Grace pulled her eyes back to his but remained silent. Instead, she imagined ways she could squish him, envisioning him with a little cockroach body under her hard sole boot.
“I don’t care what fucking team you play for,” he snapped, “but keep your hands out of that tart’s pants.”
Before he could even take his next breath, Grace slammed him against the wall. With her forearm pushed into his chest pinning him, she barked, “Don’t ever speak of her that way. I will drop you without any care of the consequences. Understood?” When he met her with only wide-eyed silence, she pushed even harder into his body. “Understood?”
“Understood,” he spit out.
She released her hold and only then realized the crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle. Wilcox straightened his jacket and picked up his briefcase, uttering “fucking dyke” as he stomped away.
Taking in a deep shaky breath, Grace ran her hands through her hair before turning around in search of the bathroom so she could regroup in at least semi-privacy.
* * *
“She wouldn’t even look at me,” Elizabeth said on her fifth round of pacing. She was in no condition to return to her office, so she sought out the comfort and counsel of Michael. After flopping herself into a brightly colored, ergonomic chair that took center stage in his office, she launched herself back up. Michael watched and listened as she moved back and forth from one end of the office to the other, like a human metronome. After a few minutes, she flopped down again, exhausted, and this time stayed down. She sank into the chair and allowed her arms to drop at her side and blew an exasperated breath.
He pulled his chair to her side and grabbed her hand, resting it in his lap. “Tell me what happened, from the beginning.”
“She’s been pushing me away. She says it’s the case, but she wouldn’t even look at me,” Elizabeth said. She went on to explain the events that led up to her bursting into Grace’s father’s hospital room, babbling and hugging the man like he was a long lost relative. “Oh God.” She covered her face. “He must think I’m a real idiot.”
Michael wisely chose to stay quiet.
“We talked after and everything seemed fine, not great, but okay. But this morning, she wouldn’t even look at me. What did I do?”
He squeezed her hand. “Honey, you didn’t do anything wrong. It is all her. I can go beat her up for you.”
She appreciated his attempt at humor, but she couldn’t get herself to smile.
“You know what you need?” he asked. “A night out.” Elizabeth’s only response was a groan. “I’m serious,” he said. “You and me, some music and dancing. It will be good for your soul.”
“I don’t have it in me,” she said, but she knew protesting was futile. She was going out that night if he had to drag her there.
* * *
“Detective Donovan.”
Grace winced at the sound of her name and blew out a breath before turning to face the voice. Her sergeant stood in the doorway of his office and beckoned her to approach. The look on his face indicated that it wasn’t for tea and cookies. She moved toward him, avoiding eye contact with the others in the office, but she could hear bits of their murmuring as she passed, none in her support. She was the youngest and only female detective in the unit, and that didn’t garner her any sympathy among her colleagues.
“Close the door,” came the order when she stepped into the room, and she complied with the request.
Her sergeant, a red-faced man with a thick neck and wavy graying hair that he kept close-cropped, sat behind a cluttered desk, littered with files, papers, and a collection of photographs. In one of them, he was actually smiling, something she had never personally seen.
“Have a seat.” Another short command. She had to admit that he was a fair man, but for any detective who stepped out of line, hell was to be paid. Once she was seated, he leveled a stare. “I got a call from the prosecutor’s office.”
“I thought you might.”
“Assaulting a prosecutor? What the hell, Donovan! I should take your badge right now.” She was surprised at how willing she was to give it up at that moment. She could work security at the mall, but reality set in. It would never pay for her father’s care.
“I apologize, sir. I lost my head. The prick, uh, prosecutor, ran off at the mouth hurling insults. And questioning my ability to investigate the case. I’m a good detective, sir.” She held her head high, and he nodded in agreement. She knew that he regarded her as was one of his best, and up until now, she had caused no problems.
He leaned his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands. “The prosecutor’s an ass. Everyone knows it. Between you and me, I’ve had the urge to throw him against the wall a time or two. But you gotta keep your head. He can make things very difficult for you and me. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Realizing that he was going to let her slide with a warning, she loosened her grip on the chair.
“All right, get out of here.”
She stood and exited his office to return to her desk. What a fucking day, and it’s not even half over.
* * *
“I look like a slut,” Elizabeth said, eyeing herself critically in her full-length mirror. She was dressed in a black leather skirt that rode up indecently high, a form-fitting, deep purple shirt that barely contained her breasts, which were being thrust forward by a pushup bra, and what she called “fuck me” high heels; all of which were found in her closet, but she would have never dreamed of combining them. Black eye liner and smoky eye shadow accented her eyes, and her hair was pulled back into an artfully tied ponytail, with a few strands wistfully tucked behind her ear.
“Honey, you look hot,” Michael responded, commenting on his handiwork. If he left it up to Elizabeth, she would have shown up in jeans.
“How am I supposed to sit down?”
“We aren’t going for sitting. Now move it.” He picked up her black leather handbag and shoved it at her as he pulled her out the front door.
She treaded carefully, watching for small rocks, nooks and crannies, and other lethal obstacles that could take her down in her two-inch heels as she made her way to Michael’s Porsche. She had come to terms with his plans and decided that he was right. She wouldn’t sit around waiting for Grace to decide when and if she was ready to start a relationship. She would live her life, and a night out with Michael was a good way to kick off her new lease on her social life.
After several minutes of conversing with herself in her head, Elizabeth looked around at the moving traffic. “So where are we going?”
“It’s a new place that opened up a few months ago. Don’t worry, they only charge by the hour, and they have a new cuuummer special.”
“What!” Elizabeth snapped her head to face him. Realizing that she was being played, she slapped his arm.
“Ouch, that hurt,” he protested.
“Then I did it right.”
She was nervous, and he was trying to keep it light, even if it meant taking a few hits for the team. They had gone out countless times, especially in their college years, but this night was different. This was a turning point, where she wasn’t just accompanying him to a club to hang at his side as his best friend. She was going as an eligible woman.
When he slowed his car to turn into the drive, she nervously peered at the sign announcing Wilting Willies. “You think that’s the best name for a club? People aren’t coming here for wilting willies.”
He offered no comeback and instead concentrated on finding a spot that was close enough to the entrance, but far enough to be safe from drunken patrons stumbling out of the club. Like Elizabeth, he was proprietary about his car. Music spilled out of the front door each time it opened, and he moved in rhythm. He was ready to get the party started, and he stepped out and moved around to open Elizabeth’s door. She hesitated, staring at the purple neon sign.
“Are you cuuumming?” he asked.
She accepted his proffered hand and pulled herself
up and straightened her skirt that had managed to hike up nearly to her hips.
“Oh Lord, please don’t tell me you’re wearing those underwear?”
“Don’t look at my underwear! And what’s wrong with them?”
“They’re cotton and floral. Need I say anymore?”
“Shut up.” She stormed ahead of him making it three steps before she faltered and stumbled in the gravel.
“Oh Lord, the pay by the hour thing might be the only way you see any action tonight.” He gripped her arm and helped her navigate to the front door. A man in ripped jeans and a tight white T-shirt, showing off his muscular build, perched on a stool inside and requested their identification before they could pass. Once proving they were of legal age, they moved into the inner sanctum, and Elizabeth blinked to adjust to the darkened room that was accented with neon lights that streaked across the floor. A long bar ran across the wall closest to the door, and several round tables with stools lined the wooden dance floor that took center stage. The club was fairly full, enough to keep it bustling, but not uncomfortably so. He steered her to a vacant table on the opposite side and pulled out a high stool for her. She could only stare at it.
“You expect me to climb up on that?”
Michael eyed the situation, and he hoisted her up. “Upsy-daisy.” She plopped on the seat and hung on to the table as she almost fell off the other side.
He offered to get them some drinks, and she stared off at the dance floor watching the couples do a modern form of a mating dance. They made it seem easy, no hesitation, no tension, no “I can’t because our jobs stand between us.” By the time Michael returned, she had herself worked up and was almost talking to herself.
“You can let go of the table,” he said. “And maybe look a little less pissed off.”
She closed her eyes and rolled her shoulders, reminding herself why she came. She was going to have a good time if it killed her, and at the moment, it felt like it just might, if the shoes didn’t get her first.
“Hi, do you mind if I share your table?” someone asked from behind her, and she turned to acknowledge an attractive dark haired woman dressed in jeans, T-shirt, and black leather boots. “All the others are full.” She gestured with a drink in her hand.
“Please,” Michael eagerly responded, and he popped off his seat to pull out the empty stool.
“Thanks. I’m Melissa.”
“Hi, Melissa, I’m Michael, and this is Elizabeth,” he replied, gesturing to Elizabeth, in case she didn’t notice her sitting there.
Elizabeth felt a little like the last pick in the litter of kittens that the owners were desperately trying to give away.
Melissa offered a cordial nod in her direction and glanced at the cleavage spilling out of her shirt. “So, are you newcomers?”
Elizabeth nearly spit out her drink at the question. “Excuse me?”
“Is this your first time coming here?” she asked, speaking slower.
“Oh, uh, yeah, first time here,” Elizabeth fumbled out.
The conversation between them stalled, and Michael intervened. “How about you?”
“I have been here a few times, but I don’t seem to get out very often with work and all.”
“What do you do?” Michael asked.
“I’m a lawyer.”
“Really, Elizabeth is too,” he said, making no attempt to hide the excitement in his voice. “You are two peas on a pod.”
“Peas in a pod,” Elizabeth corrected him.
“What?”
“It’s ‘two peas in a pod.’”
“In a pod, on a pod, whatever. I think you two should dance,” he blurted.
If Melissa wasn’t sitting between them, she would have slapped him upside the head, and he knew it, giving her a Cheshire cat grin.
Melissa turned to her. “You game?”
“Uh, sure.” Elizabeth finished her drink, hoping for some liquid courage, then looked down and hesitated. Melissa recognized her predicament.
“Allow me.” She offered her arm, and Elizabeth slid down while Melissa helped her balance when her feet hit the floor, putting them at equal height. Once seeing her soundly to the ground, she said, “You look great by the way.”
“Thanks, this is Michael’s doing,” she responded, gesturing to her attire as if it was an apology, but from Melissa’s appreciative look, no apologies were needed.
A slow ballad began to play, which sent a sense of relief and panic through Elizabeth; relief that it was a more manageable pace with her shoes, but panic because it meant close contact with her. Melissa sensed her trepidation and lightly placed her hand on her shoulder, allowing a comfortable amount of space to exist between them, and they moved in rhythm.
“So what area of law do you practice?” Melissa asked.
Elizabeth explained her work with the Southern Indigent Legal Center, and the conversation put her at ease. Melissa was attentive, asking several questions about her cases.
“Sounds much more interesting than what I do day in and day out.”
“Which is?”
“Corporate transactions.”
“Oh.” Elizabeth wasn’t sure what more to add, as she couldn’t envision an area of law that was more of an extreme opposite to what she did.
“No worries. You need not say anymore. The money is good, but the work, well, that’s not so exciting.”
Elizabeth offered a genuine smile to Melissa’s honesty.
“So, Elizabeth, tell me, why is it that your friend Michael felt the need to dress you up and drag you out to a club when you would clearly rather be elsewhere?”
“It’s that obvious?”
Melissa moved her head slightly from side to side, as though contemplating her answer. “Yup, pretty obvious.”
“It’s sort of a long story.”
“What’s her name?”
Elizabeth stopped and stared directly into her eyes but didn’t answer.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just written all over you.”
“I’m trying to escape that tonight. How about we talk about something else?”
“So, chocolate or vanilla?”
“Chocolate or vanilla what?”
“Ice cream.” Melissa smiled.
“Mint chocolate chip.”
“Of course. You are definitely not a chocolate or vanilla kind of gal.”
“I will take that as a compliment.”
“As you should.”
The easy conversation continued for several songs, until Elizabeth had to cry mercy because of her feet, and Melissa gallantly guided her back to the table. They bantered naturally, with Michael coming and going in between dances, and three hours slipped by.
It became clear that Michael had found a new friend when he stopped returning to their table, and as much as she was enjoying Melissa’s company, the evening was catching up with her, and she was ready to call it a night. Elizabeth scanned the crowd for her ride.
Michael made his way back, and it was then that Elizabeth realized the drunken state he was in. “How many drinks did he have?”
“Probably a drink or two beyond merry.”
It seemed Elizabeth would be their designated driver, since she’d only had the single drink when she arrived.
“There you are,” Michael slurred as he stumbled to her, touching the tip of her nose. “Isn’t she a cutie? So you two going to get it on?”
“All righty, I think it’s time for us to go.” She kicked off her shoes and hopped down to wrap an arm around his waist.
As she attempted to reach for her shoes, Melissa stepped in. “I got this.” She grabbed Elizabeth’s purse and shoes and followed behind. When Michael began steering her off course, Melissa moved to his other side, and with her free arm helped Elizabeth navigate.
It took several minutes to reach the car, as Michael continually stopped to spout out random facts, Elizabeth’s least favorite being, “I can see your boobies,” as he stared down her shirt, which led
to a one-sided discussion about her underwear. She could hear Melissa chuckling through his monologue.
When they reached the car, Michael provided Melissa with lots of fun Elizabeth facts, including her propensity to dance naked in the mirror after every shower. At that tidbit, Elizabeth let go of her hold and allowed him to fall into the passenger side of the car. “Oooops.” She patted him down searching for the keys and felt a bulge in his pocket. “These better be your keys,” she said as she reached inside.
After she unlocked the door, Melissa helped guide him inside, and Elizabeth shut the door behind him. They both watched him for a moment as his head lolled to the side and his eyes closed.
“You going to be okay with him?” Melissa asked as she handed over Elizabeth’s belongings.
“Yeah, I’ll just leave him to sleep in the car.”
Melissa reached into her back pocket, pulled out a small leather billfold, and removed her business card. “You have a pen?”
Melissa wrote a number on the back of the card. “Here’s my cell. Call if you ever want to hang out, have lunch, or just talk. No strings attached.”
Elizabeth accepted the card and squeezed her hand. “Thank you, Melissa, for everything.” She placed a soft kiss on her cheek before turning to move to the driver’s side. As much as she enjoyed Melissa’s company, she wouldn’t call.
Chapter Thirteen
Making as much noise as possible, Elizabeth clanked around the kitchen, and when that didn’t work, she began dropping things on the floor, which only resulted in Michael turning to find a more comfortable position. Despite her promise to leave him in the car, she half carried, half dragged him into the house the night before and dropped him on her couch, where he remained comfortably tucked under a blanket, obnoxiously snoring. She thought about the prior evening and Melissa, a beautiful, sexy, attentive, and best yet, available woman who clearly showed interest, and yet, it wasn’t enough.
Since she was unable to take it out on the person that really angered her, Michael became her surrogate. With a pot in one hand and a metal spoon in the other, she stood over him and began to beat them together above his head, causing him to bolt up straight.
Secrets of the Last Castle Page 11