by Laura Kenner
Bergeron pulled his Porsche into the flow of traffic with more speed than was called for. Will managed to tail him without undue notice until Bergeron hit the on-ramp to the interstate. The attorney demonstrated the Porsche’s celebrated acceleration ability by hitting the top of the ramp doing 110 miles per hour.
Will didn’t stand a chance.
He smacked the steering wheel with the heel of his hand as he watched the Porsche weave between cars and fade from sight
You poor bastard.
Saturday, the wee hours of the morning
SARA TRIED HARD NOT TO look at the phone. A watched phone responded to the same logic as a watched pot; the harder you stared at it, the longer it would take to boil.
Or ring.
Especially after midnight.
She decided a cup of tea would best soothe her jangled nerves, and prophetically, the teakettle and the phone sounded at the same moment In the process of silencing one to hear over the other, she burned her hand.
“Ow…Damn it…Hello?”
“Sara?”
“Raymond?”
“No…” There was a long pause. “It’s Will Riggs.”
“Oh…” Her heart wedged itself in her throat. “So? What happened?”
There was a second protracted silence, during which Will spoke volumes.
Her heart unwedged itself and, turning to lead, landed at her feet with a thud. “Oh, no…”
“Don’t jump to any conclusions, Sara.”
Her eyes began to flood with tears but she exerted all her self-control to keep her voice steady. “I won’t Just tell me what happened.”
Will cleared his throat and spoke in a dry, professional-sounding tone. “The subject arrived at 7:23 p.m. and took a seat at the bar. He ordered a drink, finished it and at 7: 37, he ordered a second drink. He received a phone call at 7:41. Prior to the call, he appeared impatient and mildly upset. But after the call, he appeared much more upset He ordered a third drink, this time a double. My…operative made her move as he was being served. They talked at the bar for approximately twenty minutes, then shifted to a table toward the rear of the restaurant. They stayed there, ordered two more rounds of drinks, then departed at 9:46.”
“Together?”
There was a moment of hesitation—long enough for her heart to jar her chest with several rapid beats.
“Yes. They climbed into a red Porsche 911 Targa, Virginia license plate—”
“ECROVID,” she supplied. “It’s Raymond’s car. It’s ’Divorce’ backward.” She shivered, despite her desire not to. “Did you follow them?”
Will’s professional demeanor deflated with a prolonged sigh. “I tried to, Sara, I really did, but he outran me.” Emotion crept into his voice. “It wasn’t because he saw me—I know how to tail a car without being spotted. But I’d only planned to follow him, not expecting it to turn into a chase. But he pulled out fast and hit the intersection doing fifty and the interstate ramp at over a hundred. I didn’t have a chance in hell of catching up with him without completely tipping my hand.”
“It’s not your fault. Raymond has a tendency to drive fast when he’s had a couple of drinks. That why I usually commandeer his keys when we go out—” She swallowed hard, knowing she had to ask the next question whether she wanted to hear the answer or not. “Did he…respond to your operative?”
“Sara—it’s a matter of interpretation—”
“Look,” she snapped. “Either he did or he didn’t” Righteous indignation arose in her, allowing her analytical side to take temporary control of her building emotions. “Did they touch each other at all?”
Will hesitated for a moment, then spoke. “Yes.”
“Did he hold her in what one might construe as a provocative manner?”
“Yes.”
“Did he initiate any of these actions?”
“Yes.”
“Did they kiss?”
There was another pause. “Yes.”
“Are we talking a quick peck on the cheek or—” she faltered “—or something more…intimate.” Her logical control began to waver.
“Sara I don’t think we need to—”
“Yes, we do!” Emotion returned with blunt force. “I need to know every dirty little detail. Every touch, every caress, every promise he made, every—” She forced herself to stop, to regain what little self-control and self-esteem she could manage and to take a gulp of air. “Was their kiss of an intimate nature?”
“You sound like a lawyer.”
“I’ve hung around long enough with one to pick up some of the tricks of the trade. Was their kiss of an intimate nature?” she repeated.
“Define ‘intimate.’”
“Damn it, Will! You know what I mean! Intimacy—increased intensity, prolonged contact, obvious emotion, heightened awareness, a sense of—”
“Yes. It was an intimate kiss.”
She gripped the receiver so hard her hand began to shake. “Damn! Damn him and damn her and especially damn me for setting up this whole stupid thing in the first place!”
“Sara…don’t do this to yourself.”
“Don’t what? Delude myself? Keep the candle burning in the window while the rest of my life goes up in smoke? Forgive, forget and accept the fact that the standard of loyalty differs between the genders? Well, I’m afraid it’s not all right for him to play tongue-hockey with a total stranger while I’m feeling an incredible sense of guilt for a simple kiss of gratitude because you saved my—” She stopped, unwilling to contemplate how close she came to hitting the truth in her emotional tirade.
During the resulting silence, she wondered whether Will was demonstrating a sense of grace by not commenting on her outburst or was simply stunned speechless.
A muted siren’s wail filled the air and Sara realized the sound came through the phone from Will’s location. It provided a suitable diversionary tactic for her. “Is that a siren? Is everything all right?”
“Yes.” He waited until the noise started to fade away. “It was just a police car.”
“Police? Aren’t you at your office?”
“No. I’m at Bergeron’s place, staking it out I figured there might be a shot of catching up with him here, but no one’s home right now. No lights are on and the Porsche isn’t in the garage. So, I figured I’d hang around here because they—he might come back.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t stay there. I don’t want to know how late he stays out with her, where they are, what they’re doing. The damage is done. This relationship is over. At least, it will be tomorrow when I confront him with the truth.”
“Sara…we need to talk about this before you make any rash decisions. Why don’t I come over and—”
“No!” The word blurted out, stronger than she’d expected. “No, don’t come here. I need to…to think. I promise I won’t make any earth-shattering decisions that involve getting drunk, getting revenge or anything like that. I won’t call his machine and leave threatening messages. I just need to be by myself, to think over the chain of events. Alone. Okay?”
“Well…” He hesitated, then released a sigh. “I guess I can understand. But if you need anything, call me. Please? You know, just to talk or whatever.”
“I’ll be okay—”
“You have my pager number and you can call absolutely any time. Day or night. Okay? It…it would make me feel better.”
She closed her eyes. “Okay—thanks, Will. I appreciate your offer. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be ready to talk. Just make sure you go home, now. Raymond’s a big boy—he can make his own decisions, live with his own consequences.”
She placed the receiver in the vicinity of the hook before her knees gave out Squatting on the kitchen floor, she huddled against the nearest cabinet, wondering when and how her world had shattered into a handful of small sharp pieces. All her plans, hopes and dreams had been shared ones. At least, she’d thought Raymond had shared them with
her. But if she was wrong about him, then what other concepts, ideas, dreams did she have that were also wrong?
Damn you, Raymond.
Damn all men.
She corrected herself. It was an easy trap to fall into, condemning all men for the sins of one. Look at Will….
Sara had a flash of memory, of him holding her in his arms, concerned over her possible injuries. Even though they’d landed in a rather compromising position, she hadn’t been guilty of any impropriety with him. After all, she’d turned him down. Even if he was funny and handsome and intelligent and well-mannered and…
And the kiss—it was simply one of gratitude, of appreciation; the sort of kiss you would give your cousin, or your grandmother or…
Sara suddenly realized why she’d vehemently told him not to come over.
It wasn’t about the kiss she’d given him. It was all about the kiss she’d wanted to give him; the type of kiss you gave a very handsome, witty, intelligent, attractive man who had saved your life….
“Damn it…I’m no better than Raymond.”
She began to cry.
WILL HUNG UP THE phone and stared at the darkened windows of Raymond’s McLean home. Sara might not want to know all the details, but Will did. After all, it was his operative who’d blown the whole case to hell and when he fired her, he wanted to be able to cite all the facts and figures to back him up.
He stared down the street, almost wishing he would suddenly see the Porsche crest the small hill and head in his direction. But no headlights split the night No prodigal son headed home. And unlike the Prodigal’s father, Sara didn’t seem the type of person who would find it terribly easy to forgive and forget.
As a mental image of Sara danced around the edges of his imagination, Will made himself a solemn vow: Never, under any circumstances, would he ever put himself in the same position again. No matter how enticing or intriguing the woman sounded, he would never play the role of attentive suitor, again.
Hell, that was why he hired actors—people who made it their business to play a role with feeling, then walk away from it, no strings attached. Professionals like Celia could pour all their energies into the apparent seduction of a person, then leave, never bothering to take a second glance backward to what they left behind.
In his eyes, he was no better than Celia; he simply wasn’t as brazen.
Or as successful.
Will sighed and started his car.
He couldn’t help but have noticed the note of panic in Sara’s voice when she said she didn’t want him coming over to comfort her. Which role did she think he was playing? The intrigued suitor like he had at the bar? Or did she think he was one of those guys who enjoyed preying on women when they were caught in the throes of emotional upheaval?
He pulled away from the curb.
She must think I’m a real bastard.
THAT BASTARD!
Sara bolted upright in bed, responding to the strident noise that rescued her from a particularly hideous nightmare. Remnants of her anger-filled dream clung to her mind as she fumbled for the alarm clock sitting on her bedside table. In the dim light, she saw it was only a little after two. Had she been so upset when she went to bed that she couldn’t even set her clock right?
The noise exploded again, and Sara realized it came from the telephone. Three guesses as to who’s on the other end. He didn’t even bother to identify himself.
“You stood me up.” Raymond’s words lacked his usual careful precision of speech.
Drunk. I’m not surprised. “How could you, Raymond?”
“How could I what? Get mad because you stood me up? Well, baby, I’ve got the right to get mad and drunk, too, if I want to.”
“No, that’s not it I want to know why you decided it was fair for me to be required to meet a standard that you yourself were unable to reach.”
“What in the world are you talking about?
“I’m no fool, Raymond. If you thought it was okay to use Will Riggs to test my loyalty, then I had the same right to test you. I hired him to return the favor. But there is a difference. I passed the loyalty test, Raymond, and you didn’t”
“You mean—”
“She was a plant, Raymond, an operative he uses to see just how far a man will fall if given the opportunity. Not a push, just merely the opportunity. Well, baby—” she mimicked his words without mercy “—you fell, all right. So where are you? Your place, hers, or some cheap motel on the Beltway?”
Sara heard something that sounded exactly like a woman’s tinkling laughter, but she jerked the phone from her ear as a louder noise suddenly replaced the giggles. Although it sounded as if he’d dropped the phone, his words were still distinct: “You conniving little bitch.”
Raymond spoke with more force, more violence than she expected. As a rule, he seldom lost his self-control; it was one of his great attributes as a divorce lawyer—staying calm under fire, even when caught between warring factions. But now he used words she’d never heard him utter before, even when drunk. To her further confusion, she wasn’t sure whether his comments were directed toward her or his female companion.
Sara heard the woman say, “Don’t be so rough on—”
“How dare you?” Raymond’s shouts vibrated through the phone. “How dare you test me! After all I’ve done—”
“How dare you test me!” Sara shouted back. “I did nothing to—”
“You heartless bitch. And you! I can’t believe that you’d—”
This is useless. Sara’s sense of self-preservation kicked in and forced her to hang up. She didn’t want to be a part of an escalating three-way argument It was becoming impossible to understand which comment was directed where—whether Raymond was arguing with the woman with whom he slept or with Sara.
And the absolutely last thing she needed to listen to was his feeble excuse about his momentary lapse in judgment No apology, no explanation, no alibi he could offer would begin to offset the fact that he’d called to make his accusations of her while he still was in the company—perhaps even the bed—of another woman.
I hope she was worth it, Raymond.
Sara hurled the phone across the room.
Chapter Six
Saturday, very early morning
“I took care of the problem.”
Her heart hammered as the reality of the situation sank in. She looked into her companion’s face, seeing exactly what kind of heady mixture was formed when triumph, fear, bloodlust and apprehension combined. “But I thought you said—”
“I said I didn’t want you barreling in there and doing something stupid like the stunt with the car. Let’s just say that an opportunity presented itself and I took advantage of it.”
“An opportunity?”
“I had a chance to eliminate the only witness as well as plant a couple pieces of evidence that’ll take the police on a merry chase in the opposite direction. God knows, I’ve sat in enough courtrooms to understand the rudiments of how to redirect their attention.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“Does it really matter to you? All you need to know is that they’ll never find a connection between that woman and us.” Her companion paused to scan the room. “Fix me a drink.”
She stumbled to the counter, her fingers shaking as she poured the whiskey. Moments later, she refilled the empty glass. “You’re…hitting the sauce a bit hard, aren’t you?”
Her companion shot her with a steely-eyed glare. “I just killed a woman. I’ll damn well drink however much I want.” The second whiskey disappeared as quickly as the first. With a flick of a finger, the empty glass toppled over.
She scrambled to intercept the glass, but failed to reach it in time. The remaining liquid spilled across the polished counter in a thin golden stream.
It reminded her of a trail of blood.
“As much as I damn well want…”
Saturday morning, later
“OH, LOO-CEE…You got some ’splaining to do….”<
br />
Sara closed her eyes and shook her head. Whenever Martin and Lucy went off on a weekend, they were insufferable for days, afterward. But it had been a week since their impromptu vacation and they were still buzzing around each other like bees around the hive.
The last thing she needed on a day like today was to be surrounded by lovebirds and bees.
But they were everywhere.
Martin and Lucy. Charlie and Melissa. Even the new busboy brought his girl by to see where he worked. They were all over each other, whispering, giggling…. Sara could barely tolerate all the cooing. The only fowl she could consider at the moment were dead ducks, stool pigeons and maybe, some Wild Turkey.
“Oh, Loo-cee!” Martin called from the storage room.
“Lucy ran down to the wholesale house to pick up that special shipment of napkins.” Sara picked up a cleaver and ruthlessly slammed the blade into the chicken, which was spread-eagled across the cutting board in front of her. Another type of fowl with which she was willing to deal.
“Ouch!”
Sara spun around.
Martin stood in the storage-room doorway. He winced, nodding toward the chicken. “Someone I know?”
She pulled the blade out and whacked the bird one more time, turning a half chicken into two quarters. “You could say that” Whack. Two eighths.
“Someone I’m kin to?”
Whack. Two sixteenths.
Martin sighed. “Tell me what my idiot cousin did before our specialty of the day becomes chicken hash.”
Whack. Two thirty-seconds.
“Oh, nothing much.”
Whack. Stir-fry.
Tears blinded her and she stepped back from the cutting board, cleaver in hand. “All he did was hire a private investigator to run a check on me.”
Martin took a step toward her. “He what?”
“That’s not the half of it” She buried the cleaver in the untouched half of the chicken and shifted to the sink to wash her hands. “The private investigator he hired specializes in testing people to see if they’re faithful to their spouses. They set me up to see if I’d react favorably to a proposition from a handsome stranger.” She stared at her soapy hands. “I didn’t accept”