Wanton

by Evelyn Adams

  He parked and locked his car, taking the porch steps to the front door two at a time. He turned the knob half expecting it to be unlocked. When he couldn’t get in he smiled. She hadn’t been expecting him this time, and she’d actually locked it for a changed. He could hear her playing Adele or some other chick music and he pounded on the door so she could hear him above the noise. The sensor Jackson’s men put on the front door would ring to let her know he was there, but if she wasn’t answering her phone, she might not have it close enough to hear the alarm either.

  “Claire English,” he said pounding on the door like he was in a bad Tennessee Williams play. “Get your overworked ass down here and let me in.” He pounded one more time for good measure, relaxing when he heard the music shut off.

  She opened the door but instead of launching herself into his arms the way he expected her to she stood in the doorway, blocking him from entering. At the sight of her every cell in his body said Mine, and he leaned toward her needing to close the distance between them. It wasn’t until she flinched from him that he noticed her eyes were red like she’d been crying.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, reaching for her. “What’s wrong?”

  At the endearment her eyes flashed from pain to anger. He managed not to take a step back, but the look on her face made him want to. She clenched her fists at her sides, and he half expected her to take a swing at him. What he didn’t understand was why. What changed while he was away?

  “Claire?” He reached for her, and she slapped his hand away.

  He ignored the sting, wrapping his hand around her upper arm. When she raised her hand to hit him again, he caught her wrist with his other hand, pinning her in place.

  “Stop it,” he commanded, physically moving her back a step so he could get into the house. From the fire in her eyes he was pretty sure letting go of her was a bad idea. He bumped the door closed with his foot rather than risk it. “Tell me what’s wrong. I haven’t been here so I’m pretty sure it can’t have been anything I’ve done.”

  “Fuck you, Masters.” She spat the words at him and he couldn’t stop himself from rising to her challenge.

  “That’s exactly what I’d planned to do, sweetheart, but I came home to an empty house. Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on so we can go back to my place and get on with things?” He was exhausted, frustrated, and his patience was frayed. He wanted her home, naked and in his bed. He’d deal with the emotional implications later, after he’d had her a couple dozen times.

  “I don’t want to tell you a damn thing, and if you think we’re going to ‘get on with things’ you’ve lost your fucking mind.” She yanked her hands out of his grip, and he let go rather than risk hurting her. As soon as she was free she stalked around him to the front door. “Go fuck Gretchen. I’m done with you. If you aren’t out of my house in thirty seconds, I’m calling the police, then they can print your mug shot next to your society page pictures.” She opened the door, motioning for him to go through.

  He had no intention of complying. He had no idea how she found out about Gretchen, but he’d be damned if he let her crucify him for something he didn’t do.

  “I don’t know what you think happened, Claire, but you’re wrong.” He closed the door slowly, treating her like a wild animal he was afraid to spook. He’d had a cat when he was a kid. A scrawny little stray he’d kept hidden from his dad. He’d gotten armfuls of scratches trying to pet the damn thing. The cat would watch him and as soon as he made a move it would attack, shredding him. From the looks of her in that moment, Claire had a great deal in common with the cat.

  “I saw the pictures,” she said, her voice laced with accusation.

  “You may have seen pictures of Gretchen and me at the leukemia benefit, but that’s it. Because nothing happened. I bumped into her. It was unexpected. I hadn’t planned to take her to the benefit.”

  Claire blew out her breath in a way that said she clearly didn’t believe him.

  “Why should I believe a word you say? You never intended for me to go with you. You had the damn penthouse key in your pocket the night you asked me to go. You wouldn’t have done that if you expected me to go along. The only question I have is how far ahead of time did you work things out with her and what would you have done if I’d tried to come along?”

  Luke schooled his face to hide the guilt he felt. He had been relieved when she said she wouldn’t go, but not because he intended to meet Gretchen or anyone else. He was getting in too deep with Claire. It had gotten too hard to keep her at arm’s length, and he wanted to put some physical distance between them so he could get his emotions under control. He couldn’t risk letting her in, but he couldn’t seem to let her go.

  But he was telling her the truth. Nothing happened with Gretchen, and it wasn’t because she hadn’t wanted it. It was because he couldn’t.

  He couldn’t touch another woman – even one any man would want – and not think of Claire. Not ache for Claire. He’d caught Gretchen’s roaming hands before she managed more than a quick grope, and when his car had pulled up in front of Gretchen’s hotel she got out alone. As she got out of the car she turned back to him and said, “I hope she’s worth it. Whoever she is.” And all Luke could think of was getting home to Claire.

  “That’s what I thought,” Claire said when he’d taken too long to answer.

  “What do you mean? Nothing happened. I still can’t fucking believe it myself, but nothing happened between me and Gretchen. We’re old friends. We had dinner together and went to the benefit, but we didn’t have sex. Not even close. I couldn’t.”

  “What do you mean you couldn’t?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

  “I mean I couldn’t. I’m not all that happy about it, especially not now, but you’re the only woman I want.” He saw her posture soften a fraction, and he tried to push a little. “I don’t lie, Claire, but I’m not monogamous or at least I haven’t been before you. I’ve never felt like this before. Cut me some slack, please. I don’t want anybody but you. I woke the pilot up and made him bring me home eight hours early because I had to get to you. I gave you a key to my place. We’ve practically been living together. It’s crazy; I know it is but I like knowing you’re there even when I’m not. I have never done that with any other woman. Can’t that be enough?”

  It was all true, every bit of it, but saying it out loud, saying it to her made it more real somehow. He couldn’t take the time to decide how that made him feel, not when he was still trying to convince Claire to come home with him.

  Her shoulders slumped, and she looked up at him from under her dark lashes. “You really didn’t have sex with her. Not any kind,” she clarified, and he couldn’t help but smile.

  “Not any kind.”

  He reached for her and this time when he caught her she didn’t pull away. Wrapping his arms around her, he felt parts of his world slip into alignment. Her body was stiff against his, but he stroked her back, keeping his lips pressed against her hair and breathed in the spicy floral scent he’d always associate with Claire. After a moment, he felt her soften in his arms and something tight in his chest relaxed. Tipping her chin up, he saw her eyes filled with tears.

  “Don’t cry, sweetheart.” He brushed a kiss over her lips, teasing and tasting until she opened for him. He took the kiss deeper, catching her sighs with his mouth. “Besides, I had to hear all about how Eric had dinner with you, cocky French bastard,” he said, after breaking the kiss.

  She went still in his arms at the mention of Eric’s name, and Luke wondered if there was more there than he realized. The thought made him uncomfortable. Claire wouldn’t cheat. He trusted her completely. Eric was a different story. They had a code, but fidelity hadn’t been high on either of their lists, at least not until lately. He was too tired to figure any of it out right now. He couldn’t see past Claire naked in his bed.

  “Can we go home, please?”

  Home hung in the air between them. He watched as she wrestled
with her answer, sagging with relief as she swiped at her eyes and nodded.

  “Yes.”

  CLAIRE CLIMBED DOWN OFF THE ladder and readjusted the tool belt around her waist. The weight was comforting, almost reassuring. Things hadn’t gone back to normal after Pete’s death. They never could, but over the past weeks Claire and her crew had managed to find a new rhythm. The framers finished on six and the electrical rough-in was going as well as could be expected considering everything.

  The guys had even started to joke around with her a little again although they steered away from making any comment about her relationship with Luke. Still it seemed like they were taking things in stride and she was grateful. She’d worked far too hard to earn their respect to simply lose it over a man.

  “Hey Mike, can you finish pulling the wire up here?” She’d stepped up and filled the hole left by Pete’s loss, but she couldn’t do it forever. She was already stretched thin. Mike had been picking up some of the slack and she had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before he was ready to take over as master electrician. Not with all the responsibilities that Pete had, but he was moving in that direction. And she knew with another baby on the way, Mike would appreciate the pay raise which would come with the promotion. “I’m going to the trailer to talk to Sparks. If I’m not back by eleven thirty, you can call lunch.” She paused on her way to the door to the stairwell. “Did your wife make tamales again?”

  “Yes, she did, boss,” said Mike, grinning. “A big container full.”

  “I’ll be back before lunch.”

  She heard Mike’s laughter behind her as she pushed open the heavy stairwell door. She started running through labor costs in her head as she walked down the concrete steps to the ground floor. With her commitment to Maria to keep paying Pete’s salary and the potential increase in Mike’s wages she needed to step things up if she was going to keep making payroll. If she could ever get the cabinets delivered for her flip, she could finish up and hopefully sell it fast. That would free up some of her capital and give her a little breathing room.

  She and Luke hadn’t talked about it, but there was no reason for him to be displeased with Matthews. She couldn’t imagine he’d go back to using Samson after what happened in New York. The other contractor was incredibly sleazy and Luke had broken his nose. That didn’t bode well for future working relationships.

  If he used Matthews it would mean more work for her company as well. She liked the commercial work as much as she’d thought she would, more maybe. The stress was huge and managing her crew’s priorities around other subs’ work was a challenge, but she liked being part of something big. She loved the challenge of the work and the money was good.

  If Matthews settled into a regular schedule of building for Masters Enterprises she could keep her crew moving from job to job without having to spend so much of her time submitting bids for jobs. It would let her take the company to the next level and that excited the hell out of her. And if – no when – she got the profit from the flip she could sink it into another project. She already had her eyes on a couple of houses in the same development. If she could buy them right, either of them would be a good next project.

  She shook her head with a smirk. Someday she’d have to settle on one thing. She couldn’t go without sleep forever. She’d like to maybe have a husband and kids, too, and she wouldn’t want to work so hard when she had a family. She shoved aside the image of a dark haired miniature Luke. That was dangerous territory. Wanting her someday made it even more important for her to build what she could now when she was only responsible to her father and her crew.

  Pushing open the door to the outside, she blinked in the sunlight. When her eyes adjusted, she noticed the police cruiser parked in front of the construction trailer. It had to be about Pete, she thought closing the distance between her and the trailer. She opened the door without knocking, surprised to find the trailer empty except for Sparks’s overflowing ashtray, piles of papers and rolls of drawings. She scanned the lot, wondering where Sparks and the detectives were. The grind and clang of a shipping container being opened led her to the row of eighteen wheeler sized containers Sparks had delivered to hold materials after some of them walked off the job.

  The door to the middle container used to store most of the electrical fixtures and wire hung open. Sparks was standing inside with what she assumed were two detectives. By the time she got to the container, she recognized the men as the officers from the night Pete died.

  “What’s going on, Sparks? Have you found out anything else about what happened to Pete?” she asked the detectives.

  “They want to look through the containers,” said Sparks, sounding like he thought it was all a huge waste of time. “I order most of the materials myself. There isn’t anything in here except lighting fixtures, wire and boxes of nails, but you’re welcome to look.” He motioned to the contents of the container and one of the detectives pulled a flashlight from his jacket pocket and started to work his way to the back of the container. The other detective faced Claire and Sparks.

  “Does anyone else have access to these containers?”

  “Most of the subs have been in and out, but I’m the only one with access to the keys,” said Sparks. “You might remember, we were having trouble with some minor theft. I ordered extra containers primarily to keep the materials from walking off when there was no one here.”

  “What are you expecting to find, Detective? Is it connected to Pete’s death?” Claire asked. She didn’t know what was going on, but she had a bad feeling about where they were headed. Why would the police care about some construction materials?

  “I’m not sure, Ms. English. Have you seen anything unusual around the containers? Anything or anyone that didn’t seem quite right?”

  “No.”

  “Back here, Detective,” said the other officer before Claire could elaborate.

  She and Sparks followed the detective to the back of the container. The officer was crouching over an open box of nails. He’d lifted out handfuls of the stacked paper taped strips used in nail guns, revealing boxes of what looked like ammunition. While they watched he opened one of the boxes, tipping it toward the detective so he could see the rows and rows of round aluminum ends. She’d seen her daddy load his gun often enough to recognize bullets when she saw them.

  “What the hell?” asked Sparks, sounding stunned. “I don’t understand.”

  Not bothering to answer, the detective kept his attention on the officer as he opened a box of the kind of staples Claire and her crew used. He grabbed handfuls of the six inch long strip of staples held together with double strips of paper. He didn’t have to dig far before he revealed more boxes of ammunition. Claire gasped and the detective turned his focus to her.

  “Do you recognize any of this, Ms. English?”

  “Not the bullets, obviously,” she said. “But the staples are like the ones we’ve been using.”

  “Would Mr. Lester have had a reason to be in this container?” asked the detective.

  “Of course,” said Claire her blood going cold even in the stifling air of the container. “Most of our fixtures and fasteners, even the wire, is kept in here.”

  “Bishop, call for back up and secure the area. I’ve got to call the captain and get the ATF involved. Mr. Smith, I’d like to ask you a few more questions at the station if you wouldn’t mind.”

  It took Claire a moment to realize Mr. Smith was really Sparks.

  “I don’t mind. I don’t have anything to hide,” said Sparks, but he sounded worried and Claire reached over to squeeze his rough hand.

  “I’ll call Luke,” she said, and the older man swallowed and nodded.

  “I don’t understand how this happened,” he said.

  She wished there was a way to reassure him, but she imagined they’d all be answering more than a few questions before the ATF was finished.

  “I’d like to get a statement from you as well, Ms. English.”

  �
�Of course,” she said, not seeing any reason to say no. And if it got them any closer to finding out what happened to Pete, she’d do anything she could to cooperate. “Let me call Mr. Masters, and I will meet you at the station.”

  Not waiting to see if it was okay with the detective, she turned and went outside, taking a deep breath of the cooler outside air and blinking against the sunlight. She walked to stand in the shadow of the building before taking out her phone to dial Luke’s number. His PA answered on the first ring.

  “Hi Colin, it’s Claire. Is he available?”

  “For you? Always. Hold on and I’ll connect you.”

  “Sweetheart,” Luke answered a moment later.

  Even hearing his deep commanding voice on the phone was enough to make Claire’s body respond, and she unconsciously held the phone tighter to her ear.

  “Hey, we’ve got a problem on the jobsite. No one’s hurt,” she hurried to add thinking of the last time he’d gotten a call about trouble on the site.

  “What is it?”

  “The police were here. The found ammunition in some of the boxes of nails.” She heard him suck in his breath but kept going. “They’re taking Sparks in for questioning and they want me to come down to the station later.”

  “No,” said Luke, his full focus behind the single word. “You do not go to the police station without me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She heard rustling that might have been him shrugging on his coat.

  “I didn’t do anything. They aren’t accusing me of anything. It won’t hurt to talk to them.”

  “I mean it, Claire. Not without me. Are you still at the site?”

  “Yes,” she said, wondering why he was overreacting but at the same time secretly glad she didn’t have to deal with it alone.

  “Wait there. I’ll pick you up.”