It was Grace who asked, her voice soft and calming, “How did you know about these two men?”
Heather sniffled again. “Carter told me. He knew all about his wife’s lovers, had known for a long time. She didn’t care that he knew.” She placed a stifling hand over her face, as if to stop more tears from falling. “What am I going to do?”
Ray felt truly sorry for her. She seemed lost, confused, truly desperate. Maybe she really had loved poor Lanford.
She gulped and wheezed, apparently close to panic. “I’ll have to sell the house. I’ll have to look for another job. Carter said he was going to pay the mortgage off in a few months and then I wouldn’t have to worry, but he hadn’t done it yet. I can’t keep up the payments on my own.”
So, was Heather distressed about losing the house or Lanford? It was difficult to tell.
Heather gathered her strength, pushed away the threatening panic and lifted her chin defiantly. “I want to help, if I can. I’ll get you two tickets for the ball next Friday. Louise will be there, and so will both her lovers. Ben McCann is the newest love of her life, and Elliott Reed is the old beau who keeps turning up. Do you need to write that down?”
Ray shook his head. No, no need to write those names down. Ben McCann had been Carter Lanford’s right-hand man, and Elliott Reed was an assistant district attorney.
*
The ride back to her house was silent, without the banter and subsequent awkwardness they’d experienced on the drive over to interview Heather Farmer.
How did Ray do this all the time? Delve into the private lives of others, dissect their lives until you had the bare bones of it laid before you like a buffet? And that was what he did, whether it was a murder case or a divorce case or uncovering an insurance scam. He picked people apart until he found the truth.
She still didn’t know what the truth was, who might’ve killed Carter Lanford. Not Heather Farmer, that’s for sure. She was grieving the loss of her fine house. To think, she’d actually felt sorry for the woman for a while, until she’d realized that Heather wasn’t crying for a man she loved, she was crying for the things she was going to lose.
Thinking about the murder and the people involved was easier than dwelling on her inappropriate thoughts about the man sitting beside her, but again and again her mind turned in that direction.
When Ray had threatened to pull the car off the road her heart had just about stopped. The way the conversation had suddenly ceased, she knew the moment had been awkward for him, too. She closed her eyes and reminded herself of all the reasons they wouldn’t work, his determination to go back into undercover work being at the top of the list. But no matter how hard she tried to tell herself this would never work, all she saw was Ray leaning over her, touching her, promising her everything.
Everything but love.
She opened her eyes and steeled her heart. Maybe she should run again. Pack a bag while Ray was sleeping and just leave. There were always jobs to be had, new places to discover. There was always a place to hide.
That’s what she’d been doing when she left Ray, wasn’t it? Hiding. Burying her head in the sand and pretending, for six long years, that what she felt and wanted and craved didn’t matter. That loving him wasn’t as important as surviving unhurt. That if she wanted badly enough to stop loving him, she would.
And now here she was, back at the beginning again.
“Ray, I don’t know that car,” she said, when they turned onto her street and she saw a red Mustang parked in her driveway.
He cursed, low and foul. “How about let’s keep driving? You didn’t buy me that birthday lunch yet. There’s this great little Italian place in Nashville…”
“Ray,” she interrupted. He obviously recognized the car. “Who is it?” A cop? Someone who knew what he’d been up to and was here to make sure he stopped?
He pinned his eyes on her. “That’s Trish’s car.”
Great. “I’d love to meet her,” she said, when in fact Nashville, a good two hours away, sounded pretty good right now. Sandy and Neil Rose had provided all the pertinent details about Madigan wives number two and three, but Grace had never met either of them face-to-face.
Ray pulled the car to the curb and gave her an apologetic glance. Before he could say anything the blonde knocked on Grace’s window.
Trish had a wide smile on her face. Her hair was teased up, big but not too big, her makeup was there but wasn’t too much, and her pink outfit was feminine without being overdone. And Grace wanted, with all her heart, to hate Mrs. Madigan number two.
Trish backed up as Grace opened the car door, and tossed a wide grin to Ray as he left the car. “I was wondering when you two were going to get home.”
“How did you find me?” Ray asked with a smile that was a little bit forced.
“We went by your place and you weren’t home, so I started calling around. Doris about bit my head off and told me to page you, but Luther told me where you were.” She looked at Grace, curious but without anger. “So you’re Grace. I always wanted to meet you.”
“You said we,” Ray said tiredly.
About that time Grace saw the dark-haired woman sitting in the single porch rocker. Great. Both of them at once?
“Why didn’t you just page me like Doris suggested?”
Patty stood as they reached the porch. “Now what kind of a surprise would that be?” she asked, her voice deeper than Trish’s, more Southern, somehow.
“I hate surprises,” Ray mumbled.
“You do not!” Trish slapped him playfully on the arm. “You love surprises.”
“No,” he insisted. “I could just never convince you of that fact. I hate surprises. They give me gray hair.”
“You don’t have any gray hair.”
“That’s because everyone but you knows I hate surprises.”
Grace unlocked the front door and pushed it open. “Y’all come on in,” she said, Southern hospitality corning to her with some difficulty. “I’ll make us some coffee.”
“I’ll get the cake out of the car,” Trish said.
“Cake?” Ray asked.
“Yeah, happy birthday,” Patty said, leaning over to kiss Ray on the cheek.
Grace started the coffee, wishing she’d said yes when Ray had suggested lunch in Nashville.
*
A shapely blonde carried a big cake from a red Mustang to the front door, and someone else – not the witness, not the man who’d been with her since that day – opened the door for her. Freddie shook his head. Was the woman never going to be alone again?
“Should I be jealous?” Gillian, who jogged beside him, asked.
He looked down at her and grinned. “Sorry. I have a thing for Mustangs.”
“You were looking at the car.”
“What else?”
He’d spent the night with Gillian last night, would spend tonight, too, though she didn’t know it yet. He’d convince her, somehow. It wouldn’t be difficult.
She’d been surprisingly eager when he’d taken her home from their romantic dinner. She’d invited him in, offered him a drink, and fifteen minutes later they’d been making out on the couch. Thirty minutes after that they’d been in her bed. He hadn’t given the witness a thought after that, until the morning.
Gillian lived one street over and a few houses down. Just recently out of a long-term relationship, she was lonely. She needed to feel attractive and desired and she was tired of being alone. He couldn’t have planned it any better. Besides, she definitely gave him something to do while he waited for things to calm down.
She’d keep him busy for a while, a few days, a week at the most. But eventually he was going to have to finish up and move on. If an opportunity didn’t present itself soon, he’d make his own opportunity.
Just to make sure he had it right, he again silently repeated the Mustang’s license plate number in his head. He pictured it, planted the image in his mind so he wouldn’t forget.
“Jimmy,” G
illian said, seduction in her voice.
He was already accustomed to his false name, but then he was an adaptable man. Had to be in this business.
“What’s on your mind, sugar?”
“You can stay over again tonight, if you want,” she said, as if she didn’t care one way or another. “Staying in a motel can’t be very comfortable. You can stay with me as long as you want.”
He smiled. “That would be great.”
Ah, she was already getting that gleam in her eyes, that mushy, clinging, frantic look women sometimes get when they fall in love. If he was going to be around for more than a few days he might worry about that gleam.
“I can call in sick tomorrow and we can have the whole day together, if you can manage it,” she added.
He’d told her he was in town for a few weeks, visiting clients, making sales, covering his territory. That he might, if all went well, settle in the area. When she’d asked what he sold, he’d told her computer parts. Hardware. Lanford had been in computers, and that had been the first thing to come to mind. Fortunately Gillian didn’t know squat about computers, so they hadn’t talked in any detail about his career.
“I can manage it,” he said with a smile, already looking forward to tonight.
*
Chapter 8
«^»
It was every man’s worst nightmare; three ex-wives sitting around, eating cake and drinking coffee and talking. About him.
Trish did most of the talking, but Patty provided the occasional barb of her own. Grace didn’t say much, but she certainly did listen attentively.
Ray stood back and watched, his spine to the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room, a cup of coffee cradled in his hands. “I’m in the room,” he said. “Y’all are talking about me like I’m not even here.”
“Well face it, Ray,” Patty said with a smile. “You make an interesting topic, and the three of us do have a few things in common. For one thing, we all put up with you, for a while.”
Trish mentioned how he snored when he was really tired, and Patty did a quick, and totally inaccurate, impersonation that had them all laughing. What had he done to deserve this?
Patty was right about one thing. The three of them had a lot in common. There was one very important difference, though no one knew it but him. He liked Trish and Patty, but he’d never loved them. That’s why it was so easy to remain friends with them – because in truth they’d never been more than friends. It was harder with Grace, because sometimes he looked at her and he wanted to shake her and ask her why she’d ruined everything.
He’d loved being married to Grace. Life with her had been exciting and fresh and wonderful. After she left, after he’d quit killing himself wondering what had gone wrong, he decided he could, by God, be happy without her. If he’d had a good marriage with Grace, he could have a good marriage with someone else. Anyone else. He’d found out the hard way that it wasn’t that easy.
He wished he could be friends with Grace, just friends. That he could laugh with her about her boyfriends and promise to attend her wedding knowing it wouldn’t hurt to watch her take another man as her husband.
After Grace had left he’d made damn sure he kept his relationships with women on a shallow level. Even when he’d gotten married again. Sex. A few laughs. Maybe a shared interest or two. Nothing more. What he needed to do now, what he had to do, was keep his relationship with Grace on that same level. Skin deep.
“And he has such a lovely singing voice,” Grace said with a wide smile, finally getting in on the let’s-bash-Ray fun-fest.
He cringed.
Patty and Trish stared at Grace like she had lost her mind, and number one’s smile faded.
“In the shower,” she added. “Lyle Lovett, always, and occasionally just a little off-key.”
“Ray,” Patty said accusingly. “You sing?”
It wasn’t easy, but he gave her an I-don’t-care smile. “I used to sing in the shower, on occasion. It was a youthful quirk I outgrew a long time ago.”
Trish nodded. “I never heard him sing, but the man does love Lyle Lovett, doesn’t he?”
Patty nodded. “Yeah. I never quite got it, myself.”
Trish wrinkled her nose. “Me neither.”
Grace pinned her eyes on him, questioning, wondering maybe … damn, she saw too much.
Ray clapped a hand over his wounded heart. “I can’t believe y’all would say that. My next wife,” he added with a forced grin, “will be required to pass a Lyle Lovett trivia test and sing a song of her choosing in its entirety.”
Trish spoke up quickly. “I thought you said you were never getting married again.”
“I’m not, but just in case I change my mind in a moment of weakness…”
Grace no longer stared at him. She gazed into what was left of her coffee as if something fascinating floated there. As if she wanted to jump in and hide there while Trish and Patty went on and on. Hell, he’d like to dive in and hide with her.
Finally Trish and Patty rose to leave. Ray told Trish again that he would gladly attend her wedding but would not give her away. She pouted, but he didn’t change his mind. It just wasn’t right.
Patty said she had to get back to her place to get ready for an early dinner with her doctor boyfriend.
He had never been so glad to see Trish and Patty prepare to leave.
At the door, Trish wished him happy birthday again and kissed him briefly on the lips. Patty did the same, absently delivering the quick smack of a friend in a hurry. Both kisses were amicable and pleasant enough, but executed almost as an afterthought.
He closed the door, took a deep breath and turned to face Grace. She had come to her feet and stood before the couch, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed.
To survive this, he had to keep his relationship with Grace on the same friendly, shallow level he called upon for his other ex-wives. He had to be able to kiss her and feel nothing, to care about her without remembering what it had been like to love her. To like her; nothing more.
“What about you,” he said, nonchalantly closing the distance between them. “Aren’t you going to wish me happy birthday?”
“I already did,” she said in a small voice.
He raised his eyebrows and reached out to touch her chin with the tips of his fingers. “Not properly.” Before Grace could protest, he leaned down and gave her a quick kiss, no more than a brush of his lips over hers.
In an instant, he knew he’d made a mistake. That quick caress was not enough, so he kissed her again. Quickly, softly, his mouth barely touching hers. She held her breath and closed her eyes and he kissed her yet again. Deeper this time, with a hunger he couldn’t conceal.
His arms wrapped possessively around her and she fell against him, warm and soft, yielding and sinfully tempting. No one felt like Grace, no one smelled like Grace, no one tasted like Grace. One kiss and she was in his blood, singing her own song, making him half-crazy.
Her arms encircled his waist and she held on tight, as if she might fall if she didn’t. Her lips parted for him, when he tasted her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, and when he slipped his tongue into her mouth a little moan slipped out.
More than anything in the world, he wanted her. Here and now, fast and furious. He needed to be inside her, he wanted, more than anything, to watch her come apart beneath him. She was his in a way so primal he couldn’t explain it. His body was drawn to hers, after all this time, as if there was no other woman on the planet who would do. After he’d made love to her, would he break down and ask her why she’d really left? The question was on the tip of his tongue, teasing his mind.
But if he asked she’d know it mattered to him, she’d know that he still cared more than he should.
Skin deep.
He slipped his hand beneath her sweater and trailed his palm over bare, warm skin. She gasped, but didn’t take her mouth from his to tell him to stop. He unfastened her bra with a twist of his fingers, and move
d the undergarment aside to cup her bare breast. Firm, soft and warm, she filled his hand. He teased her pebbled nipple with the tips of his fingers and his thumb, kissing her, touching her, all the while edging closer and closer to a complete loss of control.
Skin deep. Nothing more.
He grasped her hip and pulled her against him so she could feel his arousal pressing into her flesh. She was his one weakness. If he couldn’t walk away she would have to. And he knew just how to make her run.
“How about it, baby?” he whispered hoarsely into her mouth. “A little birthday present?”
Grace stiffened, dropped her arms and tried to back away. He held on tight, for a moment, and then let her go so that she fell onto the couch.
Tempted as he was, he didn’t fall with her.
*
A little birthday present! Grace fumed, her face hidden behind a section of the Sunday paper while Ray watched television without comment. She was such an idiot. Ray kissed her, and she started thinking impossible thoughts. She remembered too well how it had been, once. What she’d dreamed of for them. She remembered what it had been like to love him.
And Ray, master of the poetic that he was, told her without reservation that all he wanted was a roll in the hay or a little birthday present.
She snapped the paper into her lap. “You know, I think you should leave.”
“No,” he said, never taking his eyes from the evening news. Shea was doing the weather forecast, promising them a beautiful Monday.
“It’s not a good idea…”
He turned his head and pinned intense blue eyes on her. “It’s the sex thing, isn’t it?” he said emotionlessly. “Okay, I’ll drop it.”
The sex thing. She shook her head. “Sometimes I think I don’t know you at all.”
“Maybe you don’t,” he said softly, and as if he didn’t care. He stared at her hard, though, and there was no trademark Ray Madigan grin to break the seriousness of the moment. “Six years is a long time.”
MADIGAN'S WIFE Page 9
