association received it.” She pauses while Kennedy opens the e-mail and a gasp escapes from her lips. In the half second it takes for her eyes to lock on to the image that stops her heart cold, she knows she’s finished. Kennedy’s face goes white. She stabs at the mouse, shutting the offending window as she mouths to herself, “Oh my God!” Her hand is at her breasts as Kimberlyn clears her throat.
“I’m trying to track Reginald down. Perhaps he can delete it from the mail server, but . . . it may be too late. Everyone’s seen it.”
Kennedy is deteriorating; she witnesses it in her own reflection from the computer screen. The face staring back at her registers severe horror. An image is burned into her retinas: Kennedy’s nude form in the throes of heated lovemaking. The lover in the photo: another woman.
“I’m so sorry, Kennedy. I’ll do what I can to reach the IT guy.”
Kennedy doesn’t turn when Kimberlyn leaves, closing the door quickly behind her. She remains still in front of her computer, not breathing, as if catching the breath in her throat will somehow erase this obscene incident that has her doubled over in pain. A moment passes before she exhales. Then she calls up the offending e-mail.
There it is.
No text. Just three images, one atop another, all of her and the woman in vibrant color and crystal clear, completely nude and sexually explicit.
Nothing left to the imagination.
Old photos, close to four years ago, from an encounter she and Michael had with a woman in Belize. Kennedy hastily deletes the e-mail and turns to reach for her phone. A knock at the door breaks the cacophony inside her mind. She ignores the noise and instead speed-dials Michael. Her door opens and Jackson Blair, executive director of the association, walks in. His face is grave as he shuts the door behind him, taking a seat across from her.
He shakes his head morosely before speaking.
“This is bad.” Jackson lets the weight of his statement sink in before continuing. “As far as we can tell, the pictures have been mailed to a number of colleagues outside NAUD.”
“WHAT? HOW?” Kennedy is numb. Her entire body vibrates with fear.
“Unknown.” Jackson’s voice is steady. “We’re looking into that as we speak. The first order of business is damage control. Right now it’s got us shut down.”
“Oh God.” Her head is in her hands. Jackson stands.
“I’m sorry, Kennedy. Your personal business should be of no concern to us. But this”—he holds his hands wide and gestures toward the ceiling—“this . . . is tricky . As an attorney, you know better than most how these things can be misconstrued. So let us deal with it. Right now I need you to go home and wait to hear from me before doing anything rash. Okay?”
Kennedy is rising now, grabbing her purse, her BlackBerry, and her coat from the rack in the corner. She moves past Jackson, who pats her shoulder lightly, but the action does nothing to console her. He says nothing further. Words cannot comfort her now.
In an instant, Kennedy’s world has shattered.
She heads toward the stairs. It takes every ounce of strength she can muster to will her legs to move. All eyes are upon her. It’s a dream, Kennedy tells herself as she shuffles along the low gray carpet, eyes downcast, feeling the stares bore into her like deep puncture wounds.
It’s a nightmare, and the silence is deafening.
Chapter 16
The call goes immediately to voice mail. So Kennedy dials Michael’s work number instead. A receptionist picks up.
“Is he in?” Kennedy pants, seemingly out of breath.
“I’m sorry. Mr. Handley is in a meeting,” she says with a hint of attitude.
Kennedy is in no mood.
“This is his wife, and it’s an emergency. I need you to go get him out of the meeting. Now. I’ll hold.”
Kennedy drops her BlackBerry onto the passenger seat as she steers around a taxicab. It’s double-parked, most likely to pick up a fare. Amazingly, the taxi
“I’m trying to track Reginald down. Perhaps he can delete it from the mail server, but . . . it may be too late. Everyone’s seen it.”
Kennedy is deteriorating; she witnesses it in her own reflection from the computer screen. The face staring back at her registers severe horror. An image is burned into her retinas: Kennedy’s nude form in the throes of heated lovemaking. The lover in the photo: another woman.
“I’m so sorry, Kennedy. I’ll do what I can to reach the IT guy.”
Kennedy doesn’t turn when Kimberlyn leaves, closing the door quickly behind her. She remains still in front of her computer, not breathing, as if catching the breath in her throat will somehow erase this obscene incident that has her doubled over in pain. A moment passes before she exhales. Then she calls up the offending e-mail.
There it is.
No text. Just three images, one atop another, all of her and the woman in vibrant color and crystal clear, completely nude and sexually explicit.
Nothing left to the imagination.
Old photos, close to four years ago, from an encounter she and Michael had with a woman in Belize. Kennedy hastily deletes the e-mail and turns to reach for her phone. A knock at the door breaks the cacophony inside her mind. She ignores the noise and instead speed-dials Michael. Her door opens and Jackson Blair, executive director of the association, walks in. His face is grave as he shuts the door behind him, taking a seat across from her.
He shakes his head morosely before speaking.
“This is bad.” Jackson lets the weight of his statement sink in before continuing. “As far as we can tell, the pictures have been mailed to a number of colleagues outside NAUD.”
“WHAT? HOW?” Kennedy is numb. Her entire body vibrates with fear.
“Unknown.” Jackson’s voice is steady. “We’re looking into that as we speak. The first order of business is damage control. Right now it’s got us shut down.”
“Oh God.” Her head is in her hands. Jackson stands.
“I’m sorry, Kennedy. Your personal business should be of no concern to us. But this”—he holds his hands wide and gestures toward the ceiling—“this . . . is tricky . As an attorney, you know better than most how these things can be misconstrued. So let us deal with it. Right now I need you to go home and wait to hear from me before doing anything rash. Okay?”
Kennedy is rising now, grabbing her purse, her BlackBerry, and her coat from the rack in the corner. She moves past Jackson, who pats her shoulder lightly, but the action does nothing to console her. He says nothing further. Words cannot comfort her now.
In an instant, Kennedy’s world has shattered.
She heads toward the stairs. It takes every ounce of strength she can muster to will her legs to move. All eyes are upon her. It’s a dream, Kennedy tells herself as she shuffles along the low gray carpet, eyes downcast, feeling the stares bore into her like deep puncture wounds.
It’s a nightmare, and the silence is deafening.
Chapter 16
The call goes immediately to voice mail. So Kennedy dials Michael’s work number instead. A receptionist picks up.
“Is he in?” Kennedy pants, seemingly out of breath.
“I’m sorry. Mr. Handley is in a meeting,” she says with a hint of attitude.
Kennedy is in no mood.
“This is his wife, and it’s an emergency. I need you to go get him out of the meeting. Now. I’ll hold.”
Kennedy drops her BlackBerry onto the passenger seat as she steers around a taxicab. It’s double-parked, most likely to pick up a fare. Amazingly, the taxi
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