by Merit Clark
In the beginning it felt good to let Evan take charge. It was exciting. They’d play sexual mind games. He’d give her instructions, rules to follow while she went about her day. Out in public, at work or around other people, there were things he would say to her, code phrases that sounded perfectly normal to everyone else but had a secret, sordid meaning. She had to obey him. Sit up straight. Don’t cross your legs. Have three glasses of wine with dinner. Have nothing to drink. Don’t wear underwear. Don’t move. Say please. It turned her on. Until it didn’t.
When the sex stopped being exciting it started making her sick. Literally. It was easy to hide the vomiting because Evan left her right after. From the very beginning he slept alone. So he wouldn’t disturb her, he said. He didn’t sleep well and he got up so early.
There was nothing wrong with her. Everyone experimented, didn’t they? That’s why she started taking the psychology courses, to figure herself out. Ironically, it was Evan who hit the nail on the head. “I was your walk on the wild side,” he said one night, “but it’s not really who you are.”
Vivid images of Brice’s body flashed through her mind like a demonic slide show. Had it hurt? He must have been so scared. The killer must have woken him because he’d gotten out of bed. Had Brice’s secret killed him? Corie stared at the ceiling seeking answers. She hadn’t told Jack. She knew she looked guilty, but it was because she was a really bad liar and she didn’t know what else to do. Corie needed someone to help her and she had no one.
She almost wished Jack had arrested her. At least that would have gotten her away from Evan. It wasn’t fair. She’d finally gotten up the courage to ask him for a divorce and then this had to happen. Christ, I’m selfish. But it was true. Evan might use the murder as an excuse to stay together. Unless he did it. The thought made her tremble—what if she’d had a killer’s hands on her body? A killer’s hands making her come? A killer making her beg?
A choking sob escaped but Corie was sick of crying. She rolled restlessly back onto her other side, seeking another cool spot in the bed. Although sleep was out of the question.
The bedroom door opened quietly. Corie saw a shadow play on the wall before she closed her eyes. With effort she steadied her breathing. Surely he would be able to tell that her heart was pounding.
“Corie?”
“Mm.” Corie hugged a pillow and rubbed at her eyes; a sleep pantomime.
Evan sat down on the edge of the bed. An odd aroma followed him, a mildly sweet, floral smell. Not his usual cologne. Her mother’s perfume maybe?
“I’m sorry to wake you.” He put his hand on her shoulder and started rubbing her upper arm.
Oh God. Corie subtly rolled onto her back and pulled her arm away, pretending to stretch. She was surprised when he lay down on the bed next to her. Evan? Cuddling? Corie turned her head and looked at him curiously, their faces inches apart now.
“I thought you might be having a rough time. I’m sorry I had to leave earlier.”
“’S okay.” Corie slurred her words and forced her eyes to drift closed again. Maybe he would think she took another sleeping pill. That would be best.
His hand moved down her arm and then sideways until it rested on her stomach. She focused on her breathing, pretended to sleep, pretended that all her husband wanted was to offer a few moments of comfort.
She knew better. Eventually his hand moved lower and found the hem of the long t-shirt she slept in. Why couldn’t she wear pajamas? Or a chastity belt for that matter? Why couldn’t she have her period? Would any of that stop him? His trespassing hand quickly found its target.
Was she wet? Her thoughts about their former sex life still had the power to arouse as well as repulse her. He spread the soft lips he found uncovered between her legs with his fingers, and it took self-control for Corie not to gasp when he found exactly the right spot and pressed gently but firmly with his fingertip.
His continued touching her expertly, knowing from long experience what got her off. Even with her eyes closed she felt him watching her. When she didn’t spread her legs for him he crawled under the covers and put one of his clothed legs over her naked one, moving her thigh to the side. His fingers probed deeper, dipping into her for moisture before resuming their agonizing caress.
In her mind Corie pictured the bookcases along the wall. Visualized the books lined up, tried to read the titles on the spines. She wanted to go home. What the hell did that mean? Tell him to stop. Maybe there was something wrong with her after all. Could she really be brought to orgasm against her will?
The ridiculous thought floated through her mind that this gave her new sympathy for men, the way they would have seemingly spontaneous erections. What did men do to keep themselves from premature ejaculation? Think about root canals. Math. Calculus. Quadratic equations. Her mother. Nothing worked.
She thought of her horse but that innocent image almost destroyed her fragile self-control. Don’t cry. He won’t understand. Or maybe he’ll think it’s because of Brice. That might work. A hot tear escaped and rolled down her cheek into her hair, but his disembodied hand didn’t stop.
She bit her lip when she came to prevent herself from crying out. He still knew. Evan stayed with her barely a minute longer, his index finger pressed into that soft, treacherous mound, exerting steady pressure the way he knew she liked. Quite the technician, wasn’t he? And all done without a word. In spite of her resolve, after he left she wept in earnest.
What else was Evan going to want?
Chapter 11
Evan’s plan backfired. The orgasm didn’t sedate Corie, it disgusted her. Without realizing she’d made it, Corie acted on her decision. She glanced at her phone as she made the call just after six. He said “Hello” instead of “Fariel” the way she noticed he did yesterday. He sounded sleepy.
“Jack?” Well that was stupid. Of course it was Jack. “It’s Corie. Markham.” Jesus, was she thirteen? “I’m sorry to call you so early.”
“Corie?” Jack sounded confused for a moment. “Corie. What’s wrong?”
All night she’d rehearsed what she would say to him. In the light of morning, it all seemed melodramatic and unreal and she felt stupid. “I have some things to tell you.”
“Where are you?”
“In my car. I’m going to the barn where I keep my horse. Can you meet me there?”
He didn’t answer right away.
“I know it’s a lot to ask and I know it’s early. I didn’t know any other way to get to talk to you.” Now she really did sound dramatic. But it was true.
“Are you all right? Did something happen?”
“No. I’m fine. I just—” Just what? “Can you meet me? Please?”
“Sure. What’s the address?”
She told him and he promised to be there as soon as he could. He really did sound sleepy which made her smile for some reason. She pictured him turning to someone in bed next to him, telling her that he had to leave. She almost wanted to say, “Tell your wife I’m sorry.” He probably had a girlfriend or was married; a man as good looking as Jack, why wouldn’t he be?
When a car pulled up she knew it was him without turning around. She was outside by then in the sunshine, brushing her gelding, Sierra, to keep her hands busy. She’d practiced on the horse, not quite sure why she was so afraid to talk to Jack. Her hands were shaking and brushing the horse soothed her; Sierra was warm, calm, innocent. She heard the metallic thunk as Jack closed his car door and felt him approaching. What did he see? What did he think? Corie kept her hands on the horse for an extra few seconds, feeling Sierra’s warmth and breathing in his scent before turning to face the detective.
What she’d forgotten was Jack was afraid of horses. He stopped a safe distance away and Corie laughed. Couldn’t help herself. Tough homicide detective afraid of horses. “Do people know your secret? I would say he’s more afraid of you than you are of him but I don’t think that’s true.”
“Nice. You call me out here at the crack of
dawn and then you laugh at me?”
“I’m sorry.”
Jack was wearing a suit, dark blue today, with a light blue shirt and a tie. His dark hair was still wet. “I’ve never been fond of anything big enough to eat me.”
“Horses aren’t carnivores.”
“Sure. That’s what you think.” The last—and only—time he’d been on a horse had been with Corie and he’d almost died. Or at least that was how he remembered it.
She put the brush she was holding into a bucket and started to untie the rope holding Sierra to a railing.
Jack backed up another step. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to put him back inside. You’re in no danger.” Corie patted Sierra’s neck and walked the horse into the barn, pleased with the relaxed and easy way he moved. All of that muscle and strength and yet so gentle. What was wrong with a man who didn’t love horses?
They talked in Jack’s car.
“Evan doesn’t usually get angry. But when he came over to Brice’s for the drink, oh, he was mad. It was my fault. I was ready to end it.” Corie didn’t elaborate on what “it” meant. Jack could probably figure that out on his own. “I wanted moral support. Now, of course, I feel like we ambushed him. ‘Hey Evan, come on over for a drink,’ and then we pulled the rug out from under him. I’m not happy with—” She hesitated and bit the inside of her lip. “With my choice. I shouldn’t have put Brice in the middle and I shouldn’t have surprised Evan in front of someone else.”
She forced herself to look at Jack, into those striking hazel eyes he had. She’d forgotten about those eyes. He was watching her with a neutral expression like a good detective.
“Brice asked me if I’d really tried to talk to Evan. He didn’t realize how impossible that was. It’s hard to explain. Evan’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He can be so charming and then just . . . go away.” Not interesting, Corie. He’s not your freaking marriage counselor. Her arms broke out in goose bumps and she fiddled with one of the air conditioning vents.
She struggled to continue. “I don’t know why Brice was willing to put himself in the middle like that. I wanted Brice there because I was afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Not like that.”
The barest hint of frown passed quickly across Jack’s forehead before he composed his features again. “Corie, why did you call me?”
She realized she wanted him to hold her. It would be so nice for someone to hold her without expectations, simply because they liked her. She immediately dismissed the thought as weak and pathetic. “It was strange. It was so strange that I wondered if I’d heard him right.”
“Who?”
“Evan. I didn’t say anything yesterday because I felt guilty and because I convinced myself it couldn’t be connected. But I thought about it—in fact I thought about it all night—and I decided to tell you and let you decide. When Evan came over to the guesthouse, he quickly realized it was a setup. His face was awful. He looked at me and—okay, Christ, you don’t give a shit about my feelings for Evan.”
“It’s all right. Tell me in your own words.”
His voice was gentle and Corie snuck another look at him. “What I didn’t tell you yesterday was that Evan did threaten Brice. He turned on his heel to leave the instant he realized what we were up to but Brice tried to stop him. Brice followed him to the door and he put his hand on Evan’s arm. It was as if being touched set Evan off, like a switch had been flipped.
“Evan shoved Brice really hard, so hard that Brice slammed into the wall. A picture fell. And then Evan put his finger in Brice’s face and said, ‘You need to stop sticking your nose into my business. You don’t know what you saw.’”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you ask?”
“No. Because when we got home I told Evan I wanted a divorce. His outburst was enabling. I was all stoked on adrenaline or something. He’d acted like an animal so I felt justified.” She stopped and tried to breathe. “I can tell you that Brice looked terrified. But instead of staying and talking to him I followed Evan. I wanted to get it over with. I didn’t realize it was the last time I’d see Brice alive.”
“Did Evan go back out and talk to Brice again?”
“Not that I know of.” She met Jack’s eyes with a level gaze. “I heard Evan leave but then I took the sleeping pill. I am, unfortunately, an unreliable witness. I wish I’d seen something. I wish I’d gone back out to talk to Brice. You have no idea how I wish I had.”
“Did Evan hurt you?” Jack asked.
“No.” Not that night, anyway. Corie hugged herself and looked out the window toward the stable. Several women were outside saddling their horses. Oh to ride fast and never come back. Maybe fall on her head and have amnesia. Bliss.
“You needed to tell me this yesterday.”
“I know.”
“What else haven’t you told me?”
Corie looked at him, a little surprised. “It’s probably not related.”
Jack laughed. It was short, bitter, knowing. “My favorite words in an interview.”
“I didn’t tell you yet because I feel disloyal.”
“For what?”
“Brice’s sister was murdered.”
“What? When?”
“Fifteen years ago. He made me swear not to tell anyone. And I didn’t. Before you ask, Evan doesn’t know. How awful that Brice’s sister was killed that way and now he’s dead. It’s the first thing I thought of.”
“But not the first thing you told me.”
There was a forced stillness about Jack. But she could feel the tension, the anger, like an unseen wave. It hit her in the stomach and Corie started to shake. “I had to think about it. I’m sorry. I was convinced I was being dramatic and imagining connections where there were none.”
“You need to let me decide that.” Jack had been taking notes, and he gripped his pen so tightly the knuckles on his left hand were white. “How drunk were you?”
“What?”
“The night before the murder, how much did you have to drink?”
She gaped at him. “You think I’m making all this up?”
“Answer the question, please.”
“I had a few glasses of wine.”
“Exactly how many is ‘a few?’ And there was nothing else? No vodka? No drugs other than the Ambien?”
“Three glasses of white wine. Over about three hours. I wish it had been more. Do you think I’m lying?”
“It’s a wonder you remember anything after three glasses of wine and a sleeping pill.”
Corie felt suddenly foolish. She looked down at her hands and fiddled with her engagement ring, turning it around and around. What else had she expected? Jack was a detective. And she was an idiot. They weren’t in high school anymore and this wasn’t a game.
“Corie.” Jack softened his voice. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I think it’s easy to get confused.”
“I wish I was confused. I’ve heard Ambien gives some people amnesia. I wish it worked that way on me.” No amount of wine or Ambien would ever erase the look on Evan’s face. Or the sight of Brice on the guesthouse floor. Or the memory of finding Jack with Hennessy, for that matter.
“Who visited Brice?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t seem surprised.”
“I wasn’t.” Corie looked up at him. “Why should it be a surprise that Brice had a personal life?”
“Do you know where Evan went that night?”
“No. Do you?” She asked it as a reflex, but something in Jack’s reaction made the bottom drop out of her stomach.
He turned in his seat, reached into the back for a manila folder, and pulled out a picture. “Do you know this woman?”
“Why do you have a picture of her?” Corie’s voice rose in scorn.
“So you do know her.”
“Sure, it’s Vangie Perez. She’s a business associate.�
� It took restraint for Corie not to make quote marks with her hands. What on earth did that crazy, desperate slut have to do with this? “She does the same kind of consulting as Evan. We’d see her all the time at conferences and stuff. She’s married and lives in Dallas.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” Jack’s fingertips played at the edges of the photo.
“A couple of years ago. We spent the weekend at their house. Why?” She and Evan made fun of Vangie. They read Vangie’s emails together and laughed at them. Or, they used to.
“So you and Vangie are pretty close?”
“No. I don’t know her well and, to be honest, I never thought she liked me.”
“What’s her husband’s name?”
“Oh Christ, Jack, how long are you going to drag this out? I don’t remember her damned husband’s name.”
“They’re way more than business associates, Corie. They’re lovers. We’re sure.” When he met her eyes he looked sad. “Vangie is Evan’s alibi. They were together when Brice was killed.”
Corie pressed her fist to her mouth, turned away, and looked out the passenger window. Evan ridiculed her. Vangie the stalker. But why the fuck else would Jack have her picture?
“Didn’t you wonder where Evan went that night?”
And the World’s Stupidest Woman Award goes to . . .
It struck Corie that on some level she’d known all along. It had to be when she stopped having sex with Evan, not before. Oh God, please not before.
“How long?” Corie finally managed.
“Don’t know.”
“Really? Because you seem to know everything. This is a test, right? You see how I react. I’m an experiment, like bacteria on a Petri dish you’re watching through a microscope.”
“There was no good way to tell you.”
And Jack, of all people, got to tell her. Corie was sure she’d appreciate the irony. Someday. In about a hundred years.
“When do you think it started?” Jack asked.
She wouldn’t speculate. Not with Jack. Surely sex with Evan, or the lack thereof, had nothing to do with Brice’s murder.
