I was about ready to visit the kitchen and grab a bite when one folder sticking out from the pile caught my eye. I followed the stack down, tipping each with my finger until it settled on the folder’s worn corner. “And what have you got to say for yourself? Are you going to bore me too?”
My heart soared when I realized only the cyber crime cases were on top; the remaining cases beneath were Steve’s older homicide cases. It was likely I’d read most of them already, but a good rerun is still a good rerun. I had something to read after all. And the first would be the case with the shredded corners. I gently pulled the file, easing it out of the stack. As more of it was revealed, I recognized it.
It was the belt buckle case. I yanked my hand back as if burned. That case file should have been back at the station and given to Charlie.
“And what are you doing in this pile?” I mumbled, opening the folder. The dusky smell of photographs and old paper itched my nose. I stretched up on my toes to search the nearby shelves, and found the space and dusty outline where the box of old files had been. Steve had taken the box. He took my father’s belt buckle too, but brought home the case file.
Is he working the case?
I paged through the folder, visiting the ghosts of my past again. I should have felt sad, maybe scared, but it wasn’t like that. The emotion that tugged at me was disappointment and regret for who I was, who my mother made me be. “You’re all dead, and there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“Who are you talking to?”
I startled, nearly dropping my wine glass.
“And why are all of the windows open?”
“I didn’t hear you come in,” I told Steve and quickly pushed my mom’s case file into the pile, shuffling the folders like cards, tucking them together into what I hoped was their original order.
My heart fluttered in my throat. I was unnerved, but it wasn’t because I had been caught skimming through his case files. It was because I hadn’t been ready for him like I wanted to be. I’d wanted to surprise him, and this wasn’t the first impression I had in mind.
With my back to him, I pinched my cheeks to add more color to the flush the wine had already put on my face. I peered down over his old tee, my breasts noticeable through the sheer fabric even in the room’s low light, but saw that I needed something more. I gave them a quick squeeze too, lightly pinching my nipples and hoping I’d give him something he’d want to see.
“Amy?” he asked, waiting for me to turn around. I shoved my hand through my hair, tussling it, and hung my other hand from the tee’s thin neckline to reveal an ample amount of cleavage. “Amy?”
“Yes?” I said, my voice breathy but not over the top—just enough of a tone for him to recognize my intentions. I gave my lips one more lick and spun around. “I’m glad you’re—”
“Amy, this is Garrett Williams,” Steve said, introducing a tall man with a crop of wavy red hair.
I froze. My mouth was stuck open in midsentence, my fingers hanging from the tee’s neckline, nipples firmly pressing against the fabric, lips glistening, and my face flushed a sexy, deep red.
“Charlie just brought Garrett on board. He’ll be my replacement, so I’ve got some case transfers to do.”
A detective? He’s not dressing the part. Looks too rich.
But I admit that wasn’t my only thought; I noticed how his eyes wandered up and down my body.
At first glance, I had taken the man for a lawyer—a pricey lawyer. With a pair of expensive shoes and a perfectly fitted suit, he wore his money like the smell of high-priced cologne. Square jaw and hollow cheeks. He stretched his arm to shake my hand but then hesitated, taking his time, as he clearly took a series of mental photographs of everything in front of him. I met his crisp eyes and saw a spark of interest—for what I’d prepared to show Steve.
“Hi,” Garrett said to me.
He stepped closer—close enough so I could smell his breath. He and my husband had clearly stopped at a bar on the way home. His lips parted and then pursed slightly while he glanced up and down again, his eyes stopping on my breasts. I filled with embarrassment, realizing how hard my nipples had become; I tried to cover them up. His gaze stayed fixed on the tee’s thin material.
Involuntary, I told myself. Just an uncontrollable male reaction.
I glanced over his shoulder, then instantly regretted that I had. Steve’s head was down, his face aglow in the faint blue light of his phone, his fingers tapping a message.
“Hello,” I managed to eke out. The word stuck in my throat. I ignored my hurt feelings and looked back to Garrett, back into the coolness of his hazel eyes. He saw all of me the way I’d wanted Steve to see me, the way I’d hoped Steve would see me. And then it happened. I felt a small urge, just a tingle really, a heartbeat of innocent arousal. I shifted my feet and rushed to shake his hand so that I could fulfill my social obligation and run out of the room. I reached out, and his long fingers softly wrapped around my hand, brushing against my wrist like a sweet whisper in my ear. His touch sent a shiver into my arm. I felt the spark that had stayed in his eyes. Call it lust or just being horny, but there was a sudden chemical connection, and I quickly let go as if dropping the handle of a searing pan. Garrett smiled slyly, not at all shy about letting me know he liked what he saw.
“I’m not sure you remember, but we’ve already met.” His voice was confident and alluring.
“Met?” I turned back to look at him, looking over his face again, off guard.
Hazel eyes. The bridge. He was the one who stopped to see if I was okay.
“Yes, yes we have. The bridge. Thank you for that.”
“You’ve met?” Steve asked, lifting his face from his phone.
“On the bridge over Neshaminy Creek,” I answered, sounding uneasy. “I thought something was wrong with the car and stopped.” Garrett gave me a quizzical look, slightly confused and humored by my explanation. I caught my mistake, my lie, at once. On the bridge, I’d told him I stopped because I felt ill.
“Okay,” Garrett answered, playing along. Steve heard something in his tone and shifted his eyes from me to Garrett and then back. A familiar buzz sounded from Steve’s phone and within a moment, his attention was lost to it again. “Well, I’m glad everything worked out.”
“It did,” I said, stepping back and folding my arms to cover my chest. Steve still hadn’t noticed what I was wearing, but Garrett couldn’t break his stare. His gaze followed me as I walked around our small home office and toward the door. Steve’s face stayed lit by the phone. I felt hurt. “Nice to meet you. Steve, I’m tired. I’ll see you upstairs.”
“I’ll be up in a few,” he answered, putting his phone down in time to see me head to the staircase. His eyes lit up. After all, there was no way to cover my bottom with his old tee—it barely reached my hips. And as I took to the first steps, the hurt faded, replaced by a sudden arousal. Both of them had their eyes fixed on me. “Just want to make this handoff official and get the remaining cases reviewed with him.”
“Don’t be long,” I told him, teasing. I still wanted my husband and may have swayed my hips a bit as I climbed the stairs. That last part was intentional. I wanted Steve to know Garrett had noticed me.
Later that night, when Steve finally came to bed, we made love. We turned off the lights, choosing to leave the room as black as a starless night. Twice, when my eyes were closed, I saw hazel eyes in my mind. Once when I almost came, and then again after we finished. Breathless, my heart racing, our sweaty bodies unraveling—the image I had seen of Garrett while making love confused me. I didn’t know what to make of it. Steve had responded well enough to my motions—mechanical and a bit distant and forced—but I could tell his heart wasn’t in it.
Is mine?
We didn’t make love like I had planned. We just had sex, and that made me feel even sadder. But not because I missed Steve, but because a small part of me thought that maybe it was okay. I told myself not to worry. I reminded myself of how we�
�d been through slow patches before, and how we’d always bounced back. Who knew, maybe we needed some breathing room, maybe we needed some windows open like the house did, inviting in the change of seasons.
“Love you, babe,” I said, panting with the warm afterglow of sex high on my cheeks. I climbed to my elbows to face him and playfully bit his chin.
“Love you too,” he replied, even as he looked past me with retreating eyes. I could tell he was already withdrawing, going back to that place he’d been since the shooting. The playfulness drained from me, and I eased back down to lie next to him.
“That was nice,” I added, stretching into a yawn as if I was ready to go to sleep.
Out of nowhere, Steve asked, “What did you think of Garrett?” His voice was dry, and I heard the plastic snap of a water bottle’s cap next. I opened my eyes, let them adjust to the darkness, and then rolled over onto my front. The sheets were still warm, still damp, and I wanted to open the windows again, to let the air rush over my body.
“I don’t know,” I answered, uncertain of having any opinion except the one I couldn’t share with my husband. “I didn’t get to talk to him.”
“Yeah, you seemed rushed.”
“Seriously?” I asked, slapping my hand against his chest.
“What?” he spat, coughing on a mouthful of water.
“Steve, I was nearly naked for you. It was supposed to be a surprise,” I added, insulted. I thought back to how he’d buried his face in his phone. “You didn’t notice me, though. Your friend sure took notice. Bet you didn’t see that either.”
“Did he?” Steve asked, his voice hanging with sudden interest. I regretted adding that last part. I know it was a bitchy thing to do, but it felt damn good. He rolled onto his side and ran his fingers along the length of my back, his earlier distance disappearing. I liked that. “Babe, I did notice.”
“You did?” I asked, trying not to sound needy.
“I did.”
“Really?” I failed.
“Amy, I always notice.” His hand fell between my legs, his fingers eagerly glided upward.
“Do you want to notice me a little more tonight?” I joked, reaching down to take hold of him. He was already hard, and I encouraged him with a playful tug. “Oh, I guess you do!”
“Maybe,” he answered and perched himself above me, kissing my neck and lips. “I noticed you, Amy. I’ll always notice you.”
We made love again, and this time Steve stayed with me until we came together, then fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Later, at the deepest point of the night, I woke up to find my husband with his arm still around me. We were naked, and the air had become chilly. I lifted his arm, and instinctively he pulled me into him. I melted into the crook of his body, finding what was familiar, what was normal—our normal—and quickly disappeared with him into the night. It was good.
NINE
MY MOTHER’S LIPS, RED and glistening, set aglow and captured in the moonlight. The image was electric, sensual, but I’d seen it before. I’d seen it so many times before. Shush, she motioned, touching her finger to her mouth, moaning with a man beneath her. Their skin shimmered in the pale light, alive with sweat, filling the car with their smell.
“Make a loop,” I breathed, doing as I was told, doing what she’d showed me. “The buckle faces me. Put it backward and inside out.” I wound the end of the belt around and fished it through the buckle’s ring. The noose was ready. I grabbed the loose end and got to my knees, placed the open end near the man’s head as they began to peak. My mom caressed his neck and gently eased his head back, then perched his neck over the edge of the car’s front seat. It was time. I threw the noose around his neck and yanked down on the slack, closing the noose with a furious snap. The man lurched and jumped, but my mother held him down, grinding on him, riding him. He grunted and tried to scream, but I hung my weight from the belt’s strap, rocking back and forth while my mother held his arms. The man was strong—stronger than most—and he swung me around like a rag doll. But he couldn’t fight us both, he couldn’t fight the surprise that awaited him. And when he slowed, when his body stopped, he lost the fight, just like the other men. They always did.
“Time to go home?” I asked. My mother cocked her head and wiped her brow. She glanced at the body of the dead man. I knew we weren’t done, though, and added, “I guess not.”
“That’s right, baby girl,” she confirmed, my hopes dashed. She patted her cheeks, fanned the air, her face still glistening. “You did well. Really well. And it’s time to finish.”
Thunder rolled—distant and passing. I hoped the storm would find a path toward us. The land was vast and empty. We’d been here before. I recognized the spot. To one side, I saw the mountains. Giants. Hulking boulders, silhouetted and black as the night. In the dark, I couldn’t tell how far away they were, but I stared and waited for them to move, waited for them to sit up and stretch out a yawn. They never budged. And from the other side of the car, I saw the city, the lights spiraling up floor after floor, dressing the skyscrapers like a lighted holiday tree.
“A heartbeat,” I mumbled, the city lights blinking a steady rhythm.
To each side, the city lights spread like a halo, washing out the stars and showing me where we lived. Our home was in the brush where the light failed, where the weakest glimmers emerged from rows of homes on the outskirts of the city. I thought of my bed and how I wanted to be tucked in, buried beneath the covers, protected from knowing who we were.
Behind our car were the trees, too far from the lights to see. I heard them, though, and I loved the sound. Their music made what we did seem less real somehow. The wind rustled the branches as crickets and tree frogs kept us company. I concentrated on the sounds as if they were talking to me, mumbling sweet nothings while I lifted my daddy’s belt, eased it off the man’s neck. Moonlight poured through the windshield, shining on his face. I stopped, frozen by his lifeless glare. My mother caught me staring and covered his bulging eyes, closed the lids forever.
“Have to put everything away before we give him back,” she said, tucking him in and then zipping his trousers. She worked on his loose clothes, stirring the stench of sex and death.
Another roll of thunder. I cast my eyes forward, peering through the window. The sky flashed white, like a giant sheet had been thrown over us. I waited, but no sound came.
“Sheet lightning,” I said, remembering what my father had called it.
“What’s that, baby girl?” my mother asked, sounding winded, hurrying to finish dressing the dead man.
“Storm?” I asked.
“Shit,” she answered, ducking her head down to peer through the window. “Have to hurry, baby.”
I plopped down onto the backseat, the humidity turning my skin wet and sticky. I was tired, and my legs shook from trying to stand. My mother tried lifting the man, heaving and letting out a grunt. His head rolled like a budding flower on a broken stem. I cringed, hating this part. Sometimes their bones cracked when we waited too long—the arms and legs popping and snapping, their joints and muscles turning rigid and useless.
“Drunk,” my mother said, rushing her words, a sense of urgency replacing the sex, replacing the murder. I knew this part too, and felt my gut flutter. It was the excitement of hiding what we did, burying it. “Have to make him look like he’s drunk and we’re driving him home—case we get pulled over, like the last time. Can you remember that?”
“Uh-huh,” I answered, circling the leather belt around and around, coiling it, putting it away for next time. “And he’s dead?”
My mother sat up, pinching the man’s collar, straightening it. “Dead?”
I shook my head, wanting to be sure. She brought her arm as far back as she could and swung, striking the man as sheet lightning flashed around us. The man’s head snapped to the side with a crack and slumped forward.
“Yes, dead. Now lie down, baby girl,” she instructed. She climbed over the man to reach me. She
cradled my head and tucked my hair behind my ear. “You did good tonight. Now it’s time to get some sleep. I’ll wake you when it’s time.” As she eased back, she raised her finger to her lips one last time.
***
“Amy?” I heard my father’s voice. “Amy, it’s time to wake up.”
My eyes sprang open and I bolted from my bed, swinging my arms and searching for the coiled belt. I wanted to throw it as far from me as I could, to rid my life of the poison that came with it. But in the darkness, my hands found each other, and then my arms as I tried to settle myself. My clothes were damp, and my skin chilled.
“I’m home!” I cried, realizing it had been a nightmare.
“Babe?” Steve asked.
“Sleep, hon,” I told him, laying back down and pulling the covers up to my chin. A rattle came to my chest. A strong sentiment woke with my dream. I was beginning to remember more of what we had done to those men. Finding the belt in my mother’s house was only the beginning. There was a bigger puzzle, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d see all of what we did.
“Daddy?” I whispered. I had heard my father’s voice in my dream too, telling me to wake up.
Hadn’t I?
Confused, I rolled over, turning away from Steve. I gripped my pillow, wetting it with fresh tears. I missed my father and hearing his voice jarred my memories, but it jarred something else too. I missed my mother.
TEN
I SHIVERED AT THE cold touch of the toilet seat, my underpants crumpled around my ankles, the heel of my foot tapping anxiously against the tiled floor. If anyone else were home, they’d come running or maybe call out, asking what the noise was. But I was alone. I was nervous, and I was scared.
Affair with Murder The Complete Box Set Page 30