Divorced, Desperate and Deceived

by Christie Craig

  But there was no dropping it now. He moved close and slowly brushed his hand down her arm. “Do we go out in public? Can I take you out to dinner? Or do we pretend we don’t know each other?”

  “Why would we…?” She watched his hand move up and down her arm as Goodwill readjusted himself to lick her neck. “Why would we pretend we don’t know each other?” Unable to dodge the puppy’s kisses, she put the dog down.

  “Because”—he pressed his cheek to hers—“if someone sees us having dinner, they may assume that we actually care about each other instead of just being each other’s bang toys.”

  She placed a hand on his chest. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

  “Now why would I do that?” He took a step forward.

  She took a step back. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  “Could it be because I’m past the point of just wanting to get your panties off? That what I want from you is more than just to get you naked and make you my play toy?” He took another step forward.

  She inched back, but she butted against the wall. He moved in for another kiss.

  She resisted him for a half second, then gave in. Her tongue met his; her body inched off the wall and pressed into him. This was hotter, wetter and more intense than any of the kisses before. Anything else he’d wanted to say, any point he’d wanted to make was insignificant compared to what he wanted now.

  He wanted her. Every inch of her. No barriers, no boundaries. No rules.

  No clothes.

  Oh, and he wanted the “more” she was so damn afraid of offering, too.

  Slipping his hand around her waist and under her tank top, he unhooked her bra for the second time that day. Her breasts, already against his chest, gave a little when released. Amazing, how that slight release sent anticipation into his gut—and lower.

  He slid his hand around her rib cage to hold a prize he’d freed. But his palm barely brushed against the round curve of her right breast before she pulled back.

  “Luke?”

  He lowered his hand just a bit and leaned his forehead against hers. “If that puppy is pissing on my—”

  “No.” She laughed, and it came out sultry and sexy. “But I would like a shower before…”

  The thought of her naked under a soft stream of steamy water shot right to his crotch. “Sounds good.” He pulled his hand from under her shirt and looked at her. Her lips were wet, her eyes dark with passion. “Damn, you look hot.” He went back for another kiss, but she put a hand on his chest.

  “A shower first.” Her voice was breathy; her words brushed wet against his lips.

  He nodded. “Okay, you get the water started. It takes a few minutes for it to heat up. I’ll be right in.”

  She shook her head. “No, I didn’t mean…”

  He put a finger over her lips, knowing what she was about to say but determined to change her mind. “I promise you’ll enjoy it more with me in there with you.”

  “But…”

  “Shh.” He leaned in. She watched him but didn’t say a word.

  “Think about it,” he said. He ran his hand up under her shirt again.

  “You.” He kissed the edge of her lips. “Me.” He moved his attention to her neck, running his tongue over the base of her throat. “Naked.” He gently nipped the soft skin with his teeth. “Hot water.” He passed his palm over her breast. The bra still clung to her, but he found her nipple and gently rolled the nub between his fingers. “Steam.” He moved his hand down, over her jeans, past her zipper, and fit his palm to her soft mound, applying only the slightest pressure where he knew she needed it most. “My hands, all soaped up, moving over your wet skin…” Her hips jutted out ever so slightly, and he knew he had her.

  “Go,” he said, and pulled back. “Get the water going.”

  She opened her eyes, blinked, stared at him but didn’t argue this time. When she took that first step to the bathroom, a sense of power swelled in his chest. After all this time, she finally couldn’t tell him no. The realization was one hell of an aphrodisiac—one he fully planned on taking advantage of to the fullest. For her pleasure, of course.

  The bathroom door clicked shut. Luke cut his eyes around the room. He tossed the sofa cushions to the side, and pulled the folded-up mattress out. From his visits up here, he knew it was a piss-poor bed to sleep on, but he suspected they wouldn’t be sleeping much.

  He grabbed his condoms from his wallet and set them next to the back of the lamp on the side table, reachable from the bed. Only two. He’d have to make them last. Then, having second thoughts, he picked up one of the foil packages and tucked it in his pocket. They might not make it to the bed.

  He took off his shoes and socks, but when Goodwill, resting by the bathroom door, raised his head, he picked them up and set them on a chair. Giving the room one more check, he went for his gun, deciding to take it into the bathroom with him. Until Calvin called back, his goal was to make the most of his time with Kathy—but like the condoms, his gun would always be within arm’s reach.

  Joey pulled off to the side of the road and waited. The country lane felt too dark, too quiet. He rolled down his window, and in the distance he could hear the crickets. For some crazy reason, the sound made him feel lonely. Not that being alone was unusual for him.

  Leaning forward, he looked through the windshield at the stars and wondered about Heaven and Hell. One of the foster homes he’d been in had insisted he attend church. Most of the kids living there had hated services, but for some reason Joey hadn’t minded. Of course, he pretended he did, because not to wouldn’t have been cool.

  A few of the sermons whispered through Joey’s mind, and he wondered if Donald had ended up in some fiery spot, paying for his bad deeds. Joey tried to think about the people he’d known in his life who’d died and wouldn’t have gone to Hell. A couple of the foster moms who’d got stuck with him had been decent folks. Who knew if they had passed away yet? He hadn’t kept up with any of them. Or they him.

  His mind created an image of his mom—a druggie and prostitute, but at times he could swear he’d seen some goodness in her. What was the chance she’d managed to sneak into Heaven instead?

  He gripped the wheel, and the blisters stung on his hands from digging Donald’s grave. But at least his hands were clean. He’d stopped at a service station bathroom earlier and washed them and his face. His suit was probably covered in dust and dirt.

  Lorenzo would have a fit if he saw him like this, but Joey couldn’t help that. One couldn’t dig a three-foot-deep hole and come out looking fresh from church. That’s what Lorenzo always said: he wanted his men to look as if they’d just walked out of a Sunday service. Not that Joey really cared what Lorenzo wanted anymore.

  Stretching out his fingers, Joey stared at his hands. It would have been easier just to have dumped Donald’s body. Joey hadn’t done that. Not because of what Foster had said about making sure the body didn’t turn up, but because he’d told Donald he’d bury him. True, Donald had already been dead when Joey gave the promise, but Joey didn’t make a lot of promises, and he always tried to keep those he did. Nevertheless, he didn’t intend to promise that again. Burying someone was too much damn work!

  He flexed the aching muscles in his arms. Digging had also aggravated his toe. The temptation hit to reach down and take off his shoe, but he figured it would hurt like hell to put it back on. So he didn’t.

  Foster had called and said to meet him out here. It was about a mile from where Luke Hunter lived. Joey had arrived before Foster. Only empty darkness waited. Of course, Joey wasn’t sure what type of car the trooper drove when he wasn’t in his state-mandated car. He probably should have asked.

  Joey had also spoken to Corky and Pablo. They’d been told to lie low, and if Foster needed them, he’d call them. Obviously, Lorenzo felt Foster and Joey could handle the job—which was a good thing, too. The fewer people Joey had to deal with, the better. It was yet to be seen if he could save
the redhead without offing anyone. His gut told him the possibility wasn’t likely.

  He closed his eyes and envisioned the redhead and her freckle-faced boy. He still didn’t understand why Foster hadn’t heard about the blonde. Surely the cops had figured out the two incidents were connected. Then again, he supposed he shouldn’t question his good luck.

  Glancing heavenward, he considered again if someone up there really did want him protecting the redhead. If he had to kill someone to save her, would that be an unforgiveable sin—the kind of sin that, if there was a Hell, would earn Joey a place next to Donald?

  He recalled thinking it had been a miracle he’d gotten the redhead out of the café without Foster seeing her. Maybe by some act of God, he wouldn’t have to kill anyone tonight. Maybe.

  A car pulled up in front of him and parked. Joey sat, unmoving, watching as Foster got out. Only when he saw the man take his first step did it occur to Joey that maybe the trooper had brought him out here to kill him.

  His breath hitched at the thought. Foster drew closer. The serenade of night noises stopped. All Joey could hear was the crunch of Foster’s footsteps on the road.

  When the trooper didn’t pull his weapon, Joey fought back the panic and stepped out of the car.

  “You take care of Donald?” Foster asked in such a casual manner that he could have been asking if Joey had eaten dinner. Did death and killing people not disturb these people at all?

  “Done,” Joey said, hoping he sounded equally casual.

  Foster stared at him for a minute, trying to read him. “We’re going to take my car,” he finally said. “I heard you can’t drive worth a damn.”

  “Where are we going?” Joey asked, ignoring his throbbing toe as he followed the other man back to his car.

  “To do the job.”

  “You know where he is?” Joey walked around Foster’s dark Honda, moved the passenger seat back about five inches, then got in.

  Foster crawled behind the wheel. “There’s a couple of possibilities. We’ll check them both out.”

  “You really think he’s still around town?”

  “We know he is.”

  “How?”

  “Because your boss is good. When money doesn’t talk, he goes for the Achilles heel. Even if that heel is someone’s wife. I respect that about him: ruthlessness.”

  A heaviness filled Joey’s chest. What kind of person respected another for that? The same kind who took advantage of women. Joey remembered how the asshole had looked at and spoken about Lola.

  Joey buckled his seat belt and tried not to think about some poor guy out there, worrying that his wife lived or died at the hands of Lorenzo’s men. Right now, all he needed to think about was saving the redhead. And if by saving her he saved some pretty Mexican woman some grief as well? So be it. Because if he had to kill Foster, he would.

  “We know he’s out past Highway 101 at a place he did plumbing work. Lucky for us, Hunter kept great records.” Foster picked up a black notebook from the dash.

  “You went to his place?” Joey asked.

  “Didn’t have to. He kept it in his truck.”

  “Lucky us,” Joey said.

  “We got two addresses. With any luck, we’ll take care of them both and get back in time to see The Tonight Show.” He slapped the book against his thigh. “And I will be fifty thousand buckaroos richer.”

  “Money isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Joey muttered, but he kept his eyes focused ahead. Focused on doing the right thing.

  Kathy stood in the bathroom. Her heart raced to the beat of arousal, a beautiful yet dangerous song she hadn’t heard in a long, long time. She glanced at the closed door and then the mirror. Her eyes reflected fear and exultation. Was she really going to do this?

  Yes. She wanted to. She needed to.

  How long had it been since she’d felt this alive, this truly turned on? Duh, never! And hadn’t today—facing death—taught her to live for the moment? Why shouldn’t she do this?

  Because you suck at it, a voice of warning echoed. Her ex’s words, jumping out of the past. Can you say ‘cold fish’?

  The two other guys she’d slept with before Tom hadn’t complained. But what did horny teen boys know? They sure hadn’t known anything about pleasing a woman.

  She remembered the third guy she’d dated before Tom. She hadn’t slept with him, but they’d come close. And sure, he’d complained about what happened, but she didn’t see it as her fault. If he’d been wearing underwear like a normal person, it wouldn’t have even happened!

  She closed her eyes for a second and questioned again the wisdom of going through with this. What if it didn’t go well? What if she couldn’t make Luke happy? What if, after all this anticipation, she discovered she couldn’t relax enough to get to the happy place? Tom had been the only one who’d ever brought her to orgasm, electrical devices not included—which probably explained why she’d married him. And probably why his insults hurt so much. What if sex with Luke wasn’t everything she’d imagined? Would that prove that she was biologically deficient? Would it prove everything Tom had said and left unsaid?

  Admittedly, she hadn’t known anything about sex when they were together. Her mom sure as hell wasn’t the type to explain things. Practically a loner from moving around so much, all due to her Daddy’s reputation, she hadn’t had any friends who shared their experiences. So she’d depended on Tom to teach her the fine art of bedroom games. But after a few months of marriage, he’d been so busy getting his rocks off, he’d stopped instructing—and his unspoken wishes had been easy to follow: just lie there. In less than a year, she was pregnant. He’d stopped trying to make her happy at all—and to be fair, she hadn’t lost any sleep about making him happy, either. Well, not until late in the marriage when she’d started to sense something was wrong. But then her efforts to seduce her own husband had failed miserably.

  But she knew more now. Hadn’t all those Friday night sex talks with Sue and Lacy been her way of educating herself? She knew every man’s hot spot and secret fantasy that Cosmo and Redbook had reported on for the last four years. Maybe she hadn’t made sex suck, but it had been her past partners and their situations. She had to give this a shot, didn’t she?

  Yes! She was going to do this.

  She reached into the small walk-in shower and turned on the hot water. But just as she started to take off her clothes, that inner voice, the one that seemed to yank on her emotions, spoke up again. He’s a cop.

  Not a cop. A federal agent, she argued with herself.

  Same thing.

  “Oh, Lordie,” she muttered, and leaned against the bathroom counter.

  She thought about Lacy and Sue and how happy they were with their husbands. Jason and Chase weren’t bad men. And if her friends weren’t lying—and she didn’t think they were—their husbands were also gods in the bedroom. Wasn’t it about time she stopped making the majority pay for the sins of the few? Luke Hunter had nothing to do with what happened to her dad.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if she was going to marry the guy. Chances were, tonight was all they would have. What was wrong with her taking tonight?

  Nothing, she decided. Not a damn thing.

  She stood up straight, took a deep breath and started to pull her bra from under her shirt. Then she heard Luke on the other side of the door. A light tapping sounded over the rush of the shower, bringing all her insecurities back to the forefront. She could ask him not to come in. Everything inside her said he’d respect her wishes.

  She needed to figure out exactly what those wishes were.

  Foster drove. Joey kept trying to find a place for his legs.

  “Did you get the finger?” the trooper asked.

  “I thought I’m supposed to give it to Lorenzo.”

  “Just checking.”

  “I don’t like to be checked on.”

  Joey’s lungs felt as if they couldn’t get enough oxygen, and his palms itched like a son of bitch. Nothing bu
t nerves.

  He finally found a position where his knees didn’t hit the dashboard. Funny, how people assumed because he was big that he wasn’t afraid of things. He’d learned early on that a person’s size didn’t say anything about what was inside. His mother hadn’t been as big as a minute, and he could remember her standing up to men twice her size. One of those times, when he’d been only seven, it had been on his account. One of their neighbors, a druggie much like his mom, had stolen Joey’s basketball.

  You weren’t scared of him? Joey had asked.

  Of course I was. The trick is to never let them see it.

  Eventually, Joey had learned to hide his feelings. Maybe a little too much at times.

  “Here.” Foster handed him a gun. “You’ll need this.”

  Joey stared at the gun with what looked like a homemade silencer attached. “I got my own,” he replied.

  “Yeah, but tonight we’re using throwdowns. Belonged to a couple of drug dealers.”

  Joey took the gun, and it felt different in his hand. Maybe it was the balance, because of the silencer, or maybe it was because he knew he’d likely use it to kill the man who’d handed it to him. The memory of Freddy flashed in his mind, but he forced that back and instead thought of the little redheaded boy and his mom. Of the basket of toys he’d seen beside their bathtub. That boy deserved to have his mother.

  Joey closed his eyes a minute, and when he opened them he saw a road sign and recognized where he was. About a mile up the road was the spot Lola parked her restaurant truck. His mind created an image of her sweet face. Then he remembered what Foster had called her earlier: Latin Nookie. Glancing over, Joey couldn’t help wondering if Lola’s life wouldn’t be a better without the guy in it.

  “Grab some gloves from the glove box,” Foster said. “Then wipe the gun down.”

  Joey took a pair of plastic gloves. His hands were almost too large to fit.

  “The first place is just up the road,” Foster said. “We’ll have to park and walk in. It rained last night and we don’t want to leave tire tracks.”