“I was being facetious.” He rubbed his head, his eyes bright with amusement. “Au contraire, I would say I’m a highly intelligent, highly motivated individual with good impulse control.”
“So you don’t think you’re a psychopath?”
“Psychopath,” Ethan repeated. “Let’s see. The definition according to the Hare Psychopathy Checklist is ‘a predator who uses charm, manipulation, intimidation, sex, and violence to control others and satisfy his own needs. A psychopath lacks empathy and conscience, takes what he wants and does what he pleases, and violates social norms and expectations without guilt or remorse.’” He finished his recitation with a raised eyebrow, his gaze fixed on Sheila. “That’s half the people I know. Including you.”
“I don’t—”
“Ever bumped a car in the parking lot and not told the owner? Ever sweet-talked a salesclerk into giving you a better deal on something? Ever seduced a guy to get what you want? With no feelings of guilt afterward?” Ethan raised an eyebrow. “We all do it.”
“There are limits. We don’t all rape, kidnap, and murder.”
“Is that what you think I do?”
Sheila stared at him. “Isn’t it? I am here, after all.”
“You don’t know why you’re here. You think you do, but you don’t.”
Time to make a move.
She slipped off the bed and stood in front of Ethan. “I’m pretty sure I do know.” She stepped out of her new sweatpants, then pulled her T-shirt over her head. She stood in front of him wearing just her panties, the ones he’d bought for her.
His eyes moved over her bare skin, taking it all in.
“You care about me,” Sheila said. “You might even love me, though you can’t admit it to anyone, let alone yourself. If you could admit it, if you could have let your guard down with me, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Because there’d be no need.”
She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her cotton underwear and began inching them down. “I’m tired of playing games with you. That’s all we’ve done since the moment we got involved. You want me? You want to be with me? Guess what, you don’t have to force me.”
Her panties fell to the floor and she stepped out of them and moved closer to Ethan. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She knew she looked good. She’d lost weight since she’d been in the basement. Those pesky five pounds she couldn’t lose in time for the wedding had finally come off.
“Now who’s the psychopath?” he said, but his breath was coming a little faster. He placed his hands on her naked hips, drawing her closer.
She felt his arms move around her waist as she stepped toward him. Still seated, his lips were on her belly button and she felt his tongue tracing its outline.
It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like anything. But she plunged her fingers into his short hair and allowed a small moan to escape her lips.
He pulled her down and she straddled him. He was still fully dressed, but through the scratchy coarseness of his jeans, she could feel his erection right under the handle of the gun that was digging into her thigh. She kissed his neck, trailing her fingers slowly down his chest toward his crotch and the weapon. She began grinding her hips and his breath came faster.
“You sure you want to do this?” His voice was hoarse.
“I want you. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.” It came out a gasp, and not because she was overwhelmed with emotion. The word had stuck in her throat because she was forcing the lie. Her fingers brushed over his stomach. Another inch or two and she’d be touching the gun.
“More than Morris?” he said.
“No comparison.” Her fingers closed around the handle, already warm from being so close to his body.
“Tell me why you love me more than him.”
Sheila couldn’t pull the gun out of his jeans just yet. She continued nibbling on Ethan’s neck, grinding her hips down a little deeper. With her free hand, she pulled down his zipper and was inside his jeans in one smooth motion. “Because you’re smarter, younger, sexier.”
She had his penis in her hand and she began massaging. His breath came faster and a grunt escaped his lips. She remembered that sound, remembered what it meant. Her right hand gripped the butt of the gun tighter. He was getting close. Another minute, maximum, and he’d be incapacitated for at least five seconds, enough time for her to pull out the gun and point it at his head.
Her hand worked expertly.
“Sheila,” he said, his face buried in her neck.
“Yes,” she said in his ear.
“I’ve always loved you.”
“I know.”
She could feel it, he was about to reach orgasm. She worked faster, her other hand tight around the handle of the small silver gun.
“But here’s the thing . . .” he said, his voice strangled through his rapid breathing.
“What’s that?” she said, working faster. Come on, come on, let go already.
His hand suddenly gripped her wrist and twisted. The pain was intense, a flash of fire. She had no choice but to let go of the gun with a whimper.
With his other hand, he shoved her off his lap. She fell over, her back slamming into the thick industrial carpet.
“I’ve never trusted you.” Looking down at her naked body, Ethan stood and zipped his pants. “I know now I never will.”
CHAPTER : 32
Morris couldn’t put his finger on it, and that was what was bothering him.
He was a solutions guy. He liked to fix things. He liked to take a problem and, using a combination of research, experience, and good judgment, figure out the best answer, the best plan, the best course of action. He’d had two careers in his life—football and banking—and both relied on well-thought-out strategies and their proper executions. And, of course, great instincts, which he normally had. How could his instincts have been so wrong about Sheila?
He should have been relaxing over SportsCenter, as he usually did after a long day of work, but instead he was going over every event of the past few weeks in his mind, like an instant replay he couldn’t shut off. Every conversation with Sheila, everything they’d talked about, everything they’d done or hadn’t done. But the analysis wasn’t getting him anywhere. He was a fat hamster running on a little wheel.
He was stuck.
With every passing day, the chances seemed to grow slimmer that Sheila would ever turn up. There were no real leads. Jerry Isaac hadn’t said as much, but Morris knew the PI was running out of ideas. There was nobody left to interview.
Sheila had left him, willingly, just as her phone message had said. Why couldn’t he accept that, instead of throwing money at a guy who was probably only too happy to keep looking so long as Morris kept paying?
His beautiful son was the only bright spot at the moment. Randall had swept back into his life, and it appeared that whatever chip had been on his shoulder all these years had finally been knocked off. Morris knew he had Sheila to thank for that. Regardless of the pain and anger and worry she was causing him, he knew he would love her the rest of his life for what she’d done.
He poured another shot of Johnnie Walker and pushed away the guilt that came with every ounce he downed. So far Randall hadn’t mentioned Morris’s drinking, but it was probably par for the course as far as his son was concerned. He’d never known his father sober.
The thought saddened him.
His BlackBerry rang. He stared at it until it stopped. It was after 8:00 p.m. and they could call back tomorrow. Then he heard his home phone. Not a work call, then. He reached over and picked it up.
“It’s Jerry,” a voice said on the other end. “You busy? You didn’t answer your cell.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m on a hot date right now.” Morris’s laugh was bitter. “Got a cute blonde with me. Hang on while I remove her from my lap.” He looked at the bottle of Johnnie Walker Gold, still in his hand. Close enough. “What’s up?”<
br />
“I met with Ethan Wolfe today. I meant to call you earlier but my wife wanted to go out to dinner. It’s our weekly date night.”
“Let me guess, you took her to the Golden Monkey.”
“Don’t knock it, man. Best Chinese food in Seattle.”
“Do Chinese people agree with you?”
“Bite me. Do you want to know what happened with Wolfe or not?”
“Let me hear it.”
Jerry cleared his throat. “I definitely think he was the one Sheila was having an affair with.”
“He actually admitted it?” Morris felt a stab even though the news wasn’t surprising. He thought once again about the night they’d met in Sheila’s office. The way Wolfe had taunted her, and she didn’t even bust his balls. It all made sense now. He poured himself another shot of whiskey, wondering if the PI could hear it through the phone line.
“I have a very strong hunch. After thirty years as a cop, that ought to mean something.”
“So they were screwing. No shock there.” Morris kept his tone light. Holding the phone away, he downed his whiskey in one gulp. “What does this mean?”
“It might not mean anything.” Jerry paused. “But the guy’s a bit weird, you know? Squirrelly. Freaked out when the door closed. Guess he didn’t want to be stuck in a room alone with me.” The PI snorted. “Logically, I can’t blame him for not copping to the affair. Why would he admit it?”
Something Jerry said rubbed at Morris. A pang of familiarity, a twinge at the back of his neck, but it dissipated as soon as he tried to chase the thought.
“Thing is,” Jerry continued, “he was adamant that he didn’t know what happened to her.”
“You believed him?”
“No reason not to.”
“Does he have an alibi for the night she disappeared?”
“And which night would that be?” Jerry sounded annoyed. “We don’t even know when she left town. You were in Japan, remember? She didn’t call you until Sunday. She could have been anywhere by then. In any case, Wolfe doesn’t need an alibi because as far as we know, there’s been no crime.” Jerry sighed heavily.
“What?”
“I don’t know,” the PI said. “Something’s off. Wolfe struck me as off. He was wound way too tight for a guy who grades papers for a living.”
“So what do we do now?”
“I could follow the kid around for a couple days. Seems to be the only option left. But I’ll be honest with you, Morris, I don’t expect anything to come of it. There’s nothing to go on here. It’s more about me wanting to squash the weird vibes I got, if that makes any sense. And it’ll be expensive.”
“Not exactly the same price point as the Golden Monkey.”
That got a chuckle out of Jerry, but then his voice was serious again. “Listen, there’s something else I want you to think about. It’s looking like a long shot, but let’s say that, miracle of miracles, we do find Sheila. She’s now all pissed off you tracked her down. She’s gone somewhere to start a new life and now there you are on her doorstep demanding answers and reminding her of the person she doesn’t want to be anymore. She tells you to get lost. Is that the reunion you envisioned? Is that what you need to move on?”
“I don’t know what I need anymore.” Morris drank straight from the bottle this time. “But I’m not ready to let this go. I need to see her face, Jerry. She needs to tell me it’s over in person. At the very least, I deserve that.”
“Okay then. Just making sure. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Hey,” Morris said before the private investigator could hang up.
“Yeah?”
“About Wolfe. What did you think of him?”
“I already told you. Kind of a weasel, jumpy.”
That twinge again. “No, not that.” Morris hesitated. “Did you think he was good-looking?”
“I don’t know, he’s a dude,” Jerry said, exasperated. “And you’ve met him already.”
“Yeah, but I want to know what you think.”
“I don’t know.” Another sigh and the sound of knuckles popping. “I guess he’s good-looking. My wife is addicted to this soap opera, The Young and the Reckless—”
“Restless,” Morris corrected. “My ex was into that, too.”
“Whatever, it’s all crap. He looks like he could be on that show. He’s a handsome guy. Probably gets a lot of attention from the ladies because he’s young, fit, got a nice face.”
“Fantastic.” Morris took another swig.
“You asked.” A short silence. “Seriously, man, think about what I said about letting her go. You could spend your whole life wondering, ‘What if?’ The stress could kill you.”
Morris looked at the bottle in his hand. The deep amber liquid glowed in the dim light of the living room. “It already is killing me.”
He rode the elevator inside Puget Sound State University’s psychology building, armpits damp and fists clenched, feeling like a kid on the first day of school. Morris had checked his messages after he’d finished talking to Jerry the night before, and one of the office assistants from the university had left a voice mail. The department wanted Morris to clear out Sheila’s personal effects. They wanted to make room for a new professor who was currently sharing an office with someone else. Space was at a premium, so would he mind coming down at his earliest convenience to pack up Dr. Tao’s things?
Morris minded. But what choice was there?
The elevator doors opened and a small sign with a red arrow pointed the way to the psychology department’s main office. After a few short steps, Morris found himself standing in front of a long counter where three middle-aged women were working. All three heads popped up at his arrival.
The lady on the far right with the short, curly brown hair spoke first. “You must be Morris.” Her voice was girlish and she favored him with a smile. “I recognize you from the pictures in Dr. Tao’s office.”
They shook hands. The other two ladies exchanged a knowing glance, then went back to their computer screens. The office wasn’t busy. Morris would bet ten bucks they were playing FreeCell.
The secretary’s name was Dolores. She couldn’t have been more than five feet tall. Looking down at her from his height of six feet four, Morris could see graying roots and the spot on the top of her head where her hair appeared to be thinning. He managed a smile and followed her out of the office. On her wrist, she wore a bracelet made of keys held together with some kind of stretchy telephone cord. The keys jangled as they made their way back to the elevators.
“I had Maintenance bring by some boxes.” She punched the elevator’s up button with a short, unpolished fingernail. Glasses hung around her neck and rested on top of her embroidered sweater. “We could have packed up her office ourselves, but I thought you might prefer to do it. There are some personal items in her drawers you might want to bring to her. Or to her house, anyway.”
The elevator arrived and Dolores looked up at him. “How is she?”
Morris felt his face flush. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
The small elevator felt tinier than ever. He had no desire to fill it with talk of Sheila or the weather or the hundred other small-talk items that people saved for moments like this. All he wanted to know was where that bastard Ethan Wolfe was, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
They stepped out of the elevator, and he followed Dolores down to the end of the hallway, where she unlocked the last door with her master key.
She turned the knob, then hesitated. “Dean Simmons was wondering if you knew when she’d be back. He was surprised—well, we all were—by her abrupt departure. She said she was ill from stress, but . . . do you know if she’s found another position?”
“I really couldn’t say.” His tone was abrupt. “I know as much as you do.”
“I’m sorry. That was insensitive.”
“Don’t apologize. This is weird for everyone.”
He stepped inside the office and stifled a sigh. Des
pite her absence, the room was filled with Sheila’s presence. Traces of her perfume, a light floral blend, still lingered in the air. On her desk in a crystal vase was the bouquet of roses he’d given her the night he proposed, dried and preserved to perfection. Her favorite Pottery Barn mug sat near the computer. Its rim still had a lipstick stain—deep red, her color. Flattened boxes and a pile of newspapers were scattered on the floor.
“I’ll leave you then.” Dolores watched him with a sad look on her face. “When you’re done, dial extension two one two on the desk phone and I’ll have someone help you bring the boxes to your car. I believe everything here is hers, except the furniture and the computer.”
“Thank you.”
She closed the door behind her. Morris took a moment to compose himself before getting to work. It all seemed so surreal. Sheila loved her job—how could she have walked away from it? She’d said once that the university was the only thing that kept her going after her divorce.
He plucked her diplomas from the wall and wrapped them carefully in newspaper, stopping when a framed photograph caught his eye. He’d been in Sheila’s office only a handful of times, so he couldn’t say how long it had been there. It was a photo of him.
He was smiling, standing beside his giant stainless steel barbecue wearing a red plaid shirt and blue jeans, a soda in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. This would have been early last summer. They’d eaten steaks and salads on the patio and talked for hours. Afterward, they had watched a movie on pay per view. He couldn’t remember the name of it now, but it was a comedy. He could still remember the way Sheila had felt snuggled up in his arms, and the light in her eyes when she laughed.
Morris blinked back tears, appalled at the thought that someone might catch him crying in her office. He grabbed a box from the stack and methodically began to fill it.
After the boxes were brought out to his car, Morris went back inside the office to speak to Dolores.
In a low voice, he asked, “Do you know where I can find one of Sheila’s teaching assistants? Ethan Wolfe. He, uh, might have something of Sheila’s that I need to bring with me.”
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