“Please keep your voice down. My mother is resting.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, trying to figure out how to convince him. I actually considered blackmailing him, but my mind didn’t work that way. I giggled at the irony. I’d been arrested twice, yet I made a shitty criminal.
“You find this funny?” he asked, surprised. He still looked like hell. His eye was purple with a hint of greenish-yellow. The gash above his eyebrow wasn’t quite as angry, but his movement was stiff and his skin was pale.
“Hilarious,” I snapped. “I can’t wait until the world finds out that Poppy Harriet is a man and that the respected Professor Sue Lumpschlicterschmidt’s alias is Shoshanna LeHump. You know, the porno-writing granny who was married to a gay man. Nancy will be thrilled to be outed as Nan Thorenson, the perpetrator of salmonella-gate, and Joanne . . . I don’t know what the Viper has on Joanne. Whatever.” I threw my hands in the air in frustration. “Oh, and don’t let me forget, I stole jewels. Of course, there were no fucking jewels in the box, but the Viper is paying off the police, so I’m sure something will stick.” I stopped and stood in front of the sad old man I’d come to care about. “And you . . . you have the chance to tell your mother yourself, or you can let that bitch do it for you.”
“Rena, it’s not that simple.”
“It is that simple.” I got down on my knees, forcing him to look at me. “It is that simple. I know somewhere in that disaster you call an office, you have proof of what she’s done. Am I right?”
He closed his eyes and didn’t move a muscle.
“Answer me,” I pleaded.
“You can’t be sure she’ll talk,” he insisted. “You don’t know that for certain.” He sounded desperate. Was he that scared of his mother knowing? It didn’t add up.
“Fred, think about it. The Viper will not go down alone. She will take everyone she can with her. I don’t know what happened in Evangeline O’Hara’s childhood to fuck her up so badly, but she is pure evil.”
Fred’s spine straightened and his face reddened. “She had a wonderful childhood,” he sputtered indignantly. “Her parents were lovely people.”
“How in the hell would you know that?” I demanded. I’d had enough of other people’s cryptic bullshit to last me a lifetime.
“I’m surmising,” he stammered.
“Surmising, my ass. You tell me what you know or I’ll . . . I’ll, hell, I don’t know what I’ll do, but it will be bad.”
Fred stayed stone-faced and silent.
“How about I start with what I know,” I said sarcastically, folding my hands and putting them primly in my lap. “I know your name is not Cecil or Jeeves or Belvedere. Your name is Fred. You’re not a stockbroker, you’re a New York Times best-selling romance author who’s had his books stolen by a plastic surgery addict who is probably more synthetic than human.”
“Rena, stop.”
“Nope, it’s my turn and I’m taking it,” I said, cutting him off.
“You’re working for a woman who physically and mentally abuses you, and one of these days, she will kill you. You have the chance to bring her down and at the same time save some wonderful women who are being blackmailed just like you are and you won’t do it. You are so afraid your mother will disown you for having a ladies’ underpants fetish, you can’t see past your own selfish fear. I would suggest you pull up your big girl panties and loosen your bra straps because they’re obviously cutting off the blood flow to your brain.”
“Fred?” Delona stood in the doorway with tears running down her cheeks. “Is all that true?” she whispered.
“Mother,” Fred gasped, jumping up and going to her. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in her dressing gown. He looked so much like a child, I turned away. It was too private. I would have left if I could have, but they were blocking the doorway.
“You’re working for Evangeline?” she asked with despair in her voice.
What in the hell was going on? How did she know the Viper? Her knees started to buckle. Fred was so immersed in his own shock and anguish, he had no clue. I literally flew across the room and caught Delona before she fell on top of her son.
“Come sit down,” I said, helping her to the couch. Fred stayed on the floor, unable to look at anyone.
“Thank you, Rena,” she said, pulling herself together, “for more than you know. Fred, come here.” It wasn’t a request.
“How much of that did you hear?” I asked, feeling sick to my stomach. My intention was for Fred to tell his secrets . . . not me.
“All of it,” she replied, taking Fred’s hands in her own. “Fred, when your father died I thought it would be a good thing to move back to Minnesota and be near family. You were so young and I was so sad.” She gently reached under his chin and lifted his face. His eyes were desolate and I felt my own fill with tears.
“Maybe I should go,” I said, standing up to leave.
“No, Rena,” Delona said. “Please stay.” I sat back down. “I thought being around my parents and sister would be a good thing for us . . . I was wrong. I knew she was sick, but I had no idea you were still in contact with her.”
The lightbulb in my brain began to light up, dimly, but it was on. The photograph now made sense . . .
“Fred, I want you to know that I’ve always known.” She smiled, trying to lighten the morbid pall in the room. “I’ve known since you were ten and my underwear starting disappearing.”
Fred sobbed and dropped his head into his hands. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” she asked gently.
“Because I’m a freak of nature.” His voice ripped from his throat. I looked down at my hands. It was simply too painful to watch. “I don’t deserve to live. I’m worthless and stupid and an embarrassment to you,” he said. “You were never supposed to know.” His head drooped and his shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry.”
“On my God, Fred. Why would you think that?” She put her arms around him and rocked him like a child.
“She told me. She said it would kill you . . . you would hate me. Oh God, I’m so sorry.”
“Fred, you’re a grown man. Why would you believe such a thing?” she asked, touching his bruised face and frantically searching his eyes.
Fred’s cries tore at my insides. Evangeline had damaged him far more than I’d thought possible. “Eleven,” he sobbed. “I was eleven and she caught me. Every day . . . every day.”
“She’s told you every day since you were eleven?” The words flew from my horrified mouth before I could stop them.
Fred, unable to speak, nodded his head and refused to make eye contact with me or his mother.
“Rena,” Delona said. Her words had an edge of steel that reminded me of Evangeline. Although the Viper was out for herself, her sister, Delona, was out for her son. “I heard there may be a way to help, to . . . end this. What did you mean by that?”
I put my hand on Fred’s shoulder, asking permission. Without raising his eyes, he clasped my hand and squeezed. “I think Fred has proof of what Evangeline has done over the years to him and many others. I want him to give it to me.”
Delona’s turquoise blue eyes, so similar to her sister’s, studied me. “What will you do with this information?”
“Take her ass down, set it on fire, and watch it explode,” I told her, meaning every word. Metaphorically, that is.
“Fred, I want to be very clear with you. Look at me,” she said. “I love you. I have always loved you and nothing you say or do can change that. I have no problem that you like ladies’ underthings. When your father was alive I enjoyed his boxers from time to time, so you probably come by it naturally.” She grabbed his chin when he tried to turn away. “What was done to you was horrific child abuse and I know you probably don’t believe me when I say I love you. We have a journey to take now. We will do therapy together and you will do it alone, too. You are a beautiful man and the best son a woman could ask for, goddamnit. I ask you for one thi
ng.”
“What?” Fred whispered, obviously wanting so much to believe everything his mother was saying.
“I want you to give Rena the proof.”
“I want that, too,” he said. “I wanted that all along, I was just too weak to . . .”
“Stop,” I interrupted. “It’s not too late. Just tell me where it is and I’ll do the rest.”
Fred handed me a key to a drawer in his office and made me promise to go after eight this evening. Evangeline was having a procedure on her nonexistent eyelids at six and everyone should be gone by eight. She would be so drugged up by then, it should be simple to get in and out.
As I was leaving, I heard Delona ask Fred about his writing. As he spoke with pride and she laughed with delight, my heart felt lighter than it had in a while. Fred was going to be okay.
I went back to Shoshanna’s and had a two-hour conversation with cardboard Brett Favre. He was very nice about my dumping all my issues on him and didn’t seem to be the least bit offended by my colorful language. I thought I might ask Shoshanna if I could take him to Iowa.
Waiting to go to the Viper’s to get the proof was killing me. I was loving life so much, I almost called Jack . . . almost.
At eight o’clock, I picked up the folder. It was thick. I drove right back to Shoshanna’s and started reading. And oh boy, it was some heavy reading. At three in the morning, I closed the folder . . . Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day.
Chapter 31
I hadn’t been back to my apartment building since I’d moved out. My trembling hands and somersaulting insides were proof enough that I should stay away from Jack, but I wanted to give him something. Kristy was fairly sure he had gone to work, but he hadn’t knocked at our door this morning. My busted heart broke a little more at that news.
I pressed my ear against his door and listened. No noise. Thank you, Jesus. I got down on my hands and knees and tried to shove an envelope underneath. A tiny part of me was disappointed he wasn’t home . . . all right, a huge part of me, but it was better this way.
“Dang it,” I said, trying to push it under the sealed door. Peeling up the rubber to make room for the envelope wasn’t working. The only success I had was breaking two of my already short fingernails. Failure was not acceptable. I considered taping it to the door, but this envelope could not fall into the wrong hands. I dug through my purse looking for something that could cut the rubber enough to make room for my delivery . . . gum, hand cream, lip gloss, phone, wallet, tampons. Ah ha, the butter knife I’d borrowed from the diner last week because Shoshanna didn’t have any. I knew what she was getting from me next Christmas.
I wedged the knife under the door and tried to peel the rubber back. The knife bent in half. Shit, what in the hell did they make this crap with? Tinfoil? I sat back on my butt and tried to figure out what to do. I had about two hours before I needed to implement the next part of my plan. There had to be a way to make this work. I rammed the misshapen knife into the rubber and started sawing. I put all my weight behind it and went to town. This might actually. . .
“Rena?” Jack asked, opening the door.
I tumbled into Jack’s apartment, landing at his running-shoe-clad feet. Fuckity, fuck, fuck. “I have something I need to give you,” I said with faint hysteria in my voice. I was still on my hands and knees at his feet. This was so not happening.
“Okay,” he said, squatting down to my level. “And you figured carving out a hole in my door would be a good way to deliver it?”
“Um, yes. Yes, I did.” So much for the I’m-not-crazy campaign.
“I’ve been trying to find you,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet.
Son of a bitch, he was gorgeous. It wasn’t fair. His legs were covered in tight winter running pants and his black long-sleeved running shirt hugged every muscular inch of his upper body. I was tongue-tied and stared at him openmouthed. At least I’d dressed with care, on the outside, outside chance I would run into him. He took in my Captain Crunch T-shirt, and a sexy grin split his face. My knees went weak and my heart ping-ponged around my chest.
“Here.” I handed him the envelope, shocked that any words came out.
“What’s this? A restraining order?” He smiled, slipping around me to close, lock, chain, and double bolt his front door. My insides clenched in excitement at the thought of him forcing me against my will to do all kinds of things with him. Of course force would have nothing to do with it . . . me and my inner slut would do anything he wanted. Anything. Happily. As many times as he wanted. In fact, I could probably come up with a few interesting new positions to try . . .
I backed away before I slammed him against the wall and played tonsil hockey with him. “No, it’s something I think you need.”
He carelessly tossed the envelope onto the table next to his door. “The only thing I need is you,” he said in a husky voice that made me tingle all over.
“Jack, I . . .”
“No, Rena, listen to me. I am so sorry. I was wrong not to believe you. I was an asshole and a jerk and I said some awful things.” He moved toward me and put his big strong hands on my upper arms, sending jolts of electricity through me and straight to my panties. “My life just sucks without you.”
His hands were warm and I knew he meant what he said, but . . . “Jack, it will happen again.”
“God, I hope not.” He winced, clearly reliving his evening with the eighty-year-old silicone knockers. “Wait,” he stammered, having no idea I knew what he was referring to. “I don’t mean you. I mean, um . . .”
“I know what you mean,” I said.
“No, you don’t.” He grimaced.
“Unfortunately, I do. I was hiding in the curtains,” I admitted guiltily.
“Oh my God,” he laughed, then shuddered with disgust. “I’m almost glad someone can verify that actually happened. Why were you in the curtains?”
“I was about to leave and I heard your voices and I didn’t want to see you or for you to see me. I tried to hide behind a naked fornicator statue, but it wasn’t big enough, so I dove behind the curtains and then I . . .” I petered off, realizing how insane I sounded. This was exactly why it wouldn’t work. I straightened my spine and slipped out of his arms. “Jack,” I said in my best accountant’s voice, “I think you’ll be extremely interested in the contents of the envelope. I hope your life goes very well and I’m sure someday we can be friends. I have other errands to run and I’m moving to Iowa with Cardboard Brett Favre in two weeks, so, um . . .”
“Rena, what can I do to make you give me another chance?”
I was caught off guard by the urgency in his voice. “I don’t . . .”
“I’ll let you look at my giraffe and even make fun of it,” he offered, taking off his shirt.
“You will?” I giggled. An express shuttle of excitement tore through my body straight to my lady bits at the sight of his naked chest. “You’re not playing fair,” I said in a voice that belonged in a porno.
“Nope,” he agreed. “I’m not.” He pushed his hands into the waistband of his running pants and slowly eased them down his legs.
Oh. My. God. My mouth went dry and my inner slut fought me for control.
“I will resort to anything to get you back,” he said sexily.
“I will not have sex with you,” I said, pulling my own shirt over my head.
“Okay,” he said, unbuttoning my jeans and sliding them down my legs. “No sex. I got it. Anything else?”
“Um, yes.” I felt like a breathless teenager. “I won’t date you. I’m going to find a strapping farm man in Iowa and Cardboard Brett Favre is pretty damn hot,” I said, quickly removing my bra.
His eyes raked my body hungrily. “I thought Brett Favre was married.”
“Cardboard Brett Favre is single,” I gasped as he removed my panties. His slightly callused hands ran slowly up my legs, firmly planting themselves on my bare ass. Thank Sweet Baby Jesus, I’d shaved my legs this mornin
g.
I felt a little dizzy. My nipples were so hard they hurt, my heart was lodged in my throat, and the moisture pooling between my legs needed attention immediately.
“So my getting into your pants doesn’t mean you forgive me?” he asked, leaving my ass behind and running his thumbs over my nipples.
“I’m not wearing any pants.” I arched my back to give him more of my aching breasts. “And there’s nothing to forgive. You were right, I’m crazy,” I gasped as his lips closed over my nipple and drew hard. I plunged my fingers into his hair and held him close. His scent and his body were the most perfect things I’d ever had the good fortune to touch. I wished . . .
“Rena, I want to make love to you. I need to make love to you,” he moaned.
“I want that, too,” I whispered. Thankfully he didn’t notice the tears in my eyes. This was so bittersweet for me. Making love with the person I loved, whom I couldn’t be with because, as much as he thought my crazy was okay, eventually it would destroy us.
“Come with me.” He practically dragged me to his bedroom. His bed dominated the room. It was huge. Dark blue sheets and a squishy down comforter covered the mattress and tons of pillows littered the bed. I could get lost in that bed. “Don’t move,” he said, pushing me against the wall and giving me a kiss that curled my toes. So much for doing it on his bed . . . I watched as he frantically searched for a condom. The muscles in his back were so hot. They flexed as he tore through his bedside drawer. His giraffe seemed to come to life with his movement. I tried unsuccessfully to stifle my laughter.
“I know what you’re laughing at.” He grinned as he tore the condom open with his teeth. “And I give you full permission to laugh at it for the rest of your life.”
Oh God, if only. I pushed those thoughts out of my head and concentrated on watching him slide the condom over his massive and gorgeous erection. Everything in my body tightened in anticipation of the feeling of him inside me.
How Hard Can It Be Page 26
