Sin and Bone

by Debra Webb

  Sadness overtook Mariah’s cocky expression. “Oh.”

  She drew the door open wider in invitation. Then, without another word, she turned and walked deeper into the house, teetering on her high heels just the tiniest bit from the level of alcohol in her blood.

  Pierce closed the door and they followed the path the lady of the house had taken. She’d already curled up on the sofa, her emerald-colored silk robe gathered around her like a queen’s cloak.

  “Feel free to make yourselves a drink,” she offered. To Devon, she added, “You know where everything is.”

  He glanced at Bella and she shook her head. “Thank you,” he said, “but we have a long drive ahead of us.”

  Mariah’s eyebrows rose once more. “Really. Your associate is staying with you, then.”

  “My agency provides protection as well as investigative services,” Bella felt compelled to explain. Even as she did so, she felt heat spread across her cheeks.

  “Really.” Mariah made a wry expression. “Interesting.” She sipped her wine before settling her attention on Devon. “What is it you want to talk about? Cara, I presume.”

  He nodded. “Were you aware she was looking into adopting a child?”

  A quiet knowing filled the room. All three knew the truth. There was only the matter of why. The news obviously weighed heavy on Devon Pierce. Bella felt the pain emanating from him.

  No matter that his wife had been dead for more than six years and that he had reconciled himself to the reality that she’d had an affair. Finding all the rest—the visit to the adoption agency, the house on the lake and the divorce papers—was like tearing open an old wound and then rubbing broken glass into it. It cut. Deeply.

  “Yes.” Mariah looked away a moment. “She wanted a child but she didn’t want to carry a child.” She sighed. “Cara could be very selfish, as I’m sure you recall.”

  Devon said nothing. He waited, silent and brooding, for her to continue.

  “She was an amazing woman.” Mariah smiled. “You loved her.” She tilted her head and studied Pierce. “I know you did. She knew this as well. But she wanted more than what you had to offer. Sometimes...” Her gaze turned distant as if she were remembering something only she knew. “Sometimes I think she wanted too much.” She shrugged. “It’s difficult to capture a free spirit and even harder to hold on to it for any length of time.”

  “Did you know about the cottage in Ottawa?”

  Her philosophical expression shifted into a frown at his question. But in that brief moment before the frown took over, Bella spotted the surprise. Whatever Mariah Sutter was about to say was a lie.

  “What cottage?”

  She sipped her wine, careful that her gaze stayed clear of Devon’s and of Bella’s. She knew about the cottage. Her surprise was in hearing that he had discovered it.

  “A small cottage on the water in Ottawa. Some of her things are there.” He sat forward, his forearms braced against his spread thighs, hands dangling. “The place was spotless. As if she’d just walked out the door moments before we arrived.”

  Mariah shook her head, downed the remainder of the wine in her glass. “There must be some mistake. Cara never spoke of a secret hideaway.”

  “Someone knew,” Devon argued. “Someone knows. The food in the fridge was fresh.”

  “You’re serious.” Mariah’s face cleared of readable tells. “How can you be sure the place is—was—Cara’s?”

  “The divorce papers she had drawn up were there. Her perfume and other things were there.”

  “Oh my God.” Mariah shook her head. “It’s Richard. He must have bought the place for her. That son of a bitch.”

  Bella waited for Devon to respond. His body had tensed. His intent gaze focused on Mariah. “What do you mean?”

  Mariah sighed. “Good God, surely you recognized that Richard was obsessed with her. He adored her. He probably bought the place for her so she could have her own space away from you. Bastard.” She shook her head. “He wanted her all to himself. I guess that’s where they held their secret rendezvous.”

  “You’re saying,” Bella ventured, “that you believe your husband was having an affair with Cara.”

  “Of course he was.”

  “If that’s true,” Bella countered, “how did the two of you remain so close? Did you not know when Cara was alive?”

  “I knew.” She set her empty glass aside. “By the time I realized, we were inseparable.” She glanced at Devon. “You remember. We did everything together. Richard and I never had children. The two of you appeared to be following that same path.” She turned to Bella then. “Our husbands were both completely absorbed in their work. We were each other’s salvation.”

  When Mariah didn’t say more, Bella prompted, “How did you remain friends after you discovered the affair?”

  “How could you bear to look at her?” Devon demanded.

  Mariah shrugged. “We do what we have to do. You know the old saying—keep your friends close but your enemies closer.”

  “You said Audrey Maynard,” Bella said, moving on, “the woman in the photo we showed you earlier, was one of Richard’s assistants. How can you be sure?”

  She shook her head, gave a half-hearted shrug. “I dropped by the office one day and she was there. He told me she worked for him.” She laughed a self-deprecating sound. “Apparently the joke was on me. After what you just told me about this cottage and considering how much this Maynard woman looks like Cara, perhaps he’s using her as a replacement. A surrogate of sorts.”

  Not a completely implausible scenario.

  “Do you know a Kevin Unger?” Devon asked.

  Traynor, Bella’s backup, had called to say the man who had met them at the zoo had dropped off the rental and picked up an older-model BMW. The Beamer was registered to a Kevin Unger. Traynor had sent her a photo taken from Unger’s Facebook page. Definitely the guy from the zoo.

  Mariah thought about the name for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, of course. He was an intern for Richard years ago. Before Cara’s death, I think. I’m not sure what became of him.”

  “Their relationship was purely professional?” Devon inquired.

  “That was my impression but I can’t say for sure,” Mariah confessed. “Richard has always been very adept at keeping his personal and professional lives separate, but if you’re asking me if the two could have had an affair, it’s possible, yes. Richard has had many lovers, female and male.”

  Devon stood. Bella did as well.

  “Thank you again,” he said, “for your time.”

  Mariah dropped her feet to the floor and stood. “You really never recognized what sort of man Richard is.” She laughed. “He’s even worse since the cancer scare. He’s rarely home. Ignores his work. I don’t understand what’s happening to him.”

  “If he comes home or calls,” Devon reminded her, “I need to see him.”

  “I’ll give him the message.”

  When they were in the car and driving away, Devon said, “I find it difficult to believe that I misread the man so completely.”

  Bella held his gaze a moment before pulling onto the street. “Maybe you didn’t.”

  Arbor Drive, Lake Bluff

  Friday, June 8, 2:00 a.m.

  DEVON STARED AT the drink he’d poured.

  He’d been staring at it for half an hour or more. Closing his eyes, he thought of the way the silk blouse hanging in that damned closet had smelled—like her. The perfume she’d always worn had been on the counter in the bathroom.

  His wife had been starting a new life.

  One that did not include him. She wanted to adopt a child. A little girl. She’d already painted the spare bedroom pink.

  Devon swore and snatched up the drink. He downed the Scotch in one swallow. When he found Richard, he would have the whole truth. Al
l these years, he had regretted on a personal level that he’d had to cut Richard out of the project. But like Jack Hayman, the fool had wanted to take shortcuts. He’d wanted to make a higher return for his investment.

  The Edge was about saving lives. Of course, some amount of profit was required, but that profit must be reinvested into the facility. Men like Richard Sutter and Jack Hayman didn’t have the heart for the project. Devon should have seen his error well before the situation grew ugly.

  He licked his lips, hating the weakness that had permitted him to surround himself with people who would betray him.

  Pushing to his feet, he reminded himself that he could not change the past. What was done was done. But he wanted—no, he needed—Richard Sutter to look him in the eye and tell him the truth.

  Why the hell had he suddenly decided to torture Devon with Cara’s death? What had happened in recent months? He’d dropped the last of the lawsuits three years ago. Why attempt to dig at Devon in this new way?

  He thought of Mariah’s words about Richard not being the same since the cancer. But he had fully recovered. Why suddenly decide to dig up all the ugliness again? Why commit murder?

  Whatever he thought of Richard, he would never have believed him capable of murder. If Richard’s protégé could be believed, someone else was attempting some sort of revenge against Devon. Hayman? None of it fit. If Hayman or anyone else wanted revenge against Devon for some presumed wrong, why not take it directly against him? Why go to these elaborate extremes?

  He went to the bar and poured himself another Scotch.

  “You’re not going to find the answer in that bottle.”

  “Perhaps not, but at least I’ll no longer care.”

  Whoever had set this plan in motion had killed at least one innocent person as well as the mechanic who had possibly been involved. Mrs. Harper’s daughter had arrived in Chicago. Devon had assured her that he would take care of all the funeral expenses as well as the necessary cleanup at her home as soon as the police released it. Detective Corwin had allowed him to have a veterinarian pick up Casper and attend to him. The cat was unharmed. A good bath was all he’d needed. Mrs. Harper’s daughter would take him home with her.

  “Apparently you care more than you’d like people to know,” Bella noted. “Detective Corwin told me you had called the hospital and insisted on paying for Audrey Maynard’s care.”

  He shrugged. “I’m the reason she was injured. It was the least I could do.”

  “You shouldn’t look at all these new discoveries and see your failure. Sometimes it doesn’t matter what we do—we simply can’t please the people we love the most.”

  He lifted the glass but hesitated before taking the drink. “I’m weary of being the topic of conversation, Ms. Lytle.” He shifted to stare directly at her. “Let’s talk about you. Do nightmares from your childhood wake you up at night?”

  “Ms. Lytle.” She laughed and gave her head a little shake. “After last night,” she went on, her tone frank, her expression open, “I think we’re well enough acquainted to dispense with the formalities. Besides, my friends call me Bella. We had this conversation already.”

  He did take a swallow of the smooth, smoky flavored whiskey then. “Am I your friend, Bella? Fair warning—I seem to have trouble keeping friends. They generally run screaming or furious from our encounters.”

  Tendrils of her hair had fallen loose from the ponytail she’d arranged it in this morning. He liked her hair down. Liked it up, too. His mouth felt dry, so he downed another swallow of Scotch.

  “I’d like to think that we’re friends.” She picked up a glass and poured a finger of Scotch. “You’re still the client and I’m still the hired investigator, but I don’t see any reason why we can’t be friends. Do you?” She brought the glass to her lips and indulged in a small sip.

  “Friends play together, don’t they, Bella?”

  She licked the alcohol from her bottom lip. “They do.”

  He placed his glass on the counter and reached for hers. “I would very much like to play with you now.”

  She downed the trace of Scotch left in her glass and then handed it to him. “Only if I get to make the rules.”

  “All right.”

  She led the way. He followed, already growing hard simply watching her move. She appeared so reserved but he already knew that was just for show. He had experienced the wicked wildcat beneath all those prim layers.

  When she moved into the entry hall and started up the stairs, he hesitated. “Where are you going?”

  She glanced back. “My choice, remember?”

  He had agreed to permit her to make the rules.

  Upstairs, she walked into his room and turned on the light. When he’d joined her, she closed the door and locked it, then leaned against it.

  He glanced around the room. Tension rippled through him. He had not made love in this room in nearly seven years. Not long after Cara was gone, he’d had her things removed...the bed and the linens replaced. Not because he could bring himself to hate her but because he could not bear to see them, to touch them.

  Now he settled his attention on the woman watching him all too closely. “What would you like to play?”

  “Bella Says,” she announced. “Sort of like Simon Says, only different.”

  Anticipation strummed through him, chasing away the doubts for the moment. “As you wish. What would you have me do?”

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “Not particularly original,” he teased. He’d left his jacket downstairs. He removed the cuff links, crossed the room and dropped them onto the table next to the bed. Then he reached for the buttons of his shirt, releasing them one by one. She watched, her respiration picking up. The rise and fall of her full breasts was mesmerizing. He shouldered out of the shirt, allowed it to slip down his arms and fall to the floor.

  Her gaze roved over his torso. He held very still, his arms hanging at his sides, and allowed her to look until she had her fill.

  “Everything,” she clarified.

  The shoes came off next. He peeled off his socks, first one and then the other. Reaching to his waist, he pulled the leather belt from his trousers, let it join the shirt on the floor.

  She watched his every move, her body growing restless. Watching her watch him made him want to rush to where she stood and take her right there against the door. Instead, he unfastened his fly and removed his trousers. He tugged his briefs down his legs and off. His cock stood fully aroused now. His entire body strummed with need.

  For a minute, she studied him, her gaze moving over his body. He waited patiently. Whatever she wanted that was his to give, he would give. So many years had passed since he had yearned to please someone the way he wanted to please her.

  Finally, when he could no longer bear the anticipation, he demanded, “What now?” His voice was taut and rough. He ached to touch her.

  She pushed away from the door and moved slowly toward him. When she stood directly in front of him, she reached up and removed the scarf from her hair. “On your knees.”

  He didn’t hesitate. He lowered to his knees, his heart rocking against his sternum.

  She tied the scarf around him like a blindfold. The lack of visual stimuli was like an aphrodisiac—it only made him harder.

  “Stand up.”

  He did as she asked, hoping she would take him by the hand and lead him to the bed. He wanted to be inside her now. He wanted to taste all of her this second. He quieted the excitement building inside him and listened. She was either standing still or she’d removed the thongs so that he wouldn’t hear her steps. He listened intently. The slide of fabric told him she was removing her clothes. The soft whoosh as they hit the floor, piece by piece, sent tremors rocking through his body.

  She came closer. He could smell her soft skin. His breath came in short choppy bur
sts. His cock throbbed for her.

  Her fingers slid over his back. She traced a path over his skin, lingering in places that made him groan with need. He wanted to touch her so badly. He fisted his fingers. As if she’d recognized what he wanted, she moved away. Where was she? He couldn’t hear her...could no longer smell her sweet skin.

  When she returned, she pulled his wrists together behind his back and tied them with a band of silk, perhaps one of his neckties. She reached up to check the blindfold and her body brushed his, the friction of her skin against his lighting a fire over every inch she touched.

  He wanted to reach for her but his hands were tied. “That was rather unsportsmanlike of you.” He wished he could see her.

  “Tell me what gives you pleasure, Devon.”

  Her voice made him tremble. He gritted his teeth against the weakness. “The whip. Pain.”

  “Liar.”

  She clasped his thighs. Only then did he realize she was kneeling in front of him.

  “Tell me what you want,” she murmured.

  He refused. What happened the other night was an anomaly. He never allowed himself the pleasure without the pain. He didn’t deserve it. However much he wanted her, he didn’t deserve her.

  Her hot, lush lips closed over the head of his straining cock. He shuddered.

  She squeezed his thighs with her soft hands while her hungry mouth drew on him, took him in deeper. Her fingers found their way to his ass and squeezed until he growled. He jerked at the restraint. Needed to touch her.

  And then she stood and stepped away from him. The cool air on his heavy cock had him gasping. He felt her moving around him but she didn’t touch him. Had she taken him to this edge only to leave him there, wanting, needing more?

  He felt a tug on his arm and he stumbled forward. He followed the tugs. She slipped around him and released his hands. His arms fell to his sides, his fingers aching to touch her.

  “On your knees,” she ordered. She was in front of him again.

  He dropped to his knees. Licked his lips in anticipation of a taste of her.