by Ana Barrons
* * *
It was dark in the room, and Catherine sneaked a peek when Ned and his date stumbled past the open door heading toward the master bedroom. She and Joe were curled up under the high guest-room bed, his arm wrapped tightly around her from behind. For a moment she stopped breathing.
The woman was a slim, busty blonde.
So are lots of women. Not just Blair. It doesn’t mean he was with Blair.
The two fell onto the bed next door with a loud thump and a burst of laughter, leaving the door open behind them. From the sounds echoing down the hallway and into the guest room, they weren’t wasting any time. Catherine tried to tune out their groans and cries of pleasure, but her body remembered everything Joe and she had done together, the way he’d touched her, tasted her. Come inside her. Her heart picked up its pace and heat rose to her face. Could Joe feel what was happening to her? Her answer came almost immediately.
His arm had tightened around her shoulder, and his hand clutched the pile carpet beside her head. The unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressed firmly against her bottom, causing her body to arch instinctively. He nuzzled her hair, his warm breath caressing her neck, his heart pounding into her back—or was that hers? Her head fell back against his chest. The sounds from next door grew in intensity, masking the heavy breathing they both were trying to stifle.
We have to stop this, her mind screamed, but her body had other ideas. Joe’s hand had moved to her arm and stroked as his mouth sought the tender skin beneath her ear. His name escaped from her lips on a sigh and his hand slid under her shirt to her breast. She sucked in a breath. Skilled fingers pulled back the lacy cup and captured her flesh, and then he was kneading her with his big hand, rocking his pelvis into her in a slow rhythm. Suddenly she was desperate to remove the fabric that blocked their skin from touching.
She reached behind her and ran her fingers through Joe’s hair. Between the limited air under the bed and their heightened need for it, their breath was coming out as pants, and she had to keep reminding her passion-addled brain to keep quiet. The woman in the next room began a running monologue about Ned’s anatomy, punctuated by moans, some of which sounded a bit strangled. Given Ned’s guttural cries, there was little doubt what she was doing to him. Joe unbuttoned and unzipped her pants and slid his hand between her thighs. She let out a muffled cry and they stilled for a second until they were certain she hadn’t been heard.
“Shh,” Joe whispered in her ear, before he took her lobe between his teeth. She nodded, but whether in acknowledgment of his warning or encouragement for what he was doing to her she was unsure. Apparently, Joe took it as encouragement and began working the denim over her bottom. Oh, God, this can’t be happening. She should stop him. This was crazy, dangerous, irresponsible. But then the tip of his cock was inside her and nothing else mattered. She twisted to meet his lips and opened for the invasion of his tongue.
“Tell me you want me,” Joe whispered against her lips. “Say it.”
“I want you,” she breathed, and he pushed himself all the way inside her, muffling her cry with his lips. He was so big and there was no way for her to spread her legs, so the fit was tight and the friction hotter, rougher. Within seconds she was close to coming, and then his fingers were pressing, circling through her folds and he was thrusting into her hard and fast and they groaned into each other’s mouths as they climaxed.
* * *
The shower came on in the master bath, but they couldn’t tell whether Ned and his date were both in there or whether one was still in his bed with the door open. Joe and Catherine lay together under the bed, she on her back with her legs bent over his thighs, he still on his side with his arms around her. It had taken several minutes to get their breathing back to normal, and their bodies were still slick with sweat.
Catherine peeked out from under the bed skirt. The door was only about a third of the way open—she had pushed it a tiny bit closed when they came in. Damn.
“We’ll have to open the door a bit wider to get you through,” she whispered. “Let’s hope it doesn’t squeak.
Two minutes later they were downstairs, tiptoeing down the hallway and out the front door.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Catherine was quiet the whole way back from Ned’s house, lost in her own thoughts. Joe resolved to get her home, fix her some tea, maybe run her a hot bath, massage her shoulders and hope she would share her thoughts with him.
When they got inside she murmured something about using the bathroom and disappeared upstairs. Two minutes later he heard the shower running. By the time he fixed the tea and brought it upstairs the shower was off and the bedroom was dark.
He closed the door behind him and walked around to the side of the bed farthest from the door, where Catherine lay curled in a ball. He set the tea on the nightstand and sat beside her. She didn’t move or speak, but the tension was like an aura around her body. He stroked her hair gently, running his hand down her back, massaging on the way back up. She curled tighter.
“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly. “I can’t stand seeing you like this. It’s like you’ve collapsed in on yourself.”
“Please, Joe,” she whispered. “Not tonight. I don’t want to talk about it tonight.”
“Have I done something wrong?” There was no way he was going to be able to sleep with whatever it was unresolved, but at least he would know what he was dealing with. “I promise not to push for a lot of detail, but I need to know.”
She was silent. He continued to stroke her hair and work the muscles in her back until little by little she began to uncoil. A deep sigh escaped her and he pushed her gently onto her stomach, then began rubbing the back of her neck with his fingers. “Talk to me, honey,” he said.
“The whole evening was so unsettling.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Ned’s date was a blonde. I peeked at them when they walked by, and it kind of weirded me out. You know, the similarity to Blair.”
And Suzannah. But this wasn’t the time to throw that out there. He wanted to talk it over with his father first, get his thoughts. “I can see why it would freak you out.”
“And, well, we ended up making love. And we didn’t use a condom.”
Joe’s hands stilled. “That doesn’t necessarily mean you’re pregnant.” He resumed his massage, imagining her pregnant with his child. He wasn’t the least bit worried about it—if anything, the image pleased him. Enormously. He decided to risk saying it out loud. “And if you are, we can get married.”
“Oh, sure, just like that.”
“I’m serious.”
“What about Suzannah?”
Joe stopped moving while he processed that. Then he flipped her over as gently as he could, considering how pissed off he was. “Has Ned been feeding you a line about me and Suzannah? Is that what this is all about?”
She didn’t answer.
“That’s it, isn’t it? Jesus Christ, the man will stop at nothing.”
Catherine raised herself on one elbow. “Are you saying it isn’t true?”
He stared at her, incredulous. “Of course that’s what I’m saying. I’m not in love with Suzannah. I haven’t been for a very long time.”
She searched his eyes. “Ned said you’ve loved her since college. That you’re obsessed with her.”
Joe’s blood pressure hit the ceiling. “Ned has loved Suzannah since college. He’s the one that’s obsessed with her. You should see the way he tracks her with his eyes every time they’re in the same room together. He’s done that since the day he met her. I would happily never see the woman again, but she makes sure that doesn’t happen. Why do you think Ned hates me so much?”
“Then why did you— Oh, never mind, it’s none of my business.”
“Why did I what?”
She sighe
d. “Get her to meet you at some restaurant.”
“I didn’t ask to meet her, she called me.”
“Okay, then.” She rolled over.
“Okay then? Catherine, I am not in love with Suzannah Mitchell. She insists that she’s the love of my life, but she’s wrong. I told her that the other day.”
“At the restaurant. You agreed to meet her so you could tell her you weren’t in love with her. Makes sense.”
Rage rose in his gut. “I agree to meet with her from time to time because she throws me bones, and about eighty percent of the time they’re newsworthy. And for your information I never contact her. She’s the one who contacts me.” In hopes of getting some, which he wasn’t about to mention. When Catherine didn’t answer he got up and stalked to the door.
“After everything that’s happened, you believe Ned over me. That’s just fucking great. Thanks a lot.”
It was an effort not to slam the bedroom door, but the last thing he needed was the kids awake. Catherine called his name when he was halfway down the stairs, but he didn’t stop. He stalked through the kitchen and down the musty steps into the basement, all the while feeling his blood pumping so hard his head felt like it was going to explode. Blindly skirting the piles of boxes he’d never unpacked, the rusted grills and broken toys, he made his way to the back, to the one wall of Sheetrock he’d put up in a halfhearted effort to refinish the basement four years earlier. Then he let loose and punched a hole clean through it and then another and another, until his knuckle was bloody and bruised and he had beaten back the compulsion to drive to Ned Campbell’s house, drag him out of his bed and pummel him in the face.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The ringing penetrated his sleep. Joe reached for the phone beside the bed before he remembered he was on the sofa. The muscles in his back remembered, and he groaned as he uncurled his body and limped into the kitchen, where he’d left his cell. He flipped it open.
“Get over here fast.” It was Sadler. He sounded scared. “And bring the money.”
“What money?” Joe bit his tongue before he could add, You scum-sucking child molester. “You thought the Herald would give me carte blanche without knowing what you’re selling?”
“Shit!” Sadler was breathing hard. “Okay, bring as much as you can. I’ll take a fucking check, all right?”
Joe glanced at the clock over the stove. Barely 3:00 a.m. “What the hell is it, Sadler? And how much do you want for it?” Goddamn it, the man was being obtuse.
Sadler lowered his voice. “I can’t say. Just bring a check for fifty grand.”
“Fifty grand? Are you out of your mind?”
“Okay, okay, make it twenty. The Herald is good for it. Get your ass over here now.” He hung up.
Joe stood in the kitchen, scratching his head. Sadler sounded desperate. And scared out of his wits. He could write a check for twenty thousand and stop payment. But Sadler knew that.
It’ll be the biggest story since Watergate.
Joe didn’t have time to think it through. He pulled on his jeans and T-shirt and slipped his feet into some old Docksiders wedged beside the washing machine. He scribbled a note to Catherine and the kids, grabbed his checkbook and ran out the back door. As he pulled away from the curb he remembered the FBI agent out front and did a U-ee in front of the house. He didn’t tell the man him where he was going, just that he’d be back soon. How long could it take to give Sadler a check?
He made it to Sadler’s house in less than twenty minutes. There were no lights on, and he decided to park up the block a bit and circle back behind the neighboring houses to the back door. Why was Sadler so scared? Could someone be threatening his life?
He knocked on the back door, the same one he had come to a few days earlier. It was three-twenty in the morning and it had to be eighty degrees. And humid. God in heaven, it was humid.
After a moment he knocked again. And again. Still no answer. He tried the door. Locked. What the hell?
“Damn.” He could walk around to the front, but if Sadler was so scared... He scanned the area, alert to sounds. There was a rustling in the bushes, and he whirled toward it. Nothing. Thank God he’d remembered to grab his flashlight out of the glove compartment. He shined it on the bushes, but they were still. Probably a cat. Jesus, he was getting paranoid. He shined the light through the window. The blinds were drawn, but there were spaces between the slats. He aimed the beam to catch as much of the room as he could see, going from slat to slat.
He spotted the La-Z-Boy recliner Sadler had been sitting in the other night. The top of the man’s head showed over the back. Could Sadler have fallen asleep so quickly? The hairs on the back of Joe’s head were standing on end. Shit. Was he dead?
“Christ.” He flipped off the light and tried the door one more time. It didn’t budge. He could call—Who? The police? Regardless of whether they were clean, they’d search the place and likely find the evidence. No way. This was his story. If need be, he’d call them once he was inside and had seen at whatever it was Sadler was trying to sell him. He walked down the deck steps and cast around for another way to get in.
No more than ten feet away was a window on the main floor that was cracked a few inches at the bottom. There didn’t appear to be a screen. Perfect. First he checked out the location of neighbors’ windows, but the few that could remotely see him were covered by curtains or blinds. He pushed the window up easily, then hoisted his body through.
Once inside what appeared to be a TV room, Joe flipped on his penlight and lit his way through the living room and onto the converted porch. As he approached he smelled urine and feces and wondered if Sadler had a cat or a dog.
“Sadler?” Joe said from the doorway. He shined the beam on the recliner. Sadler’s head was bent forward over his chest, as though he were deeply asleep.
Or dead.
Joe wiped the sweat off his upper lip. “Jesus, Will,” he said, “talk to me.” No answer. He looked for signs of blood but saw none. Could it be as innocuous as a heart attack? He approached the chair. Maybe he was still alive. He reached for Sadler’s wrist to check for a pulse. Nothing. But he was still warm.
Joe raced through the living room in search of a phone, spotted one on the wall in the kitchen and picked it up to dial. Nothing.
“Damn it!” He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and cursed again. There was no time to lose. He ran to the front door, fumbled with the lock and ran to the curb. Only then did he remember that he had parked around the block. He took off at a dead run. If Sadler was still alive, he had to get help. Fast. He could wake up a neighbor, but that would take time too. He got behind the wheel of his Honda and tore off fast, tires screeching on the pavement. He got exactly one block when two police cars converged on him.
What the hell? He jumped out of his car and found himself facing a pointed gun.
“Halt! Police!” The officer yelled. A door slammed and his partner jumped out, gun drawn and pointing straight at Joe. Two officers jumped out of the second car.
Joe stood dumbly for a moment, his hands in the air. “Call an ambulance,” he said finally. “I just left Detective Sadler’s house and he’s still warm, but—”
Before he could finish, an officer grabbed his arms and cuffed them behind his back. “Hey!” Joe yelled. “What the hell is going on? You need to call an ambulance!”
“You have the right to remain silent...”
* * *
With Robert’s FBI training and years in the field, he was able to wake up and function a
t the drop of a hat. He picked up the bedside phone on the first ring and was already carrying the handset into the kitchen by the time Joe said, “Dad, it’s me.”
Robert closed the bedroom door so Pam could sleep. “Are you okay?” Always his first question when Joe called him at an odd time. Like three fifty-seven in the morning.
“I’m at the police station. Catherine and the kids are home alone.”
Robert pressed the start button on the coffeemaker, pulled two mugs off the shelf and grabbed the half-and-half out of the fridge. “Have you been arrested?” he asked calmly.
“Yes, but they haven’t charged me with anything yet. I think if I cooperate they’ll drop the whole thing.”
“Haven’t charged you for what?”
“Breaking and entering at Sadler’s house.” He said it dismissively, as though it wasn’t worth the breath to discuss it. “But there’s more.”
“You can tell me all about it when I get there.”
“He’s dead, Dad. Sadler’s dead, and they’re questioning me about the murder.”
Robert froze. “Have you called a lawyer?”
“Not yet. If I do that, they’ll be forced to press charges and I’d rather not go there. They’re taking me into the interview room now. Could you and Pam—”
“We’ll be there in under two hours. I’ll drop her at the house and come down to the station by myself.”
“No, I’d rather have you pick up the kids and get them out of town before the shit hits the fan and the media gets hold of this.” He paused. “And I’d feel a whole lot better if Catherine went with you.”
“I’ll do my best, but I can’t force her to cooperate.”
“Amen to that.”
Robert hesitated a couple of seconds. “Joe?”
“No,” Joe said. “But I don’t blame you for asking. After what I found out last night, I almost wish I had.”
* * *
