by Karen Cimms
Eddie groaned as he tried to stand. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.” His eye was swelling shut and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
“Not so fast.” Earl stepped between them and the door, pointing a baseball bat in Billy’s direction. “Ain’t nobody going nowhere until the cops get here.”
The jukebox, blasting something by Lynyrd Skynyrd only moments before, had gone silent. Distant sirens filled the gap, and before long, red and blue lights reflected off the jagged shards of glass clinging to what was left of the window.
Billy slumped against the bar. He could have been home hours ago, showered, shaved, and if he was lucky, enjoying a quickie with his wife before celebrating her birthday.
But no, he had to have a fucking drink.
Chapter Four
The call went straight to voicemail—again. Kate tossed her phone on the counter and yanked open the refrigerator. At least she’d made the quiche earlier. She should stick a candle in it and take a picture, post it on Facebook. Happy birthday to me.
It was almost eight. She should have allowed Joey to come and take her to dinner like he’d offered. Let Billy come home and wonder where she was. See how he liked it.
The microwave beeped.
“Ow! Damn it!” Kate yanked her hand away from the hot plate, almost dropping it. She stood at the kitchen sink and held her fingers under the faucet. The cold water soothed the burn but did nothing for the sting of being stood up on her birthday. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked rapidly. Should she be angry? Worried? Actually, she was both. Sixty-forty; anger was definitely in the lead.
She poured a glass of wine, slipped a dish towel over her reddened fingers, picked up her dinner, and carried it into the living room, where she curled up on the couch.
“Happy birthday, Kate.” She raised her glass to Anderson Cooper while keeping her eyes on the crawl at the bottom of the screen. Had there been some disaster she didn’t know about or an accident on Route 78? She was an expert at finding excuses for Billy’s behavior, even if she was the only one buying them.
She closed her eyes. Maybe he’d missed his flight or lost his phone. Or maybe he’d forgotten to recharge it. That was probably it. He’d forgotten to recharge the phone. Of course that was more like something she’d do, but it was possible. Right?
The ringing of her cell phone startled her awake.
“Mrs. McDonald?”
“Yes?” She squinted at the cable box below the TV: 11:38.
“Listen.” The caller lowered his voice to a whisper. “Your husband’s been arrested. The Andrewsville Police Department has him in custody.”
“What?” Her body jerked forward. “Who is this?”
“Let’s just say I’m a fan. I thought someone should let you know.”
“What happened?”
“Bar fight. He’s been arrested for public drunkenness, destruction of private property, assault, and aggravated assault.”
Pretty informed for a fan. “How do you know all this?”
“Can’t say. I’m gonna give you a number. Call and identify yourself. Just say you understand he was arrested. This way you’ll know I’m telling you the truth.”
“Who are you?”
His voice dropped so low, it was almost impossible to hear him.
“Look, I wanted to give you a heads-up. After you confirm that he’s there, you should call your attorney. He’ll be arraigned this evening.”
Before she could ask how the caller had gotten her number, the line went dead. Billy took great pains to keep his private life separate. No random fan would have been able to get their home phone number.
Hands shaking, she called information and asked for the number of the Andrewsville Police Department. It was the same number the caller had given her. After calling and confirming what she’d been told, she grabbed the little black clutch she’d left near the back door and hurried to her car. She plugged the address for the jail into her GPS. She knew where she was going. Sort of. She’d been to Andrewsville before. Billy had even played there years ago with Viper at some little hole in the wall. Although why he’d been there today instead of coming home, she had no idea.
Belleville was asleep. The homes Kate passed were dark, their inhabitants tucked away for the night. Even the main street was empty and deserted. Streetlights flickered across her dashboard as she headed out of town. It was late, certainly too late to be making phone calls, but she dialed anyway.
It rang several times before a sleepy voice answered.
“I’m sorry to wake you, Tommy.” She steadied her voice. “It’s Kate. Billy’s been arrested.”
“Jesus,” he whispered. “What happened?”
That’s what she’d like to know. Sounding a lot calmer than she felt, Kate repeated what the caller had told her, none of which answered the real question: Why?
It was quiet for so long she wondered if Tom had fallen back to sleep.
“Hang on a sec.”
She heard movement on the other end, then the quiet snap of a door. “So some stranger calls, gives you a number, and you call it, then jump in the car in the middle of the night?”
Her fingers tightened over the steering wheel. “Give me a little credit, Tommy. I looked up the number for the Andrewsville PD first. It’s the same number he gave me.”
He sighed loudly. Or maybe he yawned.
“Billy was supposed to land at Newark this morning, and he was hitching a ride with Eddie Anderson, Stonestreet’s drummer. He should’ve been home this afternoon. I tried calling him earlier, but the calls just go to voicemail. We were supposed to go out for . . .” This was humiliating, and she hated that she sounded whiney and pathetic. “I ended up falling asleep on the couch.”
She definitely heard a yawn that time. “Let me call ahead and see what’s what.”
“Thanks, Tommy. I’m sorry to wake you.”
“I’m sorry you had to wake me, too.”
The dashboard clock ticked off the final two minutes of her birthday.
“Yeah, well. That’s the glamorous life of being married to a rock star, right?” Her attempt to lighten the mood fell flat.
“I guess,” Tom said, commiserating. “I’ll give you a call when I know something.”
She hung up and angrily pushed buttons on her radio until she found a station playing smooth jazz, hoping the mellow music would keep her relaxed. It didn’t.
This wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to pick Billy up from jail. He’d had a couple of DUI arrests and convictions and was due to get his license back next year. Of course, that might change now.
What the hell had happened between getting off the plane and that phone call? Aggravated assault? Jesus. He had a temper—she’d seen it more times than she cared to admit—but other than the fight with his old partner not long after they’d met, she’d never known him to get physical with anyone. Threaten? Yes, but faced with a glowering giant just over six foot four, people thought twice before pissing him off.
How could a simple ride home have landed him in so much trouble?
Chapter Five
It had to be at least ten degrees warmer in Andrewsville. Thick, sticky air wrapped itself around Kate like a woolen sweater, which was exactly what she wished she had once she stepped through the glass doors of the county jail and was hit with an icy, arctic blast. She’d left in such a hurry, she hadn’t thought to grab a sweater or shawl and now, catching sight of her reflection as she registered with the officer behind the thick glass, she was sorry she hadn’t taken time to change.
The strapless black leather mini dress, chunky gold necklace, and strappy platform sandals were better suited for a trendy restaurant, not the waiting area of a county jail. It was the kind of outfit she only wore when she was with Billy, and not having seen him for two months, she’d been hoping to knock his socks off.
If the image in the glass was a true reflection, she wasn’t living up to anyone’s idea of a trophy wife. H
er makeup was smudged and her messy bun was more sloppy than messy. She looked like a high-priced call girl down on her luck.
The officer behind the desk gave her a hard look, and she hoped they wouldn’t make her pee into a cup before she could take Billy home.
“I’m here for my husband. William Donaldson.” No one ever called Billy that, but it was his legal name, and what was on his state ID card.
“Have a seat.”
“Do you have any idea how long—”
“Take a seat, ma’am.”
Kate mumbled a thank-you, although for what, she had no idea.
There was a seat available on the far side of the room. It was the middle of the night, for God’s sake. Why were there so many people here? Was Andrewsville such a hotbed of overnight crime? Several pairs of eyes followed her as she crossed the waiting room, making her feel even more uncomfortable. Cold, hard plastic bit into the backs of her bare legs as she sat. The short leather skirt rode up her thighs. She struggled to wiggle it down, but it wouldn’t give. Not only did she look like a hooker, she was displaying leg as if she were open for business.
She offered an embarrassed smile at the older couple sitting across from her. The man’s grin was met with the back of the woman’s hand across his chest and a barely disguised “Puta!” hurled in her direction. Kate didn’t speak Spanish, but the meaning was clear. An angry flurry of words followed and the couple moved so that they no longer faced her.
She uncrossed her legs and sat straight in the narrow chair, her ankles pressed together. Eyes down, she fidgeted in her purse. Cell phone, driver’s license, debit card, lip gloss. She twirled the square tube of lip gloss between her fingers—Nars Super Orgasm. Seems appropriate. She dropped the lip gloss back into her purse and rubbed her fingers above the bridge of her nose, trying to smooth some of the tension gathered there.
Billy had been gone nine weeks. Every day had been hard. The nights, even harder. He’d left the Tuesday after Mother’s Day, and typical of a night before he headed out on tour, they hadn’t gotten much sleep.
She had woken to find his side of the bed empty. Afraid he might leave before she got up, she raced downstairs and found him leaning against the counter in the kitchen, half awake, waiting for the coffee to brew.
“Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?”
The edges of his lips curled. “We said goodbye several times last night, didn’t we?”
She couldn’t return his smile. The dread she’d felt since he’d gotten this gig filled her to the brim. Stonestreet was a hard-partying band, and Billy had been hired to replace the rhythm guitarist, who’d died of a drug overdose six months earlier. Billy had accused her of overreacting, but it scared her. He’d promised her no more hard drugs, and she wanted to believe him, but he’d made lots of promises over the years—and more than once, she’d been disappointed.
“Katie.” He frowned, but his eyes were soft. “We talked about this. This is a great opportunity. I’m getting to do what I love with a band that’s already paid its dues. This is a good thing.”
She twisted a long strand of hair between her fingers. “It’s a long time.”
“I’ve been gone this long before. I’ll fly you out whenever I have a day off. Promise.”
“You know I have to work.”
“No. You don’t.” Gone was the cajoling tone he’d used moments earlier. “That’s all you.”
“Yes, I do. I have a job.”
Irritation clouded his face. “Let’s not start this before I have to leave, okay?” The set of his jaw spoke volumes about how he felt about her working.
Kate slipped her arms around his waist and nodded. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face into his chest. He smelled of soap and lemongrass—distinctly Billy. A calloused finger lifted her chin, and his tongue captured a lone tear that had slipped from her eye and raced down her cheek.
His mouth covered hers. Warm and salty. His hands reached lower. Cradling her bottom, he lifted her and set her on the kitchen island. Then he untied her light silk robe and ran his hands over her breasts, cupping them before trailing his long fingers down to her waist. Sliding his way down her legs, he hooked his hands around her knees and pulled her closer to the edge, then knelt before her.
“What are you doing?” she asked as his lips brushed the inside of her knee.
There was a devilish gleam in his blue-gray eyes. “If you don’t know, I guess I’m not doing it very well.”
His tongue traveled the length of her thigh.
“Your car’s going to be here . . .” Her words faded to a low hum. She wove her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. Soft moans filled the quiet kitchen until she finally tumbled over some invisible cliff. He kissed her thigh, then stood and began unbuckling his belt.
“Your car—”
“Can wait,” he answered, his eyes fixed on hers.
It was quick and gritty and very much unlike the lazy lovemaking that had kept them awake most of the night. He was tucking himself in when she heard the crunch of gravel. All of his guitars and equipment had been picked up earlier and loaded for the tour, except for his favorite Strat and the duffle bag holding a few changes of clothes and his personal things. He slung the bag over his shoulder and picked up the hard travel case, then leaned in for a final kiss.
“Wash your face,” she reminded him, her arms clinging to his neck.
“No way.” He grinned, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “I want to taste you for as long as possible.”
He had done everything in his power that morning to distract her. And while he still made her weak in the knees, right about now, sitting under the harsh fluorescent lighting in the jailhouse waiting room, freezing her ass off, she wanted to kill him.
She grabbed a magazine off the table beside her. It was an old copy of People—in Spanish. No matter. It was all about the pictures anyway. She flipped through the pages until she shivered so violently she almost knocked her bag from her lap. Her teeth chattering, she tossed the magazine back on the table and rubbed her arms with her hands to try to generate some heat and silently cursed the county for spending its tax dollars so foolishly. Hopefully the arraignment would be over before she came down with pneumonia.
When she could no longer stand it, she got up and told the clerk she’d be out front. The woman shrugged, clearly not caring where the hooker waited for her criminal husband.
The difference between the inside and the outside had to be at least twenty degrees. Kate leaned against the building, the bricks still warm from baking in the sun all day, and tried to visualize what was in her trunk. A spare tire, a beach chair, and a large, sand-covered blanket from the trip down the shore in May. Until Devin had left for college, she could have counted on finding a sweatshirt or raincoat, a lesson learned from years of standing cold and wet on the sidelines at his sporting events.
The door to the building opened. Chilled air followed a man in a suit out into the balmy night. “Mrs. Donaldson?”
Finally.
“I heard you speaking to the clerk. I’m Sgt. Sterling.” Holding out his hand, he stepped closer. “I’m the anonymous caller. I normally wouldn’t have done that, but it seemed at first your husband wasn’t going to call anyone.”
He tipped his head toward the building, and she presumed, in the direction of wherever it was Billy was being held. “I’m kind of a fan.”
He winced. Maybe because he realized he sounded more like a fourteen-year-old girl than a police sergeant. “I just thought I’d give you a heads-up. I’m sure once he’s arraigned, he’ll be wanting out of here real quick.”
He slipped out of his jacket and held it out. “Besides, I saw you on the closed-circuit. You seemed, um, cold.”
It was a nice gesture, although the gun holstered against his chest set her teeth on edge.
She held up a hand. “I can’t,” she said, although what she really wanted was to tear it from his hands. “Will he be arraigned
soon?”
“Hard to tell. Turns out now that he’s sobered up some, he opted to call his attorney. Once he gets here, it’ll depend on the judge. Guess I shouldn’t have bothered you after all.”
His eyes dropped to her leather-covered breasts, then snapped back up to her face. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed. “Looks like you must have been in the middle of something.”
The dress was going in the trash the minute she got home. “It’s my birthday. Or it was my birthday. I was waiting for my husband to get home and take me to dinner.” She forced a smile. “I fell asleep on the couch. All dressed up and no place to go, ya know.” Once she started rambling, it was hard to stop. “Then you called, and I left so quickly I didn’t think about what I was wearing.” She looked down at her short skirt and her bare legs. “I must look pretty ridiculous.” Her thumb hooked in the direction of the sign on the building. “Here, of all places. I think some of those people in there think I’m a working girl.”
The look he gave her was slow and lingering and maybe a little too long for a man who had to be at least ten years her junior. “I don’t know if ridiculous would be the word I’d use.”
Her face felt warmer than the eighty-plus-degree air temperature dictated. At least it was too dark for him to notice.
“Well, whether or not you’re looking for business, I don’t recommend standing out here this time of night. Hopefully, your attorney will be here soon. He can deal with the magistrate, and you can be on your way. In the meantime, I suggest you stay in the waiting room.”
She scanned the rough-looking block. “But it’s so cold in there.”
He thrust the jacket into her hands. “Please. I insist. Just leave it at the front desk when you go. Besides, I feel guilty for dragging you out in the middle of the night.”
“Don’t.” Grateful, she slipped her arms into the sleeves. “If you hadn’t called, I still wouldn’t know where he was, so thank you.”
