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Of course, once I got onto the street, Mike was leaning against his vehicle. When he saw me, he stood up straighter.
"Mrs. Morgan," he said and nodded.
"Hi, Mike. I'm sorry to bother you. I'm perfectly capable of taking a taxi or the subway. I keep thinking I'm perfectly safe the way I always thought I was and then I see you and reality sets in and I realize I need a bodyguard."
"Sorry to be bad news," he said with a shrug and a small grin. "Best to live in the real world when it comes to safety. Most people don't need a bodyguard, but some do. Try to forget I'm here. I know that's not easy."
I gave my head a shake and pointed down the street. "Do you mind if I walk part of the way, then take the subway the rest? I need some fresh air."
"Suits me fine," he said and adjusted his earpiece. "I like to get some exercise given that I sit a lot of the time."
I set off and walked down 8th Avenue towards the studio. I tried to forget he was behind me, and plugged my earphones in, listening to some classical music while I took in the sights. It felt good to get out and blend into the crowd, to feel the energy of the city around me. I could almost imagine that all was right with my little world.
Almost.
Until I passed a newsstand with newspapers emblazoned with pics of Lisa and Derek side by side and the headline, Accused Billionaire-Killer Stands Trial.
I removed my figurative rose-colored glasses and put on my real sunglasses, hoping that no one recognized that I was her second victim.
* * *
We took the subway the rest of the way and Mike followed me along the street and then up the stairs to the studio. After he checked it out as usual, he left me alone and went back to the street.
It upset me that I couldn't feel safe even in the studio, but Lisa was still able to reach outside of the prison and influence people. Who knew what she might do to try to punish me and Drake even further? She'd been able to convince Jones to kill himself. She had family in Manhattan and they were adamant she was not only innocent, but that Drake and Derek Richardson were evil men who were the ones who should be in jail, not Lisa.
At her first trial, Lisa's older brother had caused a scene, shouting at one of the police officers who had given testimony about Lisa's behavior when she was finally picked up. He had to be forcibly removed from the courtroom. I tried to avoid the trial, but Drake watched coverage and attended court when he could. It was the brother's behavior that convinced him to keep a security detail for us even though Lisa was in prison. When I complained, Drake mentioned Lisa's brother.
"You never know what someone like him might do in anger. He might feel I deserve a beating and come after me. He's a security guard. He's capable of whupping ass."
"Drake Morgan!" I had said in response. "It's not like you to say something like that."
"Just trying to be real," he'd said and gave me a kiss and a pat on my cheek. "I want you safe. I want to be around to enjoy you -- and Sophie -- for a long time."
I gave in and agreed to have a bodyguard whenever I went out alone. Drake had one as well, because he was a target, too. The two of us were no longer anonymous in Manhattan because of the publicity around the trial. It upset me and partially ruined my return to the city in which I was born and had lived all my life, but that was the reality.
I tried to put it out of my mind. I had to push thoughts of the trial, of bodyguards and personal security out of my mind so I could focus on my art.
I wouldn't let Lisa and her nutcase brother make me stop living my life.
* * *
The two hours I allotted myself to work in the studio passed with me barely noticing the time. I made a great deal of progress on the current piece I was working on – a detail of a scene of a watering hole I'd drawn out while in Africa, the animals crouched down around its border, drinking. I don't know why it appealed to me so much, but it did. It spoke of the reliance on water and how the scarcity of it during the dry seasons pushed the animals to their limits, testing their ability to survive in harsh conditions. It seemed like a metaphor for us, Drake and me. We usually had it really good. Drake was wealthy, healthy and intelligent. He was exceptionally well-trained and skilled. Yet, all of that was put to the test when he met Lisa and she almost killed me and put Drake's past in the spotlight. He was losing all the things that made him Drake – his practice in neurosurgery, his fellowship at NYP, his place on the board of the foundation and corporation his father had started. Now, he was a stay-at-home dad living off his wealth rather than fulfilling his personal promise. All because of Lisa Monroe and her erotomania.
Both of us were being tested by these new environmental conditions. In nature, only the strongest and healthiest survived, ensuring a strong and healthy future generation. In the human world, that wasn't the case. Sometimes, it was the worst of us who survived and thrived, if you could call it that, while the best died young. I tried to put Lisa and her acts out of my mind, but she kept creeping in at any time of the day and no matter what I was doing, ruining my otherwise peaceful day.
Damn her.
I couldn't wait until all this passed and Drake and I and Sophia were able to live our lives the way we wanted. That would only happen once the trial was over and Lisa was put in jail for the rest of her life.
I cleaned my brushes and put my canvas away, then locked my space. I sent Mike a text, letting him know I was finished, and left the studio. On the street, he was waiting, his newspaper tucked under his arm.
"Mrs. Morgan," he said when I reached his side.
"Hi, Mike. Ready for a trip home on the subway? I want to get there fast."
"Lead on," he said and waved his arm.
* * *
