His Missing Wife

by Jaime Lynn Hendricks

  Now, if only I could find out the deal with this Rosita girl.

  20

  James

  Rosita.

  James fast-walked from Gwen’s back to his house with fiery determination. He slammed the door behind him, and Candy barked.

  “Sorry, girl,” he said as she met him in the foyer. He leaned down and pet her head, cupping her neck in his left hand, and then kissed her. “Daddy didn’t mean to slam the door.”

  She cocked her head like she knew what he meant. Then she looked past him at the door again, likely wondering why Tessa didn’t follow him in. Tessa had never spent a night away from Candy, much less days at a time. She had to be confused.

  James sighed. Candy wasn’t the only one.

  He went right to his phone charging on the counter and looked in his contacts for Rosita. He was about to press her name and dial her up, but on second thought, put the phone down. He couldn’t go into this hotheaded. His heart was racing, and he needed to prepare what to say.

  What the hell was he supposed to say?

  Why did Rosita threaten his wife over a promotion? Was it because Rosita had a thing for him? She had made a move on him when he was with Joanna, knowing full well he was taken. And yes, James succumbed to her advances once. For a couple of minutes, anyway. One hundred percent his fault. When he stopped it from going too far, that pissed her off even more. She said something about how they could be a power couple, since one of them was due to be promoted anyway.

  One, James didn’t want to get involved with a coworker, and two, he had a girlfriend. Yes, their relationship had been on the rocks for a while and yes, she lived far away, but potentially banging Rosita in her townhouse when he stopped over after work to give her some papers she conveniently “forgot” when she ran out early didn’t solve anything.

  So he made an excuse about how it wasn’t right, he was still with Joanna, and he left. Rosita called him two minutes after he walked out the door and left a raging voice mail, which he should have saved. He hadn’t thought he’d need “proof,” showing Rosita’s obsession and clearing him of murder, and he also hadn’t wanted Joanna accidentally stumbling upon it. He wanted to break up with her officially, but he hadn’t done it yet. He didn’t want to be “that guy.”

  As fate would have it, if you could call that heinous act “fate,” he came home to Damon trying to rape Tessa a few days later.

  That night, he had been out with a couple of college buddies. Joanna knew he was out but texted him saying she was waiting at his apartment, which he’d never invited her to. He texted her to go home. She left a note on the counter before leaving, saying she missed him, and she knew something was wrong and she wanted to talk. When he immediately fell for Tessa, that massive love-at-first-sight stuff you only hear about, he stopped dealing with Joanna altogether. He saved Tessa, and the spark was immediate. He couldn’t help it. She was his person. His life had changed on a dime.

  Yes, he lied to Tessa and said he came home early because he and Joanna had just broken up.

  It was the best lie he’d ever told.

  And Rosita was not happy to find out James was married two weeks later. Not even to Joanna—to someone he barely knew.

  He didn’t realize how badly Rosita had taken the news.

  Fuck it, he thought, and dialed her.

  “James,” she said when she answered. “What’s up? Tessa come back?”

  So casual.

  “No, Rosita, she’s not back yet. And the cops don’t know anything about where she could be. Just that you and I had a moment a few weeks before I got married. What did you tell them?”

  “The truth,” she said with a hint of anger in her voice.

  “The truth? Really? The whole truth and nothing but the truth?”

  Rosita gasped lightly, but James heard it, and he knew she knew what he was referring to. That other thing.

  “That has nothing to do with anything.” Her words came faster, laced with annoyance. “What I do with my life is private. They specifically asked me about you. So, I told them what happened. I mean, it was right before you met Tessa, anyway. You had a girlfriend. I couldn’t exactly paint you up as some great guy. Why should I offer up any more information about anything else? It has nothing to do with anything.” She repeated herself, which she often did when she was scrambling.

  “What did you say to Tessa?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “After I got promoted. You threatened her.”

  “Says who?”

  “Tessa told my neighbor. I just found out.”

  “Oh, please. We’re supposed to be listening to a neighbor about what a missing person supposedly said? That’s hearsay.”

  Rosita also clearly watched too much Law & Order. Why was she so indignant?

  “Do you know what happened to Tessa? I’m warning you, Rosita. If you’re hiding something, I’ll find out.”

  “Oh God, James. Come on. I was with you Thursday night.”

  “You arrived late. We left the bank at the same time. Where were you before?”

  The line was quiet. It spoke volumes.

  “Jesus, Rosita.” James knew exactly where she was. “I knew it.”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  James blew out a deep breath. “The cops are trying to blame my missing wife on me. You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Tessa. Why are you trying to make me look like a shit? Because I said no to you?”

  “Get over yourself, really.”

  “What did you say to Tessa?” His voice strained.

  “Nothing! Honestly, she started it. She said something about you being manager and how proud she was, and I know she was making a dig at me for being passed on. I said something about women having to stick together and she laughed. So, I told her she should know better than to laugh at me.”

  “Uh huh,” James said, then used her own words against her. “And I’m supposed to just listen to you? How convenient that Tessa isn’t here to defend herself.”

  “Well, when she comes back, ask her.”

  She said it, but James heard in her voice that she didn’t mean it.

  “I got an email from Andy and Kyle from VistaBuild. They picked us. They’re coming back next week.” She changed the subject. A tactic.

  “What?” James pressed the home button on his phone and saw that he had emails. He scrolled through them quickly. Nothing from VistaBuild, at least nothing confirming his win. “I don’t see that email.”

  “You weren’t on it. I guess they saw you on the news.”

  “Not likely.” He gripped his cell tighter. She told them. Her, or Trey. Traitors.

  Rosita had quickly diverted the conversation about her personal indiscretions into one about how she was going to take over this project. At least she stabbed him in the front.

  “When are they coming back?” James asked.

  “Tuesday. They have to secure the paperwork with their in-house legal on Monday. But James.” She paused and took a breath. “I really don’t think you should be there.”

  His entire life was collapsing around him. “This is my project!”

  “Is it more important than your missing wife?”

  Bitch. Nothing was more important than his missing wife. Rosita had him by the balls and she knew it. Optics were everything. Perception became reality. No, it wasn’t more important than Tessa, but he couldn’t lose his job and his wife at the same time. What purpose would he have to get out of bed?

  “I’m going to make sure they find out what really happened to Tessa.” He said it as a mild threat to her, and he hoped it landed. When she didn’t say anything, James disconnected the line without saying goodbye.

  Rosita had to be involved, somehow. A woman scorned by him, for a relationship and a job. He just had to prove it.

  21

  Tessa

  Early Friday evening, I smooth down the front of my black dress. It’s sleeveless and has a turtleneck, and I bought it today at one
of the local stores down the block. For whatever reason, the rings on my neck are getting darker, probably in that worse-before-it-gets-better phase that unfortunately I know so well. It looks worse than it feels. James had asked me to be ready early. I tug my denim jacket on over my dress and exit my room.

  When I step off the elevator, James is waiting in the lobby holding a dozen roses. There are four each of red, pink, and white. They’re wrapped beautifully, stuffed with baby’s breath and long greens, laid out in gold lace with a huge red bow bundling it all together. They clearly didn’t come from a checkout line in a grocery store.

  I smile a goofy grin. “Hi.”

  He holds them out for me. “For you. Although their beauty no longer compares in present company.”

  Heat rushes to my face. What is it about this guy? He knows everything right to say, and how to make me feel like the only woman in the room. In the world. He’s dressed more casually than the night before, in slacks and a button down but no tie. He must’ve gone up and changed after work.

  “Thank you,” I say. “These really are gorgeous.”

  He leans forward and kisses my temple. “You’re worth it.”

  Such a departure from the other things I’d been worth. A six pack. McDonald’s. Jewelry that left green stains on my skin and was probably stolen to boot.

  “How did you sleep?” he asks.

  I raise my eyebrows. “Really well! I was actually woken up by a phone call. Your bartender friend already relayed my information to Michael at Jupiter’s. They’re closed on Mondays, so I’m going over there Monday afternoon to meet with him to go over some ideas.”

  It took me by surprise, how it happened so fast. Michael said he knew James and trusted his referral, and wanted to speak to me as soon as possible, because he was ready to proceed with a renovation. He said the restaurant slowed down between Memorial Day and Labor Day, since most of the people who usually frequented ended up going to the beach. He planned to close for most of June and then have limited open days until mid-July. He’d already chosen an architect and a construction company for structural renovation, but agreed that he needed more of a theme and flow when it came to design and wanted to see what I had to offer.

  “Where are we off to?” I ask, cradling my beautiful flowers in the crook of my left arm.

  “Have you ever been to the city?”

  “Which city?”

  He laughs. “The city. New York.”

  “Only on television.”

  “Well, then you’ll love the night I have planned. Shall we go?”

  His left arm bends out and I hook my right arm into his.

  My face likely resembles Jack Dawson’s the first time he took in the sight of the Titanic as we approach the city from the main highway. The traffic is brutal—I’ve never seen anything like this before. Where are all the cars coming from, and can the city really accommodate all this? I grew up in western Virginia, which not many people know. Traffic only happened when too many cows blocked the road. No, it wasn’t quite that bad. The trailer parks were in the middle of nowhere, yes, but even we had gas stations and convenience stores, not just errant farm animals.

  When we finally get into the actual city, the traffic is worse. James says thankfully we’re on the “west side” because that’s where our plans are. He finds a garage (holy shit, it’s so expensive!) and I leave my beautiful roses on his back seat as we walk out onto the block.

  “Good, we’re close,” he says, then takes my hand. I don’t even flinch.

  Here I am. I made it to New York City. It’s loud, it stinks, and the colors and the lights are overwhelming. People are everywhere. Everywhere! Some are rushing, still in work attire, bopping and weaving between the drones of people who stop to stare up at the tall buildings. Some are obviously tourists, posing for pictures with giant M&Ms or other mascots. A group of hippie-looking men with long locks are smoking pot, right there on the street, right in front of a patrol cop. Or maybe it’s a parking cop. Still, clearly not afraid of the men in blue.

  We have a quick dinner in a small, crowded Italian restaurant. James tells me it was where he’d go with his parents and his brother when they were younger. Dinner and a Rangers game for the family, every fall, until they left for college.

  Sounds lovely. James never opened up to me about his brother, and I don’t want to press, just in case it’s a horror story. His eyes mist over as he mentions Tommy, and I just want to change the subject, so I offer it up. “I’m the youngest of five. ‘Tessa’ means ‘fifth child.’”

  “Oh. Wow. Big family.”

  Shit. Why did I do this again? “Yeah, sorta. We all kind of went our separate ways.”

  “You don’t talk to them much?”

  This time I stiffen, and he notices. He stops quizzing me and places a hand over mine. “It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it.”

  I take him up on that and we finish dinner with small talk.

  “I have a surprise,” he says after we share a chocolate soufflé, one that he knew to order in advance. “Do you trust me?”

  “I do,” I say, and I mean it.

  “You sure? I don’t want you to be scared.” He takes a sash out of his back pocket and raises his eyebrows. “May I?”

  I hesitate. “You want to blindfold me?”

  “Just for a minute.”

  A blindfold is a trigger for me, and the room whizzes before me in my dizziness and I feel like I’m breathing in a coffin. It’s been like that ever since Drew decided on a “fun” sex game, where he tied me up and blindfolded me, then got a phone call from a client and left to take it in his office. I heard the conversation getting heated, then the front door slammed. He didn’t come back for seven hours.

  James’s crooked smile melts me. He isn’t going to hurt me. Not in front of half a million people, anyway.

  “Okay.”

  He ties the sash around my eyes. In seconds, the rest of my senses become heightened. The music is louder, the street-meat smell is more pungent, and I even taste the cologne of passing men. James grabs my elbow.

  “Don’t worry, it’s still just me. Let’s go.”

  I’m walking unsteadily, like a baby deer, as we slowly walk through the crowds. He laughs the whole time, shouting “excuse me, she’s getting a surprise!” to the people who are probably staring in horror or delight. It’s less than two minutes when we stop, and I feel him untying it.

  “Tah dah!” he says. My eyes readjust and I see we’re in front of a theater. Wicked is playing. “You said The Wizard of Oz was your favorite movie. I thought you’d enjoy this.”

  What? My favorite movie is Legally Blonde.

  Oh. Right. I told him that design story about the color. The one I swiped off someone else.

  That’s not James’s fault. As far as he knows, he did good. And he did, because he did it for me, did something he thought I would love. The theater in front of me goes misty, because tears spring to my eyes. No one has ever done something like this for me before. Ever.

  “I—” Jesus Christ, I almost say I love you. “I don’t know what to say.”

  I have to stop there, or I’m going to make a mess out of whatever this is we’ve started. Falling too fast never ends well for me. But my God, this man.

  The play is my first, and I feel like Cinderella. The whole time, I lean forward on my seat and I swear I look like a five-year-old watching a cartoon. When it’s over, he asks what I want to do next, saying the city never sleeps and he’ll take me anywhere I want to go.

  “I want to go back to the hotel,” I say. It’s the only place I want to be. There. With him. Alone. Together.

  He takes the hint, and we leave. Back at the hotel, I take my roses from the back seat and we go inside. It’s late, almost midnight, and the employees in the lobby stare at the young couple. The young couple in love.

  At least I am.

  He takes me to my door and starts with the same I had a really nice time. That’s what I think he�
��s about to say, anyway. I stop him midsentence and pull him toward me for a kiss. One that he returns, in the most feverish, romantic way. Our lips are still connected as I reach a hand into the front pocket of my purse for my keycard and wave it at the door until I hear the beep, and I slide the handle down and open it, pulling him inside my room.

  My jacket comes off, and I reach for his belt.

  “Wait,” he says, breathless. “We don’t have to do this. That’s not why I did this tonight.”

  “Then why did you?” I ask.

  “Because I wanted to make you happy.”

  I finish his belt and undo his pants, then unbutton his shirt and throw it on the ground. My dress comes off.

  Oh no! Wait! Not—

  He turns me around and wipes the hair off my neck and kisses it and then—

  “What’s this?” he asks.

  He’s horrified. He’s seen it. What a way to ruin a moment. It’s been ruining moments for fourteen years. Wait, that’s not true. It’s ruined moments for me. Most men just laughed at it, assuming it was true.

  “Oh,” I say.

  Then I start to cry. I sit on the bed in only my bra and panties, my face in my hands.

  “Tessa, shhh.” He sits next to me, in boxers and an undershirt, and puts his arm around me.

  I whimper for a few minutes, and he stands and goes to the bathroom. He comes back with a glass of water and tissues, and I take both. I have to explain it.

  “I was married for a few weeks when I was a teenager. To someone older. I had to get out of that Hell House. I was in a foster home and I—” I stop talking for a minute to gather my thoughts. I don’t want to tell him too much. Not yet. “He was a tattoo artist. I asked him for a lower back tattoo the night we got married. He drew the design, and I approved it. One of those things they call a tramp stamp. Which, honestly, would’ve been infinitely better. I was so happy when it was done a week later. I made him take a picture so I could see it. When he showed me, he laughed.”

  There was no tribal design. Instead, tattooed on my lower back for the whole world to see, was White Trash Whore. In huge letters.