If Brigit was here, she’d tell me that I’d brought this on myself by not pressing charges. Maybe she was right. Maybe his being here was my own stupid fault.
He spoke to me from the opposite side of the door. “I guess I deserve that.”
“Go away.” My entire body was trembling. I was afraid, I realized. I thought about the pain splintering through me as Derek threw me around like I was nothing, as his boots connected with my flesh, and I could hardly breathe. My hands fluttered at my neck, as if I could free myself from some unseen vise grip.
“Ivy, I never meant for Derek to go so far. When we were here, I told him to let me talk to you. You heard me say that, didn’t you?”
I didn’t say anything. How was I going to get rid of him? Here I was, huddled in my office, all alone. I was helpless.
Fuck. I needed to get a goddamned gun. I didn’t care what I had to do to make that happen, but I couldn’t live like this anymore.
“I only want to talk,” he said.
“Go away.” My voice was a pathetic whisper.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” he said, and his voice seemed to take on a cocky edge, as if he could hear my fear, and he liked it. “Let me in, okay. I promise to be nice.”
Man, that was the same thing that Andrew Webb had said to his sister. And then he’d killed her. If I let Colin in, who knew what would happen to me.
I shook myself. I wasn’t even considering letting him in.
Why’d I thought about letting him in? Did I want to let him in? I couldn’t want that. Of course I didn’t.
The grip seemed to tighten on my throat. I gasped for air.
What if letting him into the office would let me breathe? What if that was the way to get rid of him? What if I just played along, and then he came in and talked to me, and then he left, and then it was over?
No, I told myself firmly. Stop thinking about it.
But now it was as if I couldn’t think of anything else. My head was filled with images of my getting up and unlocking the door and stepping aside, allowing Colin to walk into my office.
As soon as he got inside, the scenario started over again, playing on a loop inside my brain.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Ivy,” murmured Colin on the other side of the door. “We had fun together. Remember that? Remember how good it felt when we were together?”
I gritted my teeth.
“Let me in,” he said. “I just want to talk.”
I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t move. I was afraid that if I did, I’d get up and let him into the room. Some part of me seemed to want to do that, seemed perversely compelled.
That was my problem. I was always perversely compelled to do stupid things. It was as if my wits deserted me, and I was tormented until I destroyed things.
Well, not this time.
I forced air into my nostrils, sucking in noisy breath. “Go away, Colin. I’m going to call the police if you don’t go away.”
“Oh, come on, Ivy. I’m not doing anything wrong.”
I vaulted across my office and picked up the phone. I dialed the number for Miles Pike’s office. I knew it by heart. It wasn’t the same as calling the police, because it was safer. Miles would believe me. Miles wouldn’t ridicule me. Miles wouldn’t—
“Lieutenant Pike,” he greeted as he picked up the phone.
“Miles,” I whispered. “It’s Ivy.”
“Ivy? Are you okay?”
“He’s in my office, Miles. He’s here.” And I hung up.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A knock on the inner office door. “Ivy, are you in there?”
I was huddled behind my desk, but I recognized that voice. I stood up. “Miles?”
“What the hell’s going on?” he said. “Are you all right?”
I scurried over to the door and opened it. Miles was standing there. He had his hand inside his jacket, on his shoulder holster, ready to pull out his gun. I peered behind him at my office. It didn’t look like anyone else was there. “I think he left. I wouldn’t talk to him, and I think he left.”
He looked around too. He took his hand out of his jacket. “Who?”
“Colin Pugliano.”
Miles sighed.
I rubbed my face, backing away from him. “I’m sorry I called. I just… I need a gun.”
“Ivy—”
“Someone’s blocking my permit in the sheriff’s office. You think there’s anything I can do to get that moving?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Are you okay or not?”
I nodded. “I got scared. Usually, I can take care of myself, but I couldn’t last time. All I could think about was how he kept kicking me and how much it hurt…”
“But it wasn’t Derek, right? It was just Colin. And he didn’t touch you?”
“No.” I hugged myself. “Do you think I was stupid not to press charges?”
“I don’t think it would have come to anything. The justice system is not exactly fond of you. Melly is their darling girl, and everyone who works in the courthouse thinks you’re a home wrecker and a—”
“I know what they think of me,” I told my toes.
“Not to mention the O’Shaunessy lawyers would chew you up.”
“That’s what I said.”
“But that doesn’t mean you should have to live in fear. Look, if you want, I can call in a favor and have some uniforms swing past your office on their beat?”
“No.” I shook my head. “The uniforms hate me just as much as the people at the courthouse. Everyone hates me except you. And you should hate me.” I sighed, and wandered over to my desk chair, where I sank down into it. I was confused. I felt ashamed and embarrassed for resorting to calling Miles, like a damsel in distress who needs her stalwart hero in the face of danger. But I was also just glad he was there, that he’d come when I called.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and surveyed me from across the room.
I sighed, resting my elbows on the desk and burying my head in my hands. “I shouldn’t have called you.” My voice was muffled.
“What?”
I lifted my face. “It’s crazy. It’s like we both know that there’s nothing between us. That there can’t be anything between us. But I keep doing things like this. I keep stringing you along—”
“We both keep doing things,” he said. “I’m the one who came by here the other week, remember?”
I looked down at my desk, nodding.
We were quiet.
“You should file a restraining order,” he said. “I’ll fill out a report for this incident, and I’ll push it through the hearing.”
“I just need a gun.” I got up from my desk. “I’d feel better with a gun.”
He hesitated for a minute, and then he nodded. “I’ll see if I can do anything.”
“Thank you for that.”
“Of course.”
And we were both quiet again.
“You’re shaken up,” he said. “You shouldn’t be alone. Let me buy you a drink.”
“You’re still on duty, aren’t you?”
He shook his head. “No, I’ll clock out.” He gestured to his phone. “It’s actually kind of funny you called, because I was going to get in touch with you today. I might know something related to the missing girl case you’re working. I was debating what the best way to contact you would be. I thought about just sending you an email with the information, but I wanted the excuse to see you.” He smiled a tired smile. “I always want an excuse to see you, Ivy.”
I melted. Suddenly, I was flinging myself across the room and into his arms. I knew better than to do that, better than to touch him out of nowhere.
I expected him to stiffen when I made contact with him, but he didn’t. He folded his arms around me instead. I pressed my face into his lapel. He kissed my forehead and tightened his grip.
We stayed like that for several minutes. I could smell him, and I loved the way he smelled. He didn’t wear any kind of cologne or a
nything, but he used this distinctive smelling soap that he got at the health food store. It was shipped from India, and it smelled clean and spicy and it mingled perfectly with Miles’s natural smell. There was nothing nicer than being enveloped in his scent and his embrace.
If only this could be enough for me. If only I could be happy with these sweet embraces, these tentative closed-mouth kisses. If only I didn’t always ache for more.
I lifted my face so that I could gaze into his eyes.
He ran his knuckles over my jaw.
I shut my eyes. “You should go back to work.”
“What about that drink?”
“Where would we do that, huh? You want to be seen with me in town?”
“Fine. Come back to my place.” His voice was dark and deep and rumbling.
I opened my eyes slowly, searching his expression.
He swallowed. “Not to…” His gaze darted away from mine. “Just for a drink.”
We let go of each other.
“I know,” I whispered. “Just for a drink.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets.
I went over to my desk and began to straighten up some papers. “Maybe it would just be better if…”
Several moments of silence. I straightened the papers and straightened them again, even though they didn’t need it.
“If I went back to work.” Miles sounded defeated.
I turned around. “Thanks for coming.”
“I’ll check on your weapons permit.”
“Thanks.”
And he was gone.
* * *
That night, I left the office and went straight to the bar. I felt like there was a fire lit inside my belly, like there was no way I could quench it without some sweet distraction. Instead of spending time at The Remington, I went to Station Place, where a younger crowd usually hung out, and where they played dance music in the basement.
I wasn’t crazy about dance music. I felt like I was mostly too old for it. It was monotonous, it went on and on. If I weren’t drunk, it drove me crazy. I knew that when I said that, I sounded like a crotchety old woman, waving my cane and complaining about the “noise you kids think is music.” But it truly wasn’t my cup of tea.
Still, with a few drinks I could handle it. And I didn’t want much discussion tonight. I just wanted action.
In the low lights, no one could see the fine lines around my eyes or mouth. No one knew I was in my mid-thirties. If I moved my body right, writhing in the strobe lights, shaking my ass and my breasts, I was just as desirable as the younger girls. And it wasn’t long before someone was moving his body against mine.
I felt him press against me—his hands caressing my hips, his pelvis grinding against my backside.
I looked back to see his face. He’d do.
I moved with him.
We gyrated together, our bodies touching, our hands on each other’s skin, urging each other close.
I turned in his arms, pressing my breasts against his chest. Another song went by, and we danced and gazed into each other’s eyes.
When he kissed me, I let him.
We did it in the handicapped bathroom at the top of the stairs. It was unisex, and it didn’t have stalls. It had a door that locked. It was handy for that kind of thing.
He pushed me down over the sink, face down in the porcelain, and together, we urged my pants and underwear out of the way, together we bared my body for him.
He struggled with the condom and the music seemed to vibrate the floor.
When he was inside me, I closed my eyes and felt the bass, and it was as if we were still dancing, still moving like one body on the dance floor. I was swept away into a calm, calm world. No fear of Derek O’Shaunessy. No worries about my failings with Miles. No concern about why I couldn’t solve this damned case with Madison.
Nothing but pleasure, sweat, and rhythmic thrusts.
I groaned and gasped and grunted, and I gripped the cold sink as I climaxed, spiraling out into the strobe lights, losing myself in the music, and I clenched and spasmed on his cock.
Afterward, I got myself another drink and lost him on the dance floor. I never found out his name, and I didn’t want to.
When I got home an hour later, I fell into bed, and I slipped easily into a deep sleep.
* * *
Brigit greeted me at the office by shoving Madison’s phone in my face. “Madison got a phone call and there’s a message.”
I set down my coffee on her desk. “A message from who?”
“From a clinic,” said Brigit. “A medical clinic called Renmawr Women’s Center, where she had an appointment for a procedure tomorrow.”
“Procedure?” I said. “What procedure?”
“Well, I don’t know, because that’s all they said. Here, listen.” She touched the phone’s screen and then the message began playing. It was an automatic voice, stilted and awkward.
“Hello. This is a reminder for. Madison Webb. You have an appointment for your procedure on. Monday at two o’clock. To confirm this appointment, please press one. To cancel this appointment, press two. To be connected to our offices, press pound.”
Procedure? What the hell?
“Find the phone number for this Renmawr Women’s Center place,” I said to Brigit.
“Oh, way ahead of you,” she said, picking up a post-it note and handing it to me. “I was getting ready to call when you came in.”
I furrowed my brow. “Without me?”
“Well, I had to know what the procedure was, didn’t I?”
I pushed her out of the way and picked up her phone. I dialed the number. The same automatic voice picked up, giving me options to press for various services. I hit pound to be connected to the offices.
The phone rang.
After three rings, someone picked up. “Renmawr Women’s Center.”
“Hi,” I said. “Um, my name is Madison Webb. I have an appointment for tomorrow?”
A pause. “Yes, Madison. I see that. Is there a problem? Do you need to reschedule?”
“I was just wondering if there was anything I needed to do to prepare for the procedure? Anything I should bring along?”
“The doctor didn’t talk to you about this?”
“Maybe? I’m just not remembering real well.”
“Well, you need to know that you shouldn’t have anything to eat or drink for about six hours prior to the appointment and avoid all over the counter drugs such as Tylenol or Advil. You should continue to take anything that has been prescribed for you, however. Dress comfortably and bring an extra pair of underwear. Don’t worry about any feminine napkins. We’ll provide them for you, but you should expect that bleeding will continue at home, so have some waiting for you. We recommend—”
I hung up the phone, eyes wide. “She was having a fucking abortion. She was pregnant.”
“I knew it,” said Brigit. “What else could it be?”
“You didn’t know,” I said.
“I did so. It was freaking obvious.”
Well, just because she guessed one thing that I hadn’t guessed first didn’t mean anything. I was still the detective here, not her. I picked up my coffee again and took a long drink. “What the hell? Who’s the father of this baby?”
“I don’t know. Curtis? He’s obviously capable of knocking up Debbie. Why not Madison too?”
“Well, we know for sure that they were sleeping together. He seems like the obvious choice.”
“Yeah, and that gives him a really good motive for murder,” said Brigit. “Because of course, he’s not going to want two pregnant girlfriends.”
I shook my head. “Curtis has an alibi. I saw the credit card charges. He was at the movies.”
“Well, maybe Debbie used his credit card, and she’s lying for him.”
“Maybe,” I said.
“But you don’t think so.”
“Well, Curtis left Madison because Debbie was pregnant, right? So, it seems like he finds the ide
a of pregnancy to be sort of sacred or something. I don’t think he’d kill Madison if he knew she was pregnant. And he has an alibi.”
“Okay, I guess I see that,” she said. “What about Brian?”
“She and Brian weren’t having sex.”
“So he says.”
“Well, he has an alibi too. It checked out. I looked into it the other day.”
Brigit screwed up her face. “Well, we don’t have any other suspects. Who else could it be?”
“We do have another suspect,” I said.
“Yeah, but it’s her brother.”
We both got quiet.
Brigit looked up at me, and our eyes locked.
“You don’t think…” Brigit said in a funny voice.
“Well,” I said. “It kind of fits, doesn’t it? How they’re so close, and how he’s always spending time with her and how his wife was jealous of their bond when they first got married?”
Brigit shuddered. “And how he doesn’t like her boyfriend and how he beats up other guys he suspects of being with her?”
“Yeah, but that’s crazy, right?” I said. “That’s gross. That’s beyond…”
“It would give him motive,” said Brigit.
“Oh,” I said. “God, maybe it would. He killed her to get rid of the baby?”
“Maybe not,” said Brigit. “After all, she was getting an abortion.”
I shook my head. “Yeah. There’s no way. There’s just no way this is all about incest.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lissa Webb was gripping the armrests on the chair in my office so tightly that her knuckles were white.
“Look, you said they were close,” I said. “I guess I’m just wondering how close.”
Lissa swallowed. “You know somehow. You figured it out.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Figured what out?”
Lissa shook her head. “No, I’m not going to say it out loud. I never say it out loud. I… I try not to even think it.”
“But you suspect that the relationship between Madison and Andrew might not be a typical brother-sister relationship.”
Lissa’s face was drained of blood. She shut her eyes, and she didn’t say anything.
It was confirmation enough. I wasn’t barking up the wrong tree here. Even if Lissa wasn’t certain, I could see that she had her own misgivings. That was enough to keep me pursuing this line of inquiry. How it related, I wasn’t quite sure, but I knew that it didn’t look good for Andrew.
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