The Common Thread

by Jaime Maddox

  Yet his wife’s money had enabled his lifestyle, at least in the beginning, when he’d married her. His father-in-law was so impressed with Simon’s intelligence and abilities that he had, soon after the marriage, turned over total control of his enterprises to Simon, who hadn’t disappointed him. His business had grown tenfold under Simon’s hand, and they were all quite wealthy as a result—his father-in-law, who still owned half of the shares, and he and his wife, who controlled the other half.

  His success allowed him the big house, the trips, the cars, the massages at the spa. He dined often at expensive restaurants, and had access to the best tickets to sporting events and concerts, too. He was living the dream, and it was almost as he’d always imagined. In his dreams he didn’t have to answer to the woman who shared his name, or to the three children who ran noisily around their house, stealing from him any chance of the peace and quiet a man could hope for in his home. In his fantasies, the woman beside him was Angelica and there were no children, for she shared his idea that children were far more enjoyable as nieces and nephews than sons and daughters.

  Lately he’d grown restless, tired of the charade of dinner parties with his wife and weekends at the beach with his in-laws. He was eager to sever the ties to his family and stay with his lover on a permanent basis. Perhaps that was partly why he’d brazenly shot Billy and fired at Katie without first carefully planning the attacks. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t figured out that Billy was a snitch. Was his fatigue causing him to grow complacent and lose his edge? If that happened, he’d be a dead man. Better to get out now, while he still could.

  He’d stashed away several million dollars, but he worried it wasn’t enough. They planned to live in the islands, and houses there were expensive. They’d need a boat. They had to eat, and buy clothing, and pay a staff. It would require a fortune to maintain the lifestyle he wanted—and Angelica expected.

  Navigating the streets of the neighborhood where he was raised, he came to a complete stop when indicated and used his turn signals as well. He had no drugs in his car and legitimate reasons to be out and about, but he still worried. Generally he tried to avoid the law, but tonight, after what had happened at Katie’s apartment and at the hospital, he was even more concerned. He didn’t want anyone to suspect that he’d been anywhere near the Northeast on this night.

  Katie had outsmarted him at the hospital, and Simon was disappointed in himself for allowing it. Angelica was right, of course, that Katie would go to her children. His own wife would have done the same. But he had underestimated both her haste to reach them and her own aversion to the authorities. Of course she’d have wanted to keep them out of foster care. He suspected she’d had experiences of her own in the system, and she’d chosen the streets as a better option. And of course she wouldn’t talk to the police. She had a record, and a man she was sleeping with was murdered in her house. She’d be the first one questioned. Had he thought about it more clearly, the drama of the evening would have had a much different ending.

  She’d won this round, because of his haste and poor judgment. He wouldn’t make those same mistakes again.

  Simon pulled his Ford into the well-lit underground garage at his office, found a place next to a big Lexus sedan, and parked. After locking the Ford, he placed the key on the front bumper. No one would steal his car here. Opening the door of the Lexus, he bent his tall frame into the vehicle and turned it on with the fob he’d left in the cup holder. He then backed up and exited the garage the same way he’d entered it.

  After a few more blocks, he signaled another turn and maneuvered the powerful vehicle onto the entrance ramp, picking up speed in preparation to merge into the fast-moving traffic on Interstate 95. Even at this hour, all three lanes were busy, and he was careful to keep control of the car, which naturally tended to drive itself much faster than the law allowed.

  In thirty minutes, he’d be safely parked in the six-car garage sitting beside the 10,000-square-foot home on his estate in Bucks County. Once in his den, he’d pour himself a drink and try to forget the evening. Then, he’d try to rest. Fortunately, he required very little sleep, and he’d spend a few requisite hours in his own bed before heading back to Angelica’s in the morning. He had no doubt he’d sort this mess out. He had no other choice.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Irresistible

  Katie was exhausted, yet not a bit sleepy. The couch had been made up, and it would have been wise and appropriate for one of them to sleep on it, yet here they were, beside each other in Jet’s bed. They’d been in this position before, a few times, in fact, but that was different. Because then, Katie could have pretended she was just getting to know her friend. She could claim it was all innocent.

  Now, she knew better. They’d declared words of love, she’d thoroughly explored her feelings, and they’d made a sort of commitment when they confessed their sins on Jet’s couch. They’d opened a door, and now all she had to do was walk through it. It didn’t have to be tonight, but she couldn’t sleep with the possibility lingering in the air.

  She silently studied the room, cast in shadows by the bulb in the bathroom a dozen feet down the hall, trying to distract herself from the arousal that coursed through her. She lay on her side, with Jet behind her, enveloping her, igniting her with body heat, and suddenly the shirt that fit more like a dress seemed like too much clothing, for she was on fire.

  Wiggling her toes to freedom, she escaped the sheet that covered her and kicked it aside. The cool air against her lower body did little to comfort her, though. The flow of Jet’s breath across her neck was like a breath of life, awakening every cell. Her pulse pounded in her ears, in her chest, between her legs. Her mouth grew dry as her pussy grew very, very wet. Giving voice to her feelings earlier had freed them, and now they wouldn’t go back into their box, where the tight lid of control had held them captive for months.

  She should have been tired from nearly twenty-four hours without sleep, sad about the death of her children’s father, frightened that a killer had her in his crosshairs. Yet she was none of those things. She was simply, completely, overwhelmingly aroused.

  Unable to harness the restless energy any longer, Katie quietly eased her legs off the bed and stood. No destination beckoned her; she only knew that she needed to do something, to move away from Jet, because the desire to roll over and pull her into her arms seemed more reasonable as the minutes of this early morning ticked by.

  Before she could take a step away from source of her unrest, Jet called to her softly. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Perhaps she was referring to Simon’s bullets, or to a life without Billy, or to a life with her. Or perhaps it was all of those things.

  Katie turned and looked at her. Though the distant light was faded, Katie could still see her dark hair askew, the dark eyes fixed on her, the corners of her mouth turned up. As she dared to look further, Katie gasped to see the sight of Jet’s breasts nearly spilling over the top of the shirt that had twisted around her as she slept.

  For a moment, as she chose her future, Katie grew completely still. Then, finally making her decision—or accepting the one she’d already made in the past weeks—she let go of the control she’d kept for so long and, reaching over, turned on the lamp that sat dark on the nightstand. Its warm glow illuminated Jet’s face, and Katie could see confusion there, replaced by delight as Katie crossed the room and locked the door.

  Reaching for her hand, Jet pulled her back into bed, beside her. They lay facing each other, their noses an inch apart on the pillow as Katie stared into the darkness of Jet’s eyes, slowly tracing the length of her nose with a finger, finally reaching her smiling mouth. They barely touched, yet Katie gasped, sucking in air like a weight had been lifted, and in a way it had. She could truly breathe for the first time in a very long time.

  Her senses were spinning yet she somehow heard Jet breathing just as heavily as she was, sucking in precious oxygen from the heavy air. As that same wayward fi
nger slid across Jet’s lower lip, she kissed it, sucking it gently into her mouth. That invitation was all Katie needed, and she pulled the finger back, replacing it with her lips. This wasn’t a chaste, tender kiss, but a hungry one, and Katie set the pace.

  She’d never wanted someone before and so had never taken the lead. Now, though, she couldn’t wait as she claimed Jet for her own.

  Katie had never experienced the wonder of loving a woman. She hadn’t witnessed two women together on television or read about it in a book. Guided only by her own wild imaginings, she slid her cheek across the softness of Jet’s, dragged her lips along her neck, finding every touch electrifying and accompanied by murmurs of delight from the woman beneath her.

  Pulling back, she paused to breathe and stared at Jet’s beautiful face, flushed now with the heat of the passion Katie knew she’d ignited. It was an erotic transformation, and she wondered if she looked the same—eyes hooded, pupils dilated, nostrils flared. She certainly felt as excited as Jet appeared to be, and suddenly it seemed important to Katie that she let Jet know it.

  “I love you,” she said.

  A smile exploded on Jet’s face before she answered with a voice dripping with desire. “I love you, too.”

  “I’ve never felt this way before, Jet. I’ve never loved someone. I’ve never wanted someone.”

  Jet’s smile grew. “It’s okay to want me. It may even be legal soon.”

  Katie chuckled. The topic of gay marriage had been all over the news with the pending Supreme Court cases drawing national attention. They’d discussed it on more than one occasion, and it had been a hot topic at the clinic, where the fervor of one pious religious fanatic serving as both judge and jury had incited everyone to voice an opinion.

  “It feels more than okay. It feels perfect. I just want you to know that.”

  Katie narrowed the gap between them and kissed her hungrily. Although she hadn’t had enough, she found herself leaving Jet’s mouth to venture down her neck, tasting the flesh as she went but not lingering, anxious now to complete this journey that had been so long in commencing. She reached Jet’s breasts, still threatening escape, and pushed them free, up from the fabric and against her face. Caressing her skin against their softness, bathing them with kisses, she moaned, suddenly needing more. “Can I take this off?” she asked, pulling at the shirt.

  Wordlessly, Jet sat up and helped Katie remove the garment, and then they worked together to free Katie of hers. They were left in just underwear, Jet in boxers of soft, worn cotton and Katie in bikinis that clung to her every curve. Katie wanted those off too, eventually, but she could wait a few more minutes. She planned to enjoy Jet’s breasts first.

  Even with both hands Katie couldn’t fully cup them but instead kneaded them, kissing the tender flesh, pulling the hardened nipples between her lips, sucking hungrily on them until the sounds Jet uttered indicated she was enjoying this attention as much as Katie enjoyed giving it. Katie felt her excitement growing with each touch, each kiss, as her sex grew wetter and throbbed with need. She stopped for a moment and pulled back, the movement of Jet beneath her causing a pleasurable distraction. “Wow, Jet. That feels so good,” Katie confessed.

  She’d positioned her center against Katie’s thigh, and Katie was now experiencing the pressure of Jet’s hip against her as Jet rocked, pulling them closer together. She felt exquisite pleasure and forgot about the journey of exploration she’d been taking and she met Jet’s eyes. The look of desire and joy on Jet’s face encouraged her to let go, to take instead of giving, and she did, moving purposefully, grinding her hips against Jet’s. Within seconds she closed her eyes and began to shudder in the seizures of orgasm. She cried out softly, mindful of her children in the next room, and opened her eyes to see Jet looking at her, still thrusting, but smiling and then moaning and laughing quietly as she, too, tumbled over the edge.

  Katie joined her laughter for a moment but found, to her surprise, that her laughs quickly turned to tears. And as Jet pulled her closer and kissed her hair, murmuring words of comfort and love, she didn’t know if they were tears of anguish or of joy.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mistaken Identity

  “If you want to keep your job, put the phone in your pocket and keep it there,” Nic said.

  The young man dwarfed by the expansive marble desk in the Marjorie Place lobby jumped, lifting his dark eyes from the device in his hands.

  Where do they get these people? Nic asked herself. With a few sparse whiskers sprouting from a weak chin and a frame barely able to fill the small-size shirt on his back, the man did little to inspire the sense of security his job description implied. He resembled a teenager at Halloween dressed as a security guard more than an actual working model. His lack of professionalism was even more appalling than his appearance, though, and she measured her words carefully, wishing to make her point without causing a scene.

  Shoving the phone into his shirt pocket, he stammered, “I’m sorry. How can I help you, ma’am?”

  Nic hid her irritation as she addressed him as she would a disobedient child. “It’s Doctor. Dr. Coussart.” With all the fees she paid for services in the building, was it too much to ask to have someone reliable at the lobby desk? Someone who knew her name? Although she no longer lived in the building, she expected the staff to know who she was—she was an owner, for God’s sake. Yet seemingly every time she visited, a different face greeted her in the lobby, and none of them recognized her.

  “I need you to hold my key,” she said as she handed him a single key on a ring with a charm from the Louvre.

  “Sorry, Doctor. I’d be glad to take care of that for you.” He smiled as he reached for the key and revealed unevenly spaced, crooked teeth. After writing her name on a tag he attached to the key ring, he looked at her again. “Can I help you with anything else?”

  “Not at the moment.” Nic turned abruptly and glided across the marble floor toward the sheets of smoky glass that formed the vaulted lobby’s wall, pushed open the door, and sprang into the muggy morning. With little traffic, this was as quiet as the day would be. Most of Philadelphia’s citizens were still in bed, or at least still at home. But, because this was the city, a panhandler was already hard at work begging for change.

  Lean and toned, Nic wore short nylon running shorts and a matching, ribbed tank top. Although she wasn’t tall, her body was perfectly proportioned. She spent time in the gym, which showed in the swell of muscles from her shoulders all the way down to her calves. Resting one hand against the glass wall, she grabbed her ankle with the other and pulled it up toward her butt, stretching her quadriceps as she studied the vagrant.

  He was a scary sight, unshaven, with long, stringy hair. His dark pants were torn, his shirt only partially buttoned. Even though he was a distance away, Nic could smell the putrid combination of alcohol and urine that stained his clothing. Or, at least, she imagined she could. She’d smelled it too many times to count during her residency in emergency medicine here in center city. So many times that the smell came back in nauseating detail and she involuntarily shuddered. She might not have pediatric-neurosurgery consultants at her fingertips in the ER in Wilkes-Barre, but the vagrants were scarce, too, and that was worth the trade. Well worth it. If she never had to lay her hands on another homeless person in this lifetime, it’d be too soon.

  She’d heard the preaching of the social workers and psychologists, listened to their lectures linking mental illness and homelessness, but she just didn’t buy it. Perhaps there was some connection, but she considered the numbers inflated and manipulated to improve funding in shelters and soup kitchens. People used any excuse they could for their laziness and ineptitude. They explained away their failures instead of finding ways to succeed.

  That had never been the case with her. Even though both of her parents were physicians, she’d worked her tail off to earn the grades that got her through college and medical school. She’d pulled thirty-hour days and hundred-hour we
eks and did what she had to do to get through. Colleagues in medicine and nursing had similar stories. They climbed their way out of poverty with hard work and determination, some of them leaving their native lands to come to America, searching for that fabled opportunity. They’d taken control of their destinies and made something of their lives, instead of making excuses for failing.

  Nic turned and put the man behind her, hoping the police would have chased him away before she returned from her run. Then a better thought occurred to her. As soon as she saw a policeman, she’d report the derelict. She and Louis had put their apartment on the market, and the last thing a potential buyer needed to see was a homeless person on the doorstep.

  At her home on a private lake in the suburbs of Wilkes-Barre, she didn’t have to put up with this kind of nonsense.

  She’d been born in Philadelphia nearly three decades earlier, when her parents were both residents at Temple University Hospital, but this city had never been her home. Just a newborn when they moved home to Wilkes-Barre, Nic had spent the first twenty-two years of her life in the northeast corner of the state. She’d come back to Philly for medical school and residency, and had spent seven years here before she fled back to the mountains at the first opportunity.

  Even though she still owned her apartment here (or at least co-owned it), this was the first time she’d been back to Philly in the year since she’d left. And she didn’t miss it one bit. Well, except for the food. Philly had many great restaurants, and that was perhaps its only redeeming feature. As soon as she finished with the conference that brought her here, she’d gladly head back up the Pennsylvania Turnpike to Wilkes-Barre.

  Walking a few steps to the corner of Fifteenth Street, Nic turned north and began her morning run. She crossed a series of busy streets, all of them named after trees, and couldn’t resist a glance over her shoulder at city hall. William Penn gazed down at her and the entire city of a million and a half souls. The pious Quaker would probably share her sentiments about modern Philadelphia, and she winked at him in solidarity.