Don't Go Home

by Janelle Taylor

  She glanced up at him. “You’ve never been in love?”

  He shook his head. “This one’s a little tight.” He twisted it off, grateful the ring came off at all, and selected a larger one from the display.

  “Never?” she asked.

  “Never.”

  She raised an eyebrow and slipped her ring on her finger. “This one’s too big.”

  He handed her another one to try and twisted the one on his own finger. “I thought I was in love once.”

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “She turned out to be a lie.”

  He felt Mia’s gaze on him, and he turned slightly, ostensibly to put the ring back and choose another. “It’s a relief that none of these fit me.”

  “Because you never want one on your finger at all?”

  He nodded. “I was so taken. She really played me. I had no idea she was setting me up for a fall until I caught her red-handed in my office, taking pictures of very sensitive documents that would bankrupt me if the competition got ahold of them.”

  Mia looked stricken. “She was working for the competition?”

  “She was sleeping with the competition.”

  “Oh, Matthew, I’m so sorry.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Did you love her?” Mia asked. “I mean, before you exposed her?”

  “I thought I did,” he answered honestly, his gaze on the display. He stared at a diamond tennis bracelet, so like the one he had bought for Gwen to celebrate their first month as a couple. Before Gwen, he’d dated only casually, never seeing the same woman more than three times. If he did, the woman invariably brought up the relationship question, the “where is this relationship going?”

  He’d always wanted to say, “What relationship? This is our third date. We’re just getting to know each other.” But if he and the woman had slept together, and often, there was sex on the first date, Matthew couldn’t very well say, “What relationship.” And so he’d talked honestly with his dates about his problems with commitment. A few times he’d gotten, “You might have told me this before we had sex, asshole,” a glass of wine in his face, and a date storming out of the restaurant, but mostly, the woman appreciated his candor and the choice to decide whether or not a casual relationship was something she could handle. Once or twice, it was something the woman could handle. And once, it turned out that the woman couldn’t handle it.

  And Matthew had broken a heart.

  Which was when he’d decided never to sleep with a woman on the first date and never to see the same woman twice. Until he realized that meant no sex, period. He’d amended that to no sex on the first date without telling the woman beforehand that he wasn’t interested in commitment or necessarily a second date. That resulted in a few slaps across the face, but enough “fine with me” to keep him from going crazy.

  And then he saw Gwen Harriman for the first time. She’d come in for an interview and had taken his breath away. He’d known it was dangerous to hire a secretary to whom he was so physically drawn; but she was so well qualified, and he felt so happy just to be in her presence, that he’d gone against his better judgment and welcomed her to Matthew Gray Enterprises. On her first day, he’d taken her to lunch, and over fancy gourmet salads he’d been surprised by the ease of their conversation, how much they had in common, and how alike their worldviews were. He’d been unable to take his eyes off her, unable to take his mind off her.

  And unable to even imagine that she’d done her homework on him. Studied him. Researched him. She’d come to Matthew Gray Enterprises knowing exactly who he was, what made him tick, what appealed to him, and how to earn his trust.

  And earn his trust, she did. For the first time in his life, Matthew had believed that love between a man and a woman truly existed, that marriage and family could be something beautiful, that commitment and vows could be honored. And then he came home unexpectedly early from a business trip, planning to surprise Gwen with a diamond engagement ring that he’d placed in his office safe before he’d left for L.A.

  But when he opened his office door, he’d found the woman he wanted to propose marriage to sitting in his desk chair, taking pictures of highly secret documents. Her shocked expression, the fear he saw in her eyes, gave her away; it had been easy to see she was lying when she claimed she was taking the pictures for him, for his office safe, so that there would be backups.

  And then he’d done his own research and learned who Gwen Harriman really was.

  “Matthew?”

  He blinked and realized he’d been staring at a very large fake diamond ring on the display for the past few minutes. “Sorry, Mia. Did you say something?”

  She smiled softly. “You were a million miles away.”

  “Nowhere good.”

  “Well, then how about we get out of here,” she said. “I found a ring that fits me. Try this one. It looks bigger than the ones you’ve tried so far.”

  Matthew took the gold band and slipped it on the third finger of his left hand. It fit perfectly. “Success.”

  Mia smiled, her beautiful face lighting up. Gwen used to smile like that all the time, he thought darkly.

  “This thing is cutting off my circulation,” Matthew all but growled, pulling off the ring.

  “But you just said—”

  “It fits fine,” he said grimly.

  Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Ah, you didn’t mean literally.”

  He led the way to the cashier. “Sure feels that way.”

  She glanced at him, her expression once again unreadable. And that was a good thing because he really didn’t want to know what she was thinking.

  MacDougal’s Bar was so ordinary, just another popular hangout along the strip on Bridge Avenue.

  But it was a place possibly marked for a murder in three days if their speculations were accurate.

  As Mia took a seat at the bar and ordered two club sodas and buffalo wings for the two of them, Matthew headed to the jukebox, ostensibly to play a few tunes, but really to take in the place. He committed to memory the jukebox to the far right, the small dance floor next to it, the circle of tables around the dance floor, and the long, L-shaped bar. The door was to the left. As far as Matthew could see, there was not a back entrance.

  The parking lot was on the left side of the bar. At seven-thirty on a Wednesday, the parking lot, along with the nightclub, was very crowded. Women and men were two deep at the bar, a group of young men were playing darts near the jukebox, and two young women were dancing on two platforms on either side of the dance floor, which was empty, save for two couples slow dancing to a Shania Twain song.

  The bar was medium-size, small enough for Matthew to keep an eye on everyone Saturday night, yet large enough that he wouldn’t arouse suspicion.

  How he wasn’t arousing suspicion in this getup, he’d never know. He looked ridiculous as a blond, would never have chosen the horn-rimmed glasses, and the fake mustache he’d glued on couldn’t possibly look real. Mia had oohed and ahhed over how real he did look before they’d left his apartment, but he felt like an idiot. He couldn’t wait to get rid of the disguise and take a shower. Even the thought of putting on this getup again on Saturday night was making his neck break out in hives.

  Mia, however, looked amazing. Her chin-length red ringlets were both sexy and innocent at the same time, and though her black-framed glasses hid her beautiful doe eyes, they somehow added an allure. She looked like an art professor or a film producer.

  And she looked absolutely nothing like the woman he’d come to know over the past few weeks. If she passed him on the street in her disguise, he’d never recognize her.

  He had no idea how Mia had changed her look for her husband and lived with it for so long. He’d been in disguise for only a half hour, and already he was squirming. Mia had changed her hair, her style, her clothes, everything about her physical self for years.

  He shook his head, sickened by what people did to please others, to make relati
onships work, marriages continue. If you weren’t happy with the way someone was, if you weren’t happy, period, why not just leave?

  Why hadn’t his mother left? She’d explained that over and over. You just don’t understand, Matthew. I love him, Matthew. I love you and your brother, Matthew.

  When you’re older, you’ll understand, Matthew.

  Love is complicated, Matthew.

  But it wasn’t supposed to be. And Matthew had never understood.

  A woman put a dollar in the jukebox, and in seconds, music filled MacDougal’s. It was his brother and Laurie’s wedding song: “Wind Beneath My Wings.” What a joke. What a lie.

  Marriage was such a damned lie. The whole charade of a wedding ceremony, all that expense, all that posturing. Just to make some vows one of the duo, sometimes both, had no intention of keeping.

  One woman for the rest of my life, Robert Gray had often said when Matthew had confronted him about his philandering. Can you imagine sleeping with only one woman till you drop dead from old age? No thanks, man.

  So why get married? Matthew had wanted to know. Why pick one woman when you wanted several? Why get married when you weren’t ready to commit?

  Because you love the person, Robert had explained. You love the woman you marry, you want to share your life with her, you want to go through the daily crap, wake up, fall asleep, weekends, grocery shopping, the mundane daily toil of life. You want to share life with your best friend. That’s what a wife is. After a while, it’s not necessarily about sex.

  Matthew understood the concept of a best friend. He also understood the concept of desiring that best friend physically. He wanted both. And since it had been made crystal clear to him that you couldn’t have both, he would never marry. It was that simple.

  And what about when the sex goes? Matthew had asked his brother. How can you be best friends with a woman you’re cheating on?

  You just don’t understand, Matt, Robert had said, shaking his head.

  Matthew didn’t want to understand. Ever.

  The blare of a rock and roll intro jarred Matthew back to the present. He took a final glance around MacDougal’s, and comfortable that he had the lay of the land, he headed back to the bar and took a seat next to Mia.

  “I don’t see any of our suspects,” Mia whispered, handing him his club soda.

  He glanced around. “Well, I for one am relieved that at least one person on our list isn’t here.”

  Mia squeezed his hand, her expression soft. It was clear she knew he was talking about his sister-in-law.

  He looked down at her hand, the left finger encircled by the cheap band of gold. He glanced at his own left hand, sporting a larger version of the same ring. It itched on his finger.

  He swallowed, realizing that to everyone around them, they were a married couple out for a night of wings and beer at a popular hangout.

  A married couple.

  The back of his neck broke out into a sweat. Yup, I’m a married man, taking my wife out after work, and then this Saturday, I’ll be just like I feared, going out alone and picking up a strange woman. Cheating.

  Matthew felt sick to his stomach, a bit surprised that even the arranged setup of adultery made him nauseous.

  “Oh, Matthew, I love this song!” Mia exclaimed as an old Elton John tune began playing. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said, looking at her as if she were crazy. “You want to dance?”

  “Why not?” she asked, her eyes clouding over.

  He instantly regretted that he stung her. “I mean, it’s just that I wouldn’t think you’d be in the frame of mind to dance. Given why we’re here,” he added.

  “Oh, okay, then,” she said flatly, grabbing a peanut from the bowl on the bar. “We don’t have to dance.”

  “If you want to dance, we’ll dance,” Matthew said.

  “Don’t do me any favors,” Mia snapped.

  “Our first marital fight,” Matthew cooed, taking a sip of his club soda.

  “Look, just forget it,” she snapped.

  She was serious. She actually wanted to dance. Mia was full of surprises, Matthew thought, shaking his head in wonder.

  He stood up and put out his hand. “May I have this dance?”

  She looked into his face, and her own relaxed when she saw that he was serious. She smiled softly and placed her hand in his. “You may.”

  They headed to the dance floor, hand in hand, and joined a bunch of others swaying to Elton John. He put his arms around her waist; she put hers around his neck, and their bodies at a comfortable distance, they slow danced.

  “I haven’t danced in about a hundred years,” Matthew said. “I think the last time I stepped onto a dance floor was five years ago.”

  Four years ago, he corrected mentally. With Gwen. Right before she revealed herself to be a corporate spy for her boyfriend. Right before he revealed her, he amended. He’d caught her copying documents with his own eyes. Heard her lies with his own ears.

  Matthew closed his eyes to shake off the memory, and without meaning to, he pulled Mia closer. Their cheeks resting against each other, Matthew breathed in the scent of her. The faintest hint of roses, of soap, of green apples. And, unfortunately, wig.

  “I haven’t danced since my marriage ended,” Mia said. “It feels nice.”

  Yes, it did. Too nice.

  Suddenly, Matthew could taste Mia, each inch of her creamy, soft body. He could smell her, smell them. He felt his zipper strain against his erection, and he resisted the urge to press her against the wall and dirty dance the way he really wanted to at the moment.

  She glanced up at him, and her eyes widened at the desire she clearly saw in his; then they smoldered with her own desire. And before he could stop himself, he leaned down and kissed her, softly at first, and then more passionately.

  She looked up at him. “Let’s not start something we can’t finish,” Mia whispered, her voice catching.

  “My mistake,” he said. “Sorry.”

  And as he stepped back a reasonable distance, he wondered how something that felt so right could be a mistake. He wished the song would end so that his hands would stop itching to pull her close again, to feel her against him, even just the soft skin of her cheek against his.

  Finally, the song did end.

  “Your buffalo wings are probably ready, anyway,” Mia commented as they headed back to their stools at the bar.

  And they were, which gave the two of them a reason not to talk for the next fifteen minutes as they popped wings into their mouths and had another round of club soda.

  “Sorry about that on the dance floor,” he said.

  “Forget it,” she replied flatly. “I have.”

  Cold, he thought. Too cold. Which meant she hadn’t forgotten it and wouldn’t.

  Change the subject, buddy. Just don’t go there. Focus.

  “So, you hardly seem nervous about being in MacDougal’s, Mia,” Matthew commented. “I expected you to be a little freaked.”

  “I don’t have anything to be scared about tonight,” she said, biting into a wing. “Saturday night might be a very different story. I’m sure it will be. But I’ve scoped out the place, I know where the bar is and where the tables are and where the door is and where the bathroom is. I know where the parking lot is in relation to the main avenue.”

  “You’ve been as busy as I have tonight,” he commented.

  “I want to be prepared,” she responded. “The one thing that bothers me about this place is the parking lot. I wish that fence wasn’t there along Bridge Avenue. There’s no direct access to the avenue, and we can’t see over the fence.”

  “I know,” he said. “I noticed that. Makes the parking lot a little too private.”

  She shuddered, and he placed his hand on her arm. “You okay?”

  Mia nodded. “I’m fine. And I’m ready for Saturday night.”

  He held her gaze. “You’re sure, then. You absolutely want to
go through with this?”

  “I’m sure,” she replied. “Surer than I’ve ever been of anything. I want to bring my sister home. And I want to see your brother’s killer brought to justice.”

  He downed the last of his club soda. And then what? he wondered. What happened after her sister came home and Robert’s murderer was rotting in a jail cell? Would he ever see Mia again?

  What would the circumstances be? If they didn’t have the case, the investigation to bring them together, why would they ever see each other? That would make them friends or lovers or something in between.

  They had become friends, he supposed. And they had become lovers. It was the in between and everything else he had trouble with.

  Mia stared at today’s date in her appointment book, circled once in red ink.

  July tenth.

  When she and Matthew had first discussed the plan two weeks ago and then again even three days ago, July tenth had seemed so far away.

  But here it was. Saturday, July tenth. Dawning bright and sunny and warm, like any other day. But it wasn’t just any other day. Tonight, Mia would either clear her sister’s name, or the deaths of four men, to whom her sister was terribly connected, could go unsolved forever. If Margot didn’t show up tonight as instructed, the killer might direct his or her rage on Margot herself—if she ever did come home, that was.

  Mia shivered, despite the fact that she’d turned off the air-conditioning in Matthew’s bedroom and opened the windows to let in some fresh morning air. Goose bumps broke out along her arms.

  She wondered what Matthew was thinking. For the past three days, they’d gone over and over the plan for tonight, and when neither of them could keep their eyes open a moment longer, Mia would retreat to the bedroom. If he thought about her, if he wanted her, Mia didn’t know. She knew only that he’d been keeping her at arm’s length. She’d ask him something even remotely personal, and he’d evade the subject, then change it. She’d try to talk to him about Laurie Gray, and he’d answer woodenly.

  She thought of their dance at MacDougal’s, the way he’d kissed her so unexpectedly, yet so expectedly. Their kiss was so right, felt so right, but there was no way she was putting herself through that kind of torture again. No way she’d allow herself to sink into a kiss, into his arms, into hope, when he’d pull the rug out from under her.