by Joanna Wayne
Dallas downed the last of his coffee and slid his cup to the center of the table. “So how is married life?”
Difficult. She wondered if that was the answer Dallas wanted to hear. Who was she kidding? He wouldn’t have given the question that much thought. He’d merely asked out of politeness. “Marriage is fine,” she answered.
“So what are you doing out at LSU-S on a bright sunny morning like this one?” he asked.
“Picking up a spring course guide.” She tapped the end of a manicured nail on the copy Matilda had given her. “I’m working on earning my teaching certification.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Does that surprise you, Dallas?”
“A little. I never pictured you as a teacher, but I’m sure you’ll be good at it.” He glanced at his watch, then pushed back from the table. “Hate to run, but I’m talking to one of the sociology classes in about ten minutes.”
“So duty calls.”
Their gazes met across the table and an unexpected blast of heat spread through her. She looked away awkwardly, hoping the reaction hadn’t produced any visible signs. If it had, Dallas gave no indication that he’d noticed.
“It was nice seeing you again,” he said.
“Yeah. Same here.”
And that was it. He didn’t even manage a smile before he turned and headed for the door.
Nicole pushed her coffee cup away. The handle clinked against Dallas’s cup—a brief touch and a ting, the way she and Dallas had been. At least a ting for him. For her it had been more of a heart-shattering knell.
All in the past, where it needed to stay. She was Mrs. Malcomb Lancaster.
The perfect marriage to the perfect man. Everyone said so. But then public opinion polls were always skewed.
IT WAS QUARTER PAST TEN when the phone on Nicole’s bedside table rang. The sound startled her, though for the last hour she’d been expecting Malcomb’s call saying he was on his way home. She poked the bookmark between the pages and dropped the book she’d been reading to the bed before answering.
“Hello.”
There was no answer, only quiet breathing on the other end. Her pulse quickened. “Why are you doing this?”
“Are you all right, Nicole?”
Malcomb. She released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I am now. I had a prank call earlier today, and when you didn’t answer right away, I thought I might be getting another one.”
“No, I was just writing the night orders on a patient’s chart. What kind of prank call?”
“Nothing important. I’ll tell you about it when you get home. Will that be soon?”
“I’m leaving the hospital now.”
“Good. I’ll be waiting for you.” Anxiously waiting, she thought, as they finished the conversation and said their goodbyes. Not to discuss a prank call, but to tell Malcomb she’d made up her mind and would be starting back to school in January. Now that she’d made the decision, she needed to get everything out in the open.
Sliding her feet to the floor, she walked across the thick, plush carpet in her bare feet and opened the second drawer of the antique mahogany bureau. Working her fingers beneath a stack of silky fabrics, she located the sheer black teddy Malcomb had bought her on their honeymoon.
She wasn’t trying to manipulate the situation or stack the deck in her favor, but sexy lingerie was definitely the way to get Malcomb’s attention. Black lace and a Scotch on the rocks. If anything could make her news more palatable for him, it would surely be that combination. Lace always seemed far more an aphrodisiac to him than her kisses.
Loosening the tie on her cotton pajama bottoms, she let them slide down and settle in a puddle of blue at her feet. She was trading a pair of warm, comfortable pj’s for a scrap of stiff black lace that had the annoying habit of riding up her crotch.
Who said she couldn’t compromise?
MALCOMB PUNCHED the button over his head, waited until the garage door slid open, then pulled his sleek sports car inside. Home. Painted walls, the shelves neatly lined with the trappings of suburbia. Gardening tools, an empty gas can, a bright blue Coleman cooler that had belonged to Gerald Dalton.
Malcomb sat for a few minutes, soaking everything in, giving himself time to distance himself from the rest of the night. Separate compartments. That was the only way to keep his life under control.
He started to open the door, then reached into his shirt pocket and retrieved an antiseptic wipe, still coated in plastic. He ripped the package open, removed the damp square and swabbed thoroughly, rubbing the cloth over his palms and then each finger before wadding it into a tight ball and dropping it into his car litter bag.
Only then did he push the door open and slide out, welcoming the coolness of the night air on the back of his neck as the wind found its way through the open garage door. Grabbing the bouquet of flowers he’d just purchased at the all-night supermarket, he took a deep breath and made his way to the back door of the house. He hadn’t played the game well that morning, had let his lovely bride catch glimpses that cast him in a less than flattering light. But he’d make up for that tonight. Flowers and compliments covered a multitude of sins.
And he had a multitude to cover.
NICOLE SPOTTED the bouquet of flowers first, the delicate petals like velvet as they captured the light from the candles and the dimmed chandelier. Her heart warmed and grew tight as her gaze rose to take in the taut features of Malcomb’s face. She knew without asking that he’d had a difficult day.
She crossed the floor and handed him the Scotch. “Welcome home, Dr. Lancaster.”
“Thank you.” His voice was husky, strained as if he was pulling it from somewhere deep inside him. He exchanged the flowers for the drink, raised the glass to his lips and swallowed almost half of the Scotch before placing the glass on the edge of the kitchen table and staring at her.
His gaze followed the lines of the black teddy, sliding down her body, missing nothing. The cold sheen lifted from his eyes, replaced by the fires of desire. “You look very sexy tonight, Mrs. Lancaster.”
“All for you.” That much was true.
Taking the flowers from her hand, he dropped them to the table, then brushed the palm of his right hand across the tips of her breasts, one at a time. Sipping his drink, he watched as her nipples hardened into dimpled peaks that strained against the lace.
Not waiting to finish his drink, he set it on the table, fitted his fingers beneath the straps of her teddy and eased them across her shoulders. Nudging her breasts with his thumbs, he worked until they found their way free of the fabric.
God, she wished she felt something. She’d never expected it to be like this, would have never believed her feelings for Malcomb could change so drastically in ten short months. But sex with him seemed impersonal, distant, disconnected from emotion.
Oblivious to her lack of response, he caressed her exposed breasts, first with his hands, then with his mouth—slick, practiced strokes of his fingers and tongue. Without once kissing her or whispering an endearment, he slipped his fingers inside the teddy and eased the fabric over her hips. If she didn’t stop him, he would enter her and reach his climax without a word having been said. She pulled away.
Malcomb’s body stiffened. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’ll just enjoy this more if we talk first.”
He stared at her as if she’d just dropped in from outer space.
“It’s important to me, Malcomb.”
He picked up his Scotch and emptied the glass down his throat. The heated desire of a few seconds ago was gone abruptly, his face frozen again. The differences between men and women must surely center in the ways they made love, she thought. Women needed words and feelings, needed to know things were all right in order for the experience to be meaningful. Men thought that making love was the same as making things right. At least that’s the way it seemed to her.
“It’s not important,” she said, sudde
nly certain that the words she’d rehearsed so diligently in the moments before he’d entered the door were all wrong. Her timing was off, her reasoning faulty. The talk should have waited.
He walked to the window and stared into the night. “Say whatever you have to say, Nicole. You should never be afraid to talk to me about anything.”
She reached to the floor and pulled up her teddy, wishing now she’d never put it on, wishing… She didn’t know what she wished. But now that she’d upset him, she might as well finish what she’d started.
“I went to LSU-S today and picked up a spring schedule.”
“And?”
“They’re offering the classes I need.”
His gaze bore into hers, as accusing as if she’d just confessed to sleeping with the gardener. He wasn’t going to make this easy.
“I registered. I’m going back to school. I want my special-education teaching certificate.”
He continued to glare, his lips clamped together, his stance intimidating. Not an ounce of give. Not a hint of understanding.
“Please, Malcomb. Try to understand. This is something I need to do for me. It has nothing to do with us.”
“No, it only has to do with you.”
Her eyes misted over as she picked up the flowers and pushed the stems into a crystal vase. She wasn’t even sure what she’d done wrong, why her going back to school upset him. But then she was never sure why any of the things that upset him did so. Only one thing was certain in her mind.
Marriage was not for the faint of heart.
DALLAS JUMPED as if he’d been shot, then moaned and hammered a fist into his pillow. The phone jangled again. Untangling himself from the sheet, he grabbed the receiver and cupped it to his ear before it could ring again. “Is one full night of sleep too much to ask?”
“Yeah. And good morning to you, too.”
His partner. No surprise there. “So what is it this time?”
“Fastidious Freddie’s back at it.”
“Not another body.”
“I’m afraid so. No details yet except that it’s a Caucasian female, probably late twenties, killed the same way as the previous three and found not two miles from where we found the last one.”
Dallas’s stomach twisted. People imagined that homicide detectives were hardened to death, that they rolled up to a scene and viewed a corpse dispassionately, as if it had always been devoid of life. That wasn’t the case with any detective he knew. “How long has she been dead?”
“It’s a fresh kill. Probably happened sometime during the night. That’s not official, of course.”
Dallas’s need for sleep vanished. “Pick you up in five minutes?”
“I’m a ten minute drive away.”
“Then make it seven.” He broke the connection and grabbed his jeans from the foot of the bed as his feet hit the floor. It struck him as he did that a rotten, scumbag serial killer was out there somewhere, probably sleeping soundly.
Chapter Three
Janice stood at the edge of a long table surrounded by a dozen preschoolers dabbing glue on uncooked macaroni shells and various body parts. The macaroni was supposed to be attached to empty oatmeal boxes. When finished, the pasta-bedecked containers were to resemble Native American drums. To Janice’s mind, they looked more like the creation of a mad chef. The glued body parts were lagniappe.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” she protested over the din of excited, high-pitched voices.
Nicole stopped at her side and dumped another package of shells on the table. “How can you say that? The kids are adorable.”
“Adorable? The second you turn your back on them, you get stamped with a glue stick.”
“That was an accident, and it only happened once.”
“Twice. By the same little redheaded demon.” Janice nodded toward the villain. “He’s vicious.”
“He can’t be more than three. If it comes to an all-out battle, you can probably take him.”
“Very funny. So what are you doing after you’ve done your time here?”
“I’m not doing time.” Nicole took the hand of a youngster just before he plastered a macaroni shell to a little girl’s forehead. She guided his hand to his art project, and he smiled up at her mischievously. She smiled back. “I know it’s hard for you to believe, Janice, but I actually enjoy this.”
“Yep. Hard to believe.”
But something was bothering Nicole today. Her exuberance level was down to nearly normal—a very abnormal state for her usually vivacious cousin. Janice took her arm and pulled her aside, out of earshot of the rug-rat pack. “Back to my original question. Are you busy after this or can we go somewhere for lunch, a nice quiet restaurant where no one under five feet is allowed?”
“Not today.”
“Why not? Got a hot date?”
“Yes, on a soft, inviting bed.”
“Tell me more.”
“It’s nothing like you’re thinking, but Malcomb takes off early on Fridays and I thought I’d try to catch a nap before he gets home.”
“A nap. That’s not like you. You’re not sick, are— You’re pregnant! That’s it. You are, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely not. Whatever made you think that?”
“Those things happen. You do know about the birds and the bees, don’t you?”
“I’m not pregnant.”
“Then what is it?”
“Nothing. Really. I just didn’t sleep well last night and I’m a little tired. We’ll do lunch next week. I promise.”
Janice turned as she felt the blunt end of a glue stick in the center of her back and a tiny voice shout, “Gottcha again!”
It was war in here. She spun around and marched the precocious enemy back to his chair. His oatmeal tub was practically bare. The kid obviously wasn’t interested in constructing a grotesque souvenir to carry home with him. Come to think of it, he might be the smartest one of them all.
Janice sat down beside him and coaxed him to give the decorating gig a shot. His tub was almost half covered by the time Nicole announced cleanup time. Bless her. Twelve drummers drumming, all at various levels of eardrum-splitting decibels, was the stuff madness was made of.
Nicole passed out the wet cloths for hand wiping as the mother hens moved in to gather their chicks. Free at last, Janice thought, then stopped cold when she noticed the man standing at the edge of the crowd.
Recognition was as instantaneous as the anger that flared inside her. Dallas Mitchell, staring at Nicole, his gaze following her every move. If that thoughtless clod had stepped back into Nicole’s life, it would definitely explain her mood. Janice wiped her own hands and strode over to where he was standing. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, straining to keep her voice low enough that it didn’t carry back to the kids.
“It’s nice to see you again, too, Janice.”
“Just answer the question.”
“I’m here to see Nicole.”
“She’s married, Dallas. To a real man, not one who cuts and runs.”
“So I hear.”
“Then do something right for once. Get out of here and stay away from her.”
“Don’t you think Nicole’s old enough to decide who she wants to talk to and who she wants to send packing?”
“It’s not a matter of age. It’s a matter of good sense.”
“Are you suggesting Nicole’s not as smart as you are?”
“Not where you’re concerned.”
He shook his head. “You underestimate her. Besides, I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“Then why are you here? Don’t tell me one of those tykes belongs to you.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Nicole picked that moment to join them. The crackle of tension was so tangible, Janice felt she could have scooped it up in one of the leftover oatmeal tubs.
“Two times in two days,” Nicole said. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
“I need to ta
lk to you. Privately.”
Nicole poked her hands in the pockets of the pink art smock she wore over her clothes. “I don’t know what we’d have to talk about that Janice can’t hear.”
“Yeah, lover boy,” Janice said. “What do you have to say to my married cousin that I shouldn’t hear?”
He rocked back on his heels. “It’s business.”
Janice stood her ground. “And what kind of business would that be, Dallas?”
He ignored her. Nicole frowned. “It’s okay, Janice. I can handle this.”
“I don’t see any reason why you’d want to.”
“Dallas says it’s business. I have no reason not to believe him.”
“Doing business with the devil isn’t too smart.”
Nicole turned her attention to Dallas. “I have to stay here and prepare the art tent for the afternoon sessions, but we can talk while I work if you like.”
“I’d like.”
Dallas followed Nicole. Janice stood and watched. Whatever the cop wanted with Nicole, it couldn’t be good. She started to call out one last warning but decided she’d be wasting her breath.
Why should she expect Nicole to listen to her advice where men were concerned? She didn’t even follow it herself.
DALLAS HELPED NICOLE CHANGE the white butcher paper that covered the long folding table. Working with her was awkward. It hadn’t always been that way, but he’d better not let his mind drift back to those days.
“How did you know where to find me?” she asked, as she pressed her fingers along the table edge, smoothing the paper.
“Your friend Matilda mentioned yesterday that she might see you here today.”
“She didn’t make it.” Nicole rested her hands against the back of one of the folding metal chairs and met his gaze. Her eyes caught the glint of the sun, seemed to sparkle like fool’s gold. He swallowed hard. She was another man’s wife, and even if she hadn’t been, he’d blown it with her years ago.