A woeful sigh pushes past my lips. “I tiptoed out of there before they saw me and then I went to The Office.”
“The bar?”
“Drank some whiskey sours and tried to map out my next move.”
“Alone?”
I stare dully at my phone resting on the coffee table, hoping for a blinking green light. “I was in shock and just couldn’t believe it. Still can’t.”
Mary pulls her hair over a shoulder and strokes it like a cat. “I’m sorry you had to go through that by yourself,” she whispers, fighting off the emotions tugging at her heartstrings. “You should’ve called me. I’m always here for you.”
“Thank you.”
She keeps petting her hair and the silence stretching between us ignites a far-off ringing in my left ear, a siren issuing its urgent warning from over two miles away. Shifting her weight, Mary clears her throat. “So…you never called Jack out on it?”
My pulse jumps. I have less than six seconds to formulate a proper response. How much do I tell her? And how much do I twist this into my version of the story? “I finally built up the courage to confront him a week later.” I look at Mary and, despite the hurt swimming in her eyes, manage to hold her heavy gaze. “On the day he died,” I admit, regretting it almost immediately.
A sharp intake of oxygen storms her lungs. A light bulb goes off in her eyes. “Is that what gave him a heart attack?”
“I don’t know,” I answer, staring blankly at Jack’s business card on the coffee table. “Maybe.”
“Well, what happened?”
Letting my eyes stray from focus, I watch that day play out against the window across the room. “He was outside cleaning the gutters like nothing ever happened, and I was in here stewing, pretending to clean the floors. The way he was acting like he wasn’t cheating on me made my blood boil. He thought he was so damn sneaky.” Pulling a knee to my chest, the ghost of a grin tickles my lips. “When he came inside to grab a beer, he tracked mud across the kitchen floor I just finished cleaning and…I asked him for a divorce.”
Mary’s eyes widen with shock. “Oh my gosh.”
“We got into this huge fight and, eventually, he stormed back outside.” I pause to steady the tremor in my voice. “That was the last time I saw him alive.” Blinking, my eyes dial the room back into focus and, for a split-second, I forget who I’ve been talking to. Forget everything except that horrible day. Turning to find Mary sitting beside me on the couch, I continue in a soft voice that betrays me with a quiver. “After it got dark, I went outside and found him lying next to the ladder,” I say, remembering the terrible things Jack threatened me with that afternoon. For the first time, I saw fear in his eyes and it terrified me to no end.
“Sienna?”
I swallow against the tennis ball wedged in my throat, trying to recall what we were just talking about because all I can see now is that damn business card.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but please don’t tell your parents about any of this.”
“Oh, I would never,” Mary says, biting on a pinkie. “And the same goes for Lincoln. Don’t tell him what I told you about Jack’s office.”
I nod my agreement and we share a moment of silence. I’m not sure if it’s comfortable or not. Even after everything we just told each other, my eyes gravitate back to my cellphone. I wait to see if a new green light is blinking, but it’s as dark as the feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s a terrible thing to wish for Lincoln to call and I damn well know it. But he’s the one I’ve come to count on over the years and without him, I’d still be locked out of the house or have a dead battery at the mall. I never realized it before, but without him I’m adrift. My thoughts wander because maybe he left town to finally open the food truck of his dreams. Or maybe he was in a horrible car accident right when I need him the most. I sigh, lowering my shoulders. Or maybe he knows to leave well enough alone, like I should.
“So,” Mary says, hedging before continuing, “did Jack ever try to get you to…bring anyone else into the bedroom?”
“What? No, never.”
Leaning forward, she picks up the card for another inspection. “If this is from Jack’s boy-toy, what do you think he knows?”
I avoid her thin eyes, trying not to think about the answer for fear Mary will see it written on my face. “No idea,” I respond, discreetly wiping a sheen of perspiration from my forehead. “But I’m going to have to install a security camera.”
“That’s a good idea because this is stalker crazy. Like dangerous crazy.”
“Yeah,” I agree, searching for a turn in the conversation. “How’s Lincoln?” I casually ask out of the blue, silently kicking myself for the awkward segue.
Mary shrugs, glancing at a thin, black-strapped watch around her wrist. “You know Lincoln. Always the loner.”
My gaze narrows. “You haven’t heard from him?”
“Not since the funeral. Even though he and Jack weren’t close, I think he’s taking it hard. Like he’ll never be able to reconcile their differences now. Ya know?”
“How are you taking it?”
She shrugs. “I’m okay. Jack was so much older than me, I didn’t even live in the same house with him for very long.”
Silence blankets the room, warm and dry. The neighbor’s dog starts barking at something outside. A motorcycle roars past, fading down the street. Pushing off the couch, I get to my feet. “Hey, I’m going to take a quick shower, okay?”
“Do you want me to stay?”
I follow her eyes to the box. Wrinkling my nose, I fan a hand through the air. “Go get your greasy grub on. Oh, and hey, maybe you should buy Weaver a penis pump. I hear those things really work.”
Her eyes brighten. “That’s actually a great idea!” When our laughter runs its course, Mary stares at the keys in her hand. “Are you sure about the car?”
“Mary, I’m sure. Take it.”
Exhaling, she nods. “Okay, you mind if I leave the Prius in the street for a day or two?”
“You’re going to take it right now?”
“If that’s okay? It’s super nice out.”
I laugh before showing Mary out and locking the door behind her. Then I take a deep breath, hold it in, and make another terrible decision to keep my streak alive.
Chapter Seven
The Foolish Girl in the Mirror
After a quick shower, I pull on a pair of skinny jeans and slip into a black tank top that shows off my shoulders. Then I begin debating my shoe choice. The walk-in closet is massive and so is the selection of heels, boots, and sneakers but I need something just right. Something that won’t make me look like I’m trying too hard, yet makes a statement. I check my watch and sigh. Deciding to put off the shoe decision for the moment, I go back downstairs to dry my hair. Just being in the master bedroom gives me the creeps. Blowing my hair out, the dryer seems extra loud in my ears. With each minute that passes, my heart beats a little faster in my chest. The mysterious package has me worried. No, more than worried. I’m scared. Scared to be here alone, and scared to find out what my stalker thinks he knows.
I turn off the hair dryer and look out into the hallway, eyebrows drawing together. I could swear I just heard something but I know it’s just my imagination playing tricks on me again. My eyes draw to the window overlooking the backyard. Setting the dryer on the marble vanity, my feet follow my eyes. I squint against the sunlit pool and patio, hitching on the trees in back. It’s quiet and peaceful and I’ve got to stop being so jumpy. It’s not healthy. Turning, I run some nude lip-gloss over my lips, rising and falling with every curve. Pulling back from the mirror, I smack them together and study the pretty brunette staring back. She looks about right and I don’t know why I’m so nervous. Maybe it’s the forbidden nature of it all that spurs the warm craving in my gut. Like when I fucked Jack in his office for the first time. Even though I was a senior in college, and of a consenting age, he was still my professor. It’s the kind o
f thing a university tends to frown upon and it only made me want him more. Or maybe I’m just crazy.
Staring blankly at my reflection, I cap the lip gloss. I’ll never forget Jack asking if he could have a word with me after class that day. One minute we were pretending to talk about the creators of the Mesopotamian civilization, and the next he had his tongue in my mouth and his hands up my shirt. It was like I was a different person when I let him bend me over his desk and yank my shorts to my feet. He fucked me so good, I didn’t even stop him from coming inside me and I don’t just let anyone cum inside me. The taboo of it all made the sex so hot, it was impossible to stop. I was swept up in something shiny and new, which is why I figured he became bored with me after we married. Pursing my lips, I shake my head at the foolish girl in the mirror.
“Hi.”
Screaming bloody murder, I drop the lip gloss into the sink and backpedal into a towel rack, which promptly drops to the floor with a clatter, narrowly missing my red-painted toes. “Jesus, Lincoln!” I gasp, picking the rack and my heart up off the floor.
“Sorry,” he laughs, thumbing behind him. “I knocked three times.”
“I had the hair dryer going.”
“I bet you did.” Watching me tidy up, Lincoln stuffs his hands into some tightfitting jeans I just know will show off his great ass. But I won’t look to confirm my sneaking suspicions just yet. Not when I can get lost in that crooked grin hiding amongst the scruff on his cheeks. He really is a striking man, like he walked straight out of the pages of a magazine and I don’t know why my eyes keep drawing to him in the mirror. No, that’s not exactly true. Everything about him is my style and now that Jack is gone… Stop it! Don’t think about him that way. It’s counterproductive to moving forward.
“Where’s the Vette?” he asks, grounding my rambling thoughts.
I stare at the girl in the mirror for help but other than the alarmed look on her face, she has nothing to offer. “Vette?” I hear myself say, feebly attempting to buy more time to come up with a perfectly reasonable explanation.
“Oh, my God,” he whispers, eyes tapering into dubious slits. “You sold it, didn’t you?”
“I thought you didn’t want it,” I tell his reflection, shaking from a pang of guilt.
“I was kidding! I thought it over and I’ll take it after all. I mean, like you said, I put half the damn thing together.”
Turning to face him in real life, I clear my throat and round up the perfect lie. “I gave it to Mary,” I confess, cursing my inability to think faster on my feet.
There’s no reaction on his part and, somehow, that’s more frightening than anything else. When he finally speaks, his voice comes out in a low grumble. “You what?”
Shifting my weight from one leg to the other, I try to ignore my pounding heart. “Lincoln relax,” I tell him. “I’m sure she’ll give it back if you ask.”
He furrows his brow. “No, she won’t.”
My throat tightens when I remember the reason I called him here. “Did you see the box on the coffee table?” I blurt, desperate to switch tracks and get to the bottom of this stupid mystery.
“I saw it,” he exhales, leaning in the doorframe.
Turning back to the sink, I stare at him in the mirror and gesture with my lip-gloss in one hand and a mascara wand in the other. “And?”
“And somebody is definitely messing with you. You’re probably right about it being the guy you caught with Jack. Who else would it be?”
“That’s what I think.” I hesitate, words clinging to the tip of my tongue. “If it is him, why?”
Lincoln glances down the hallway like he just heard something out in the kitchen. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”
His cologne stirs the butterflies nesting in my stomach. Fragile wingtips tickle my insides and I don’t know why he’s having such a powerful effect on me. In the past, I’ve caught myself hanging on his easy smile or those haunting eyes for a little too long, but nothing like this. Is it because Jack is gone and now I’m alone? Or is it because Lincoln’s the only one who’s ever been there for me on a regular basis? Either way, it’s ludicrous and I use both hands to push the feeling back down.
“How?” I ask, turning to face him.
He pulls in a slow breath, eyes dropping to the cleavage pouring from my tank top. Smiling inside, I mentally chalk up an imaginary line through the air.
“My guess is he’s watching you.”
“Oh my God,” I murmur, squeezing past him and going into the living room. I have to find out who this guy is and what he knows. I can’t breathe until I do.
“What do you think he knows?” Lincoln asks, eyeing me over.
Stopping in front of the fireplace, I wheel around on my bare heels and throw my hands out. “I don’t know, Lincoln. That I haven’t filed my taxes yet?”
Cracking a faint smile, he studies me from across the room. “First, we need to find out who he is and where he lives. Maybe he wants something of Jack’s, something sentimental to remember him by.”
“Really? You think he was that much in love with Jack?”
“You said he was young, right?”
Brow creasing, I fold my arms across my chest. “How do we find out who he is?”
“Where’s Jack’s cellphone?”
“I already checked it,” I reply. “There aren’t any weird calls or texts, which means he wiped it clean each time. Or he was using a burner phone.”
“Burner phone? What is this Sons of Anarchy?”
“I checked his laptop too. There’s nothing on it.” The more I look at Lincoln, the more I think about the night he pressed me up against the sink. The way he stared at me through those long lashes with his arms stretching that silky suit. He was going to kiss me and we both know it. It’s the elephant in the room. Or is it the gorilla? Shit, I can never keep that phrase straight. Either way, it’s counterproductive to getting out of this town in one piece. I need to focus. “If we knew who he was,” I say, “we could leave a creepy note on his car to back off, or you could scare him.” I squish my lips into the side of my face, sneaking a peek at his sweet ass when he turns to gaze out a window. “There has to be a way to find him.”
Sighing, Lincoln stares outside and thinks it over while I impatiently await his reply. Then he turns to face me, eyes thinning. “I’ve got an idea.”
Chapter Eight
Rocky Mountain High
Jack’s office looks the exact same as it did the last time I was here. Like he would be back in the morning to teach again. Like he didn’t really die. There are no flowers or stuffed animals with heartfelt messages piled up outside the door. Nobody standing around crying on a coworker’s shoulder. No nothing. It’s business as usual at The University and, for some reason, I find it a little sad. There was a time when I genuinely cared for the man. I’m not sure if I ever loved him because I no longer believe in love. In the beginning, I felt safe in the arms of Professor Jack McConnel and I wonder how long they’ll leave his stuff in here before clearing it out for the new guy.
Lincoln shuts the door and locks it before approaching a small stack of papers and books on the desk. It’s not the stereotypical professor’s office with thick manuals all over the place and curvy Victorian furniture eating up the square footage. No, this isn’t Hogwarts. It’s clean and modern with straight lines. Daylight streams through a second-floor window, falling over the tidy desk and making it glow. Tucking my hair behind an ear, I try to hide the flush in my cheeks when I think of the stories that desk could tell. I look up to find Lincoln staring at me and I can’t help but wonder if there’s one more story left in the tank.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, setting his hands on his hips. My eyes draw to the rounded shoulders stretching the fabric of his aqua blue t-shirt that looks brand spanking new.
“Nothing.” Ripping my gaze from his chest that would feel so good against the side of my face, I click my purple fuck-me pumps across the room and set an empty ca
rdboard box on a long black couch, wishing Lincoln would take me on that desk right here and now. And who knows? I might even let him. “Where do we start?” I ask, scolding myself for thinking such things in my late husband’s office. It’s inappropriate and I can only write it off to some sort of PTSD or low blood-sugar level.
Going around the desk, Lincoln gives the high back chair a quick spin before plopping down in it. “I have no idea,” he says, setting the office key on the desk. It was easy getting the front desk lady to give it to us. After all, I’m Jack’s wife and someone has to come collect his personal belongings. But this next part won’t be so simple.
“What’re you thinking?”
I dial Lincoln into focus and grasp at words just beyond reach. “Mary told me she brought Jack lunch here and caught him getting a blowjob,” I admit, hoping Mary will forgive me.
Lincoln screws his face up. “What!”
“In that chair.”
Disgust flares in his eyes. He pops up from the chair, making it spin. “Jesus,” he shouts, wiping his hands on his jeans. “That is so nasty. You know he didn’t wash that thing.” He looks up to find my eyes. “Male or female?”
“Sounds like the same blond guy we’re looking for.”
Lincoln shifts his weight from one foot to the other, glancing at the closed door. “Hang on a minute, so Mary just walked in on Jack getting head from some guy?”
“That’s what she said.”
He grunts. “Who does that without locking the door?”
“Right!”
“I just locked it right now, took me like two seconds.” Exhaling, he runs a hand through his hair. “When did this happen?”
“Three weeks ago,” I answer. Being in such close proximity to the crime scene, it’s all too easy to picture. Humiliation frames the picture in my mind. How could I not be enough for Jack? Where did I go wrong? And why do I even care?
Hanging his head, Lincoln rubs his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
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