Dangerously in Love

by Kimbrough, Michele

  I can do this. He kept repeating that in his head. He could do this. He wasn’t going to allow his fear to control him. This needed to happen. This was going to happen, and it would happen tonight. Just as he mustered the nerve to make a run for it, his phone vibrated. He knew he should’ve left it in the truck. Rookie mistake, he thought. It was mistakes like this that got his former clients pinched when he was a defense attorney. The vibrations persisted. It sounded like a power drill in the silence of the night. He fumbled around, trying to quickly retrieve it but his gloves were a hindrance. The buzzing sound was even louder when he pulled the phone out of his pocket. He snatched off his glove with his teeth and hit the ignore button as quickly as he could.

  Peering around the corner, he nearly choked on a gasp. The men had disappeared. He stood, shoved his phone in his pocket, and backtracked to the other side of the bungalow, trying to ascertain the men’s location. He didn’t see them. He slipped his glove back on, picked up the sledgehammer, and darted diagonally across the lawn to the side of the house.

  Huffing to catch his breath, he suppressed a cough. Hill knew he shouldn’t continue with the plan— there were too many unexpected obstacles—but he was already committed. He was at the house now. All he had to do was get to the side entrance. He saw the beam of a flashlight illuminating an area near the bungalow. It was one of the men he’d lost sight of when the phone vibrated. They had apparently heard the noise and were investigating. Hill had to hurry out of sight. All the men had to do was switch their focus from the bungalow to the house, and he would be discovered. He had to get to the side of the house . . . and quickly.

  Hill slowly sidestepped his way toward the entrance. There was no place for him to hide if the men returned to their post before he reached the door except beside the HVAC units about fifty feet away. He knew he needed to hurry, but he also had to be careful. If a vibrating phone caught the men’s attention, so would a cracking twig or rustling paper—Hill had to take each step carefully. The flashlights were now beaming toward the house. The men were on their way back to their post. Hill quickly shifted from a sidestep into a full-on run toward the HVAC units where he squatted out of sight just as a flashlight lit up the area where he’d been standing several seconds ago.

  Then he heard someone at the side door. He realized he was only feet away from the door now. The lock clicked. His heart was beating in his throat. Still squatting, he leaned into the darkness, low to the ground, staring at the door. No one came out. It must have been Caitlin unlocking the door for him. Maybe. He couldn’t be sure. His phone vibrated again. He pulled it out but didn’t recognize the number on the screen. He ignored it and turned off the phone. As soon as he did, he realized it might have been Caitlin trying to warn him—trying to call it off.

  He skulked to the side door and twisted the knob. It was unlocked just like she said it would be. He peered around the door before entering, then slipped through the narrow opening. He didn’t want to open the door too wide, allowing the moonlight to spill into the dark room. He wasn’t sure if there were men posted inside the house as well. He quietly closed the door then hurried through the long corridor that opened into the basement.

  His palms were sweating in those hot gloves. It was at least seventy-five degrees outside, and the basement felt even hotter. Beads of sweat saturated the skull cap. He wanted to take it off, especially since he was in the house. But he didn’t know if Adam had installed cameras. He’d only been inside twice—once when he’d made love to Caitlin on the dining room table, and the other time when he helped Adam move the trunks from the basement into the truck. He had spent most of his time in their yard working or in the bungalow with Caitlin.

  He reached the top of the stairs but didn’t know what awaited him on the other side of the basement door. Could there be another armed man posted there? He had no idea. Hill gripped the sledgehammer, twisted the door knob, and peered through the slight opening. All he could see was darkness. He pushed through the door, looking to his left and right. Nothing. Somehow, he felt a little bolder, less afraid. It was as if the adrenaline had taken over—it was like a rush of excitement, actually. Not the happy-go-lucky kind of excitement, but rather the ‘I might die tonight’ kind.

  Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the spiral staircase to his left and dashed toward it, listening for any sounds. He quickly ascended the stairs, but paused at the landing, peering over the railing to check if anyone was downstairs. Nothing was stirring. The first room on the right was the bathroom. He looked inside then continued down the hall. He began to hear faint sounds, but they were coming from ahead of him. A rhythmic knocking—a thumping sound. He gripped the handle of the sledgehammer even tighter as he eased down the hallway. The thumping became louder. Voices joined in the mix. No, not voices. Grunts, groans, and moans. As he advanced further down the hall, he heard a clapping sound—flesh on flesh. Bumping, slapping, grunting, moaning, and . . . it was clear.

  He was at the room. He pressed himself against the wall outside the door and looked around the corner into the room. The plan was for him to go into the room and whack Adam on the head with the sledgehammer, knocking him unconscious. But he couldn’t. Caitlin was on top of him, grinding and swirling her hips with her head thrown back—seemingly in the throes of pleasure. Or maybe it was he who was in the throes of agony, watching his woman make love to another man. But she wasn’t his woman. She was Adam’s. And she said so as he listened and Adam asked whose she was. Caitlin said, “Yours, baby.”

  His heart sank into his gut, churning and burning with anger and pain. He wanted to kill them both but couldn’t muster the energy. Not now. Had she lost track of time? She knew he would be there at midnight. And considering her position at the moment, who the hell had unlocked the side door for him? It couldn’t have been Caitlin—not the way she was immersed in passion. No, someone else had unlocked the door, which meant someone knew he was there. But who? His head began to throb. Fear set in. He felt compromised. And then he heard Caitlin call out Adam’s name, and just as cautiously as he had made his way into the house, he returned to his truck, dropping the sledgehammer in its bed. His conscience had been screaming at him, and he had finally listened. He was not a murderer. Caitlin was not his woman. And Adam would get what’s coming to him one way or the other, but it wouldn’t be because Hill took his life.

  Halfway home, Hill tried to get the image of Caitlin screwing Adam out of his mind. It kept replaying over and over like a looping reel. He pulled off his gloves and skull cap, tossing them onto the passenger seat. He cued up Led Zeppelin on his iPod and plugged it into the AUX port on the radio console. Since I’ve Been Loving You played first on the shuffle. He turned up the volume until the truck vibrated with each beat. He bobbed his head to the rhythm, immersing himself in the instrumentals. Next up, I Can’t Quit You Baby. Before the song ended, he was home. He sat in his truck for a few minutes until the song finished then dragged himself inside. There was no more wind in his sail.

  26

  Over the next two weeks, Hill upgraded his security system, added cameras to the common areas of the warehouse, changed out the card key so that the one Caitlin had would no longer work, and sent Gabe and Ty to do the walk-through for the various projects they had completed, including the Church property. Hill wrapped a towel around his waist and stood at the sliding door overlooking the east view balcony, gazing at the sun’s attempt to cut through the cloudy haze.

  Trina . . . Tina . . . Teresa, whatever her name was, rolled to the edge of her bed. He’d met her at Ernie’s Bar last night. She came on to him—hard—and invited him to her place. “Let’s get drunk and screw” was her proposition. He couldn’t resist, especially the way her breasts crowded her shirt—a shirt which seemed much too small to contain her. Her hips were a little too narrow and her butt was concaved in a strange way. She looked as if she’d tip over at any moment. Nonetheless, her odd body didn’t stop Hill from ogling her.

  Nigh
t before last, his conquest was a waitress from the café he used to frequent with Perry and Samantha. A few nights before that, he’d had a bank teller. And before that, a bartender. In other words, Hill was amassing a string of one-night-stands. Trina-Tina-Teresa was, unfortunately, another of them.

  She swaddled a sheet around her naked body and met him on the balcony, wrapping her arms around his waist, kissing his strong back.

  “Would you like some coffee?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  He smiled as she caressed his back, kissing his salty neck. He looked at the bedside clock, which had been flashing 12:00 since last night. He reached for his cell phone to check the time. Eleven thirty.

  “Oh shit!” he shouted.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve got to go,” he said as he rushed by her.

  “You’ve got to go?”

  “Yeah. I need to shower,” he said as he stumbled into her bathroom.

  ***

  Caitlin arrived at her lawyer’s office and sat across from the glass-top desk. Fran Wyler sat on the other side, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, scribbling notes on a handheld notepad.

  “Like I told you on the phone, I want to modify my will,” Caitlin said after sitting there for fifteen minutes waiting for her attorney to finish reviewing the current will.

  “If there are no substantive changes, the will can stand as is,” Fran counseled.

  “Here are copies of my life insurance policies. I’ve named my husband, Adam Church, as my beneficiary. Secondary beneficiary is my dear friend Amelia Morales.”

  “I see on the original will, you are leaving everything to your husband. Do you want that to remain?”

  “No, since he is the beneficiary of my life insurance policies and independently wealthy, I’d like to leave everything to Amelia, including any inheritances I may receive.”

  “Any other changes?”

  “Yes. I would like to leave the North Shore mansion to Rosemary Camargo. I know my husband and I own it jointly, but if something should happen to both of us, God forbid, I want Rosemary to have it.”

  Fran Wyler set the notepad face down on the glass top along with her reading glasses and swiveled her chair. She got up and walked to the window, studying the pedestrians on the street. “Is there something you want to tell me, Caitlin?”

  “I, uh,” she looked away, contemplatively, then continued. “I’m just making sure my affairs are in order. My uncle always told me to be prepared for anything. I want the people I love to be taken care of.”

  “I’m sensing there’s more to this story than you’re telling me. Do you want to talk about it?”

  Caitlin shook her head and pulled a tissue from her purse. Fran Wyler walked from behind her desk and sat in the chair beside Caitlin, her hand on Caitlin’s forearm.

  “What’s going on, Caitlin?”

  Caitlin nervously rubbed her hands together, dabbed her tearless eyes with the tissue then turned to face Fran Wyler.

  “I’m having an affair with my gardener,” she said. Her accent was pronounced.

  “Oh?”

  Caitlin sniffed then went on, “Things have gotten out of hand, now he’s threatening me. He’s threatened to go to my husband if I don’t pay him off. I’m just afraid, Fran. I — I really don’t know what to do.”

  “You call the authorities, that’s what you do. You can’t allow someone like him to extort you and your family like that.”

  “No. He threatened violence if I involved the police. I’m just going to do what he says.”

  “I advise against that.”

  Caitlin nodded. “I understand. But I have to do this. I need to add him to my will. If something should happen to me, Fran, please tell the authorities what I’ve shared with you. Will you?”

  Fran Wyler nodded, knowing that she should try harder to convince Caitlin to involve the police. But she also didn’t know the depth of the danger. “In what capacity do you want him added?”

  “I want to leave Hilton Parker the contents of my safe deposit box at Northern Trust.

  “Okay. I’ll messenger a copy to you once it’s drawn up.”

  “No. I’ll wait and sign it today.”

  27

  Hill arrived at the Oak Street Bar and Grill where he met up with Gabe and Ty. Ty was leaving, going to Texas where he’d found year-round work. Gabe had decided to retire and go back to the Dominican Republic. They were getting together to say farewell.

  The bar used to be one of those fancy places where high profile folks went to unwind. But currently, it was somewhat of a dive. No fancy decor. No fancy drinks. Just the hard stuff and beer. That’s all. For a while, they served hot appetizers. Now, they served chips and salsa or burgers and fries. That was about it. And despite that, it managed to draw in a respectable crowd.

  The three of them met at the bar. Ty had ordered a round of shots just before Hill arrived.

  “Damn, Hill. You look like shit that’s been dragged through shit,” Ty joked.

  “That’s not what your mama said last night,” Hill managed with a straight face.

  “You two are like twelve-year-olds. Mama jokes? Come on,” Gabe added.

  “Are you still lusting after that Church woman?” Ty asked. “I’m telling you, that woman is bad news.”

  “I never lusted after her. I simply liked looking at her, that’s all.”

  “Just be careful. I’d hate to attend your funeral.”

  “Gabe, you’re awfully quiet. What’s up with you?” Hill asked.

  “Just thinking about seeing my ol’ lady.”

  “I hear you,” Hill said.

  “Check this out,” Gabe handed Hill and Ty each a cigar. “I got a handful of these from that housekeeper, Rosemary, when I helped her unload Caitlin Church’s car.”

  “Thanks, man. I ordered the same brand. These are definitely high end.” Hill put the cigar in his shirt pocket and guzzled his beer. He turned and leaned against the bar. As he did, he saw Samantha sitting alone at a table, sipping what looked like red wine while reading the postcard-sized menu. He tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help it. What was it about this woman that he couldn’t get over? Not even Caitlin could fill the hole she left behind.

  She looked up, and their eyes met. He smiled and tilted his beer bottle toward her. She lifted her wine glass to him. He patted Ty on the shoulder. “I see Sam. I’m gonna go speak to her. I’ll be back.” Ty and Gabe waved at her. She did the same.

  ***

  “Where’s your husband, Sam? Don’t tell me you’ve run him off already.”

  “Screw you, Hill,” she said as she sipped her drink.

  “Oh, wouldn’t you like to. . .” he grinned. “Is that Merlot? Cab? Malbec?”

  She didn’t answer but took another sip.

  “Let me have a taste. The last time I had wine, you and I were still together. Remember that?” Hill watched her take another sip. “Are you going to let me have some?”

  “No.”

  “Come on, don’t be like that, darlin’,” he said, flashing a seductive smile.

  “No. This is my drink. Get your own.”

  “Aw, don’t be that way.”

  “What way is that, Hill?”

  “Stingy.”

  “Call it what you want, you still can’t have any,” and she took another sip.

  Hill smiled, “That’s okay. I’ll taste the bit that’s on your lips. Works better for me anyway.”

  She grinned. “It’s cranberry juice.”

  “Cranberry juice? In a wine glass?”

  “Yes, Hill.”

  “So what’s with the cranberry juice? I thought you liked those drinks that put hair on your chest. Come on, let me buy you a proper drink. I’ll drink two to your one.”

  She looked away. “I can’t have a drink with you.”

  “Come on, Sam. You can’t still be mad at me. I mean, you’re the one who ran off and got married, and you didn’t even invi
te me to your wedding. But I’m not mad, and neither should you be.”

  “I’m not mad at you, Hill. I’m pregnant. So no drinking for me.”

  “Pregnant?” Hill nearly choked on the word. “Shit, Sam. You’re procreating with Bob?” Hill felt like he’d been hit by a bulldozer.

  She punched Hill in the arm. “His name, for the hundredth time, is Bill,” she yelled then sipped the juice.

  “Pregnant. You two aren’t wasting any time, huh?”

  Perry walked to the table. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, kissing Samantha’s cheek.

  He and Hill fist bumped. “What’s up, Hill?”

  “Nothing. So you two still meet up? But you don’t include me anymore?”

  “It’s not that. I just needed to talk to Perry about some stuff.”

  “What do you need to talk about that you can’t tell me?”

  “It’s nothing, Hill. Forget about it.”

  Perry interrupted to keep the conversation from escalating into an argument. “Bill wants her to quit her job to be a stay-at-home mom. She wanted an impartial opinion on whether she made the right decision about quitting her job. Your opinion, Hill, wouldn’t have been impartial.”

  “So you married a man who wants you barefoot and pregnant? And you called me an asshole?”

  “See, this is why I didn’t want to talk to you about it, Hill.”

  Perry’s cell phone buzzed. He looked at the screen. It was a text from Agent Reeves. It read: Mindy’s body pulled from river.

  “Hey, I’ve gotta run. Duty calls,” Perry said. “Try not to kill each other while I’m gone.” Samantha hugged Perry. Perry did the man-hug with Hill.

  “Can you drop me off at the train?” Samantha asked Perry. He nodded. She touched the side of Hill’s face, but he pulled away.

  “Do you want a ride, too?” Perry asked Hill.

  “No. I took a cab here. I’ll get a ride with Ty or Gabe.” Perry and Hill fist-bumped once more, then Perry wrapped his arm around Samantha and left the bar. Hill rejoined Gabe and Ty at the bar, flagging the bartender to order a whiskey straight up.