The Real Mrs. Price

by J. D. Mason

  “You just have a list of account numbers and no idea what they’re account numbers to?” he asked.

  “It’s all Chuck had, but he said that he believed Ed had help, and he thought that that person might have the rest of the information.”

  “You think Marlowe has them?”

  “I thought she might.”

  “What would you do if she did?”

  For some reason, she hesitated. “Turn them over to the police with the account numbers.”

  He looked as if he didn’t believe her. “Really?”

  Roman waited for her confirmation. The best she could do was shrug.

  Life Got in Between

  HER HOME HAD BEEN HER sanctuary, and now it was anything but that. It had been violated by some unwelcome visitor. And it had been invaded by the last person she’d ever thought she’d let walk through that front door. Shou Shou’s warning pressed down on her like lead. Marlowe had crossed a line she never should’ve crossed with Plato. And now that she was on the other side of it, she knew that she had given herself up to whatever fate held for her with this man.

  “You kissed him, Marlowe?” Belle asked, stunned.

  Her restaurant didn’t officially open until four in the afternoon, but Marlowe had called and told her that she needed to get out of the house and that she could use a drink, and Belle met her there around two.

  “He kissed me,” Marlowe corrected her. “And what part of ‘Somebody was in my house’ didn’t resonate with you?”

  “But you let him kiss you. Damn, Marlowe. Shou warned you about him, the bones warned you about him, and you still let him in?”

  What Belle didn’t say, but wanted to, was “When is your dumb ass gonna learn, Marlowe?”

  And she’d have been right to say it. Marlowe was a fool. She’d been a fool over Eddie, and she was being a fool over Plato, knowing full well that nothing good could come of this.

  “I’m sorry, cousin,” Belle said sincerely. “Sorry that you have to go through all this, but it’s got to be for a reason. God never gives us more than we can handle.”

  “Ever think that sometimes he does?” Marlowe responded. “Because I can’t take much more of this, Belle,” she said bitterly. “I don’t deserve it. I really don’t. I picked the wrong man to marry. Women do it all the time, but it shouldn’t have to cost me my damn life.”

  “I know, Marlowe,” Belle said softly. “I know.”

  The poison of Plato’s kiss was like a drug that she couldn’t get out of her system. Marlowe hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since he’d left. She had been racking her brain to try to figure out what Plato could possibly want from her. It wasn’t just Eddie that he wanted. It was her, something that she had or that she knew. The bones had warned her that he was coming for her, but why? If she knew she could give him what he wanted, then maybe he’d leave. It could be that simple. Marlowe desperately needed to know what it was, though.

  “Looks like somebody left the door open.”

  The sound of his voice, low, smooth, and menacing, startled both women. Plato stood at the entrance of the dark restaurant, looking as ghostly as he sounded, until he stepped toward them and into the only light—over the bar—illuminating the space.

  “You open for business?” he asked, staring at Belle.

  She shuddered and shook her head. “Not until four.”

  He shifted his gaze to Marlowe. “It’s got to be four o’clock somewhere.” He smiled. “Right?”

  “You need to leave,” Belle dared to say.

  He didn’t budge. “That’s exactly what I need to do,” he said sarcastically and then looked at Marlowe. “Would you like to leave with me, Marlowe?”

  Belle looked absolutely horrified. “No, she wouldn’t.”

  “Why would I want to do that?” Marlowe asked pensively.

  “Because.” He paused. “I would like for you to.”

  Did he really think that it was that easy? Was he so damn confident in his influence over her that getting her to leave with him and to go anywhere was as simple as asking her? The longer he stood there, the more pronounced that feeling expanded in her core. It was as if she were tethered to him, being pulled by him from her center. He had “commanded” her.

  Plato held out his hand to her. “Please,” he insisted. “I have my reasons.”

  She was a magnet to him, and the next thing she knew, Marlowe was placing her hand in his.

  Of course Belle didn’t understand. How could she? How could anybody? Even Marlowe didn’t understand it, but she also was helpless to resist it, too. He graciously held the door open for her as they left.

  “What do you want?” she asked, outside in the parking lot. Marlowe snatched her hand away and looked at him like he’d lost his damn mind, when in fact it was her mind that had fallen out somewhere inside Belle’s place.

  He casually scratched at the back of his neck. “I just wanted to check on you,” he said sincerely. “I stopped by the house, and you weren’t home.”

  That couldn’t possibly be what he really wanted. “No,” she said emphatically. “I mean, what do you want from me? Tell me why you came to town—to me—and what it is that you want from me?”

  Marlowe was desperate to cut her ties with him. Plato scared the mess out of her with the control and the power he seemed to have over her, and if she could just figure out what it was that he wanted, Lord, she’d give it to him just so he’d leave.

  “Whatever it is, just let me know so this can finally be over, Plato.”

  “I told you why I’m here,” he said, knitting his thick brows. “To find Price.”

  “And what else?” she pushed. “What do you need from me? You came here for me, too. I know it.”

  “No. I came for him.” All of a sudden, he looked irritable. “Does this have anything to do with that devil shit and possums?”

  Marlowe was caught off guard. “What?”

  “Your cousin.” He motioned his head toward Belle standing in the doorway of the restaurant, watching them. “She told me about it. Possums and bones and devils and me. Is that what this is about?”

  Marlowe was stunned to actually hear him say that. “Belle told you all that?”

  “She did. Is it true?”

  “Is it true that you’re the devil, or is it true that I believe you are?”

  He thought for a moment. “That … yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, that you believe I am.”

  “Are you?”

  “Would the devil tell you if he was?” He smiled.

  He was so damn devious and twisted the truth to make it ring true, just like the devil would.

  “I’m not,” he said, reading the conflicted expression on her face. “To the best of my knowledge. I think I’d know if something like that were true about me. Don’t you?”

  She stared quizzically at him and decided that she wanted to end this conversation. “You wanted to check on me, and you have. I’m fine. So you can leave.”

  He stepped closer to her. “I need to go to Dallas. Why don’t you ride with me?”

  Marlowe was stunned that he’d have the gall to ask her something like that. “Why would I do that?”

  “You’re mad at me,” he surmised, looking genuinely perplexed.

  “What? No. I don’t … I’m not.”

  “Look, I’m going to be gone for a day, maybe two, and with what happened the other night, you feeling like someone was in the house, I just thought it’d be a good idea for you to ride with me so that I can keep an eye on you.”

  Marlowe gave him a side glance. “You want to protect me,” she stated suspiciously.

  “I feel compelled to.”

  Coming from anyone else, she’d have felt flattered. Coming from him …

  Her options were simple. Marlowe could stay home and hope that whoever had trespassed on her property wouldn’t be crazy enough to come back, or she could ride to Dallas with him and spend the next few days
worrying over what might possibly happen to her if she left town with this very dangerous man.

  “And where will we be staying?”

  “A hotel.”

  She stared at him.

  “Separate rooms,” he quickly added.

  The thought of getting out of town for a few days made her salivate, but getting out of town with him for a few days worried her. “The police told me that I needed to stay here,” she suddenly said, reminded of that stipulation they’d put on her after questioning.

  “You haven’t been charged, Marlowe. You’re not out on bond, and how are they going to know where you are?”

  Marlowe gave his argument serious thought. “Why are you going to Dallas, anyway?”

  “To drop something off, and because I need to get out of here. I’m starting to go small-town stir-crazy. A big-city fix would do me good right about now.”

  Her, too.

  “The offer’s on the table,” he concluded with a sigh. Plato slipped on his shades, turned, and started to walk back over to his car. “I’ll be leaving in an hour if you want to go,” he said over his shoulder.

  Belle stood at the door staring at the two of them with wide, terror-filled eyes, mouthing the words, “No, Marlowe.”

  But what Belle didn’t understand is that the damage had already been done. She’d invited him to cross that threshold, and all Marlowe could do now was to let this thing run its course to the end.

  Marlowe called to him just as he was getting into his car. “You’ll pick me up?”

  He smiled. “I’ll pull up to your place in an hour.”

  * * *

  Rational thought had given way to desperation. Marlowe needed to get away. She needed to get out from underneath the catastrophe of her life here in Blink, Texas, and to disappear inside a city too big to give a damn who she was or what people believed she’d done. For all she knew, she might not ever come back to this town. Her life was so fucked up, what harm could it do to run away from home?

  They drove the hour and a half to Dallas in silence. Plato’s music filled the empty space between them, and that was fine by her. Marlowe’s thoughts bounced around from all the mistakes she’d made to the conversation she’d had with Lucy Price earlier this morning to what it might feel like to disappear and never be heard from or seen again. If Plato was who the bones said he was, then there was no telling where she’d end up on this trip. But maybe it was better not to care.

  Marlowe glanced at his chiseled, tattooed arm stretched out in front of him and holding on to the steering wheel. Plato’s legs were so long that he was practically driving from the backseat.

  “Are you smitten with me or what?” he asked sarcastically, catching her staring.

  It was a hypnotic smile, magical and dirty and vile.

  She was immediately offended. “I think you wish I was,” she said smugly.

  He laughed. She didn’t find it funny at all.

  “I do wish it.” Plato was too damn cool. “I am smitten, though.” He glanced at her and licked his lips. “Unlike you, I’ve got no reservations about admitting it.”

  It took everything in her not to shudder.

  In the Stable

  WONDER BOY RECOMMENDED to Plato a dude in Dallas who could hack into that thumb drive he’d found at Marlowe’s, so the first stop once they hit town was a parking lot in front of a convenience store.

  “Why’re we stopping here?” Marlowe asked. It was maybe the third complete sentence she’d said the whole two hours that they’d been driving.

  A silver Camaro pulled up next to Plato’s car, and it took everything in him not to laugh. Geeks watched too much television, and this dude played his role to the hilt, wearing dark glasses, a ball cap low on his head, and sitting hunched behind the wheel, like the feds were watching his ass or something.

  “You got something for me?”

  The kid couldn’t have been more than twenty.

  Plato flipped it into the other vehicle’s passenger seat. “I need you to pop that open.”

  The young guy barely glanced at it. “Meet me back here tomorrow, same time.”

  Plato glanced at the clock. It was just after five. The guy sped off without saying another word.

  “Is that the thing you found at my house?” she asked.

  He casually nodded.

  “What’s he going to do with it?”

  “It’s got a password on it,” he explained. “I need him to unlock it.”

  That kiss was never far from his thoughts. Marlowe likely wanted to pretend it had never happened, but he would never deny that it had. She’d kissed back with the kind of fervor he hadn’t expected at all, which was why he’d been so confounded by it since it’d happened. It was raw, good, soft, tasty, and sensual, like she couldn’t help herself. If that’s what all this devil business was about, then he might just have to embrace that part of himself and let it do whatever it was going to do.

  “Where are we going now?” Marlowe asked.

  Plato smiled. “First we’re going to check into a hotel, go and get something to eat, and then it’s on to heaven.” The irony of his statement wasn’t lost on him, considering all this stuff he’d been learning about bones and devils. The statement brought a smile to his face and an evil glare to hers.

  The Omni Hotel in Dallas was by far the most popular, but the Joule was elegant in an understated way. He was trying to impress a girl, and for that, he needed the Joule. Plato had reserved the Presidential Suite with an adjoining room. Not because it was the most expensive or the biggest; it was far too much space for two people. He’d reserved it for the floor-to-ceiling windows and the sweeping views of the Dallas skyline.

  At the check-in desk, Marlowe frowned, leaned in close to him, and whispered rather sheepishly, “I can’t afford this place.”

  As if she should have to pay for her own room. The woman behind the desk gave him two separate sets of key cards, and he handed one to her.

  “Right down the hall next door to me,” he said, staring into her eyes.

  Marlowe’s gaze lingered for a moment, and then she quickly turned away. He could feel the romantic in him starting to stir. When was the last time that had happened?

  * * *

  In his line of work, Plato came across so many different types of people, some memorable, some not. But they never forgot who he was.

  “Mr. Wells,” the older man said, grabbing hold of Plato’s hand and shaking it as soon as the two of them entered the restaurant. “Welcome. Welcome.”

  “Nice to see you again,” Plato said coolly. He recognized the man’s face, though his name escaped him.

  The man immediately ushered them to a romantic table near the window in the back of the room. As he was leaving, he leaned over to Plato and said in a low voice, “Anything … it’s on the house.”

  “No,” Plato protested. “That’s not necessary.”

  The man turned a strange shade of gray and nodded. “Whatever you want, Mr. Wells. I insist,” he said in a strained tone and walked away. Things like this happened sometimes. Plato never asked for a free meal or a handout or favors, but people felt compelled to shower him with them regardless. It was a perk. But tonight, an unwelcome one. Because after all, he was still trying to impress a girl.

  “If it didn’t involve six different toppings, something processed, and a beer, I didn’t think you could stomach it,” she said sarcastically.

  She looked beautiful tonight. Marlowe had set her full head of hair free into an explosion of curls framing that lovely face of hers. It was impossible to hide curves like hers, so she put them on full display wearing a simple red dress, painting the lines of that body in celebration of every glorious inch. He wasn’t the only man in the room to notice.

  “Too much good living is bad for me,” he said. “So I meter it. Every now and then, I even take a vitamin.”

  She laughed. He couldn’t recall ever hearing her laugh before. She immediately reeled in that brief episode
of frivolity and sank back into that dark shell of herself.

  “I, um, appreciate all this,” she said, expressing reluctant gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “It’s my pleasure.” He meant it and hoped that she’d believe that he did.

  She looked sad all of a sudden, which was absolutely unacceptable. Plato made a mental note to do everything in his power to remove that expression from her face once and for all, at least while she was here in town with him.

  Plato ordered the prime New York strip, baked potato, and asparagus. Marlowe ordered the pan-seared sea bass, house salad, and rice. At the end of dinner, the waiter reminded Plato that the meal was on the house. Plato pulled cash out of his wallet and left it on the table.

  “No,” he said defiantly. “It’s not.”

  * * *

  Dallas was filled with hidden treasures. He’d discovered this one a few years ago on his last job here. Plato turned down a dark street with a large building at the end of the block, pulled the car up to the front of it, and waited. Moments later, a man appeared at Plato’s window.

  “Welcome, sir.”

  Plato got out of the car and handed the man his keys. Another man appeared at Marlowe’s door and helped her out. Plato held her hand and led her up the stairs and down a series of hallways until they arrived at a red door at the top of a flight of stairs.

  “Plato, where are we?” she asked, trying not to sound as panicked as she looked.

  On the outside, this place looked like an abandoned building with metal doors and dead-bolt locks. He stared into her eyes. “Courage, Marlowe.” He smiled and leaned in close. “Trust me.”

  That look in her eyes, fearful and yet yearning, was seductive as fuck.

  Suddenly, the door opened, music and lights flooded into those long corridors, and a tall, skinny brotha greeted Plato with a hug.

  “’Bout damn time you got yo’ ass here!” he yelled, stepping aside to let them both in.