “What else can you remember of that encounter?” he asked. “You didn’t say anything to her about her withdrawing from the program?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said, “but I knew that I had to do something. She wasn't getting the picture as far as our relationship was concerned. I had to withdraw because I was fed up with her threats and tired of rebuffing her.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I went to see Fred to withdraw. He talked me out of it. I went back to work. I received a call later that afternoon that Kate had been hit by a car and was being rushed to the hospital. To NYU hospital where I was working. I rushed down to the emergency room to wait. That was it.”

  “Did you think at the time that she had been hit by Dr. Monroe?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said and shook my head vehemently. “Not at all. I didn’t suspect Dr. Monroe until Fred called and apologized. He put two and two together before I did. He felt responsible because he’d expelled Dr. Monroe from the program only hours earlier.”

  “But you didn’t suspect?”

  “Frankly, I was too upset to even think of causes. All I knew was that my wife had been hit by a car and was bleeding and that her pregnancy was at risk. I watched the operation on the video screen while they performed an emergency C-section and tried to save my wife’s life. It was only when Fred called me later and told me that he was afraid it was Dr. Monroe that I even thought about Lisa being the one who hit her. I had no idea otherwise. It never crossed my mind. I was too busy worrying about Kate dying to think about who did it.”

  McDonald rubbed his jaw as if considering. He looked over a sheet of paper and then glanced up at me.

  “Dr. Morgan, we’d like to know where you were on the following dates. They’re in the past few years, so I’ll ask that you try to account for your whereabouts and get back to us as soon as possible.”

  He handed me a sheet of paper with a list of type-written dates on it. There were fifteen in total, ranging back five years. I looked it over and folded it up, tucking it into my jacket pocket.

  “I’ll check my calendar at work and my personal calendar.”

  “Thank you,” McDonald said and stood. He extended his hand and I realized it was time for us to leave. “I appreciate your cooperation.”

  Both Lara and I stood and I offered my hand. “Tell me, Detective,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “Am I still a suspect?”

  He stood, his hands on his hips, and tilted his head to the side.

  “I can’t comment on that now,” he said, his voice patient. “But you get that list back to us as soon as possible so we can conclude our investigation and make sure Mrs. Morgan gets the justice she deserves, okay?"

  He looked me in the eye, and I thought I saw sympathy, as if he didn’t believe I was guilty.

  “Thank you,” I said and Lara and I left.

  “Stay in Manhattan, Dr. Morgan.” St. James said crisply. “Once we get your response to that list, and corroborate it, we may need to speak with you again.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said and waved him off. “We’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

  Lara turned to me, a look on her face that was hard to describe. A mixture of frustration and disbelief.

  "What's that look?" I said, following Lara out of the precinct. We stood on the sidewalk and she turned to me.

  "Total disbelief tha
t Lisa was that crazy to create a fake account and send herself letters from you."

  "I know," I said. "Who would have thought?"

  The limo driver opened our door and the two of us slid inside. Lara glanced at me, her expression one of concern.

  “Let me see that list,” she said after she finished buckling her seatbelt. “We’ll stop by my office and I’ll get my assistant to copy it and check it out against known concerts and dungeon parties.”

  “You may want to add on Doctors Without Borders events as well. I’ll check Mersey’s schedule, to see when we played.”

  “And afterwards,” Lara said and tucked the paper into her bag. “We’re going out to get drunk.”

  “You think so?” I said, not sure if I wanted to leave Kate alone for so long with Sophia. “I probably should go home to be with Kate.”

  “Kate can wait,” Lara said. “You need at least one drink after that.”

  I nodded, feeling like a shot of vodka or three might do me good.

  As we drove off, I still had a bad feeling about my situation and seeing those letters hadn’t dissipated it.

  Chapter 8 : Kate

  Drake arrived home much later than I expected. “How did it go?” I asked, carrying Sophie with me to the door to greet him. Sophie was a bit fussy, and had been hard to pacify.

  Drake removed his jacket, an expression of concern on his face.

  “Well enough, but it’s hard to say.”

  I leaned up to kiss him, and could smell the vodka even before our lips met.

  “Hmm, vodka,” I said with a smile. “Looks like someone needed a drink.”

  “I did,” Drake said and fumbled with his shoes, leaning against the closet door like he was a bit dizzy. “Lara wouldn’t take no for an answer. You know what she’s like.”

  “I do,” I said, trying to keep a grin off my face, but Drake a bit tipsy was always amusing. “She’s a dominatrix for a reason.”

  He nodded and when he was finished, he tucked his shoes into the closet, and closed the door.

  He turned to me and reached for Sophie, but I pulled her away slightly.