Close to Home

by Nolon King

  There wasn’t an advisory board in the world who wouldn’t see what they were doing as highly unethical, even though it had been happening for years. Exchanges like this were at the start of so many unsavory things.

  “How have you learned to control them?”

  “Just like you taught me.” A half-smile formed at the corner of his lips.

  “And what did I teach you?”

  “So many things.”

  “Tell me one …”

  “That we cannot truly change ourselves without losing ourselves, and so the only option is to control ourselves.”

  “Is battling your urges a strength or a weakness?”

  “It feels like a weakness. Because I don’t want anyone to control me. Not even myself.”

  “Imagine yourself as a child. Christmas is right around the corner. You can see all the boxes sitting beneath the tree, including the biggest one. It has your name on it, and you cannot wait to tear it open. Can you see that box, Adam?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you feel the excitement?”

  “Yes.” The elation on his face said that he meant it.

  “Now it’s two days until Christmas. Do you do entertain your mind with diversion, or fantasize about that box day and night? What increases desire?”

  “Both. I do other things, but I can’t stop thinking about what’s inside.”

  “And what is in your box?”

  “Everything.”

  “Go ahead and unwrap the box.”

  A moment passed, then Adam said, “I’ve unwrapped it.”

  “Now open it and tell me the first thing you see inside.”

  “Her.”

  “Describe her.”

  “She’s beautiful. Five foot six or so. Bright blue eyes and a smile that appears when she sees me. Her body is perfect, snug in her uniform. Her skin is too pale and she’s always blushing. Her lipstick is the color of blood.”

  “Why is she in the box?”

  “Because she is waiting for me.”

  “What is she waiting for you to do?”

  “To take her.”

  “To take her how, Adam?”

  “Sexually.”

  “Is that all?”

  “She’s waiting for me to take her humanity.”

  Selena let that settle, then after several seconds of silence said, “Let’s talk about the blood.”

  Adam grinned like a little boy. Like he really had a box.

  “It’s thick. Hot. Wet.”

  “What do you do with it?”

  “Mark myself with it. Everywhere.”

  Selena squirmed in her chair as Adam slid his hands over his crotch. Hematolagnia was the technical term for his fetish. He wasn’t a vampirist, and the thought of drinking blood disgusted him, but he found its presence deeply arousing. Most people with Adam’s condition would naturally be into BDSM and bloodplay, using blades to bloodlet their partners. Adam stayed inside his fantasies rather than acting them out, and Selena got him off, without the guilt.

  Blood wasn’t her fetish like it was his, but sex was never hotter than in the fantasy with Adam. So why was she feeling so impatient with him?

  Because she had a new theory burning a hole in her brain.

  And that’s what she wanted to discuss.

  No. This is his time. Don’t make it about you.

  She couldn’t help it. “Do you fantasize about being the Almond Park Killer?”

  Adam took a moment to answer. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Another moment, then, “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s not getting close enough.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “Maybe he’s not ready.”

  “What would he be waiting for?”

  “Maybe he wants the time to be perfect.”

  “Perfect for what, Adam?”

  “His masterpiece.”

  “And what would his masterpiece be?”

  “Blood everywhere.” Hands back on his crotch.

  Selena crossed her legs. Squeezed. Leaned forward. “What do you think he—?”

  “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “What would you like to talk about?”

  “The Thick Red Line. It started that night.”

  “What started that night?”

  He hesitated. She hated this part. But the part she loved came right after.

  Finally, “Her.”

  “Tell me who she is,” Selena said, without so much as a hint of the irritation scratching at her insides.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  Selena didn’t want to hear that.

  “And young.”

  Or that.

  “She thinks I’m funny, and always laughs at my jokes. Even when they’re bad.”

  And I bet it’s a barista, and you overtip her every time.

  Adam described the girl, sharing all the details that Selena didn’t want to hear. Fine if he wanted to think of this girl when he fucked her, covered in blood or not. It still felt good for her. But she didn’t need the play by play on her tits and ass.

  His prior fixation had blood-red hair, and Adam was obsessed. He even begged Selena to dye her hair that shade. She did, hated it, and kept it for one of the longest months of her life. That was five years ago. She should be grateful that it had taken him so long to cycle through to another obsession.

  Now it sounded like she would be changing her shade of lipstick.

  “It’s so red. Every time I see it I wonder if everyone else sees blood on her lips, too? It’s so sexy. I just want to lick them. I want to lick her.”

  Selena swallowed, tried not to be bothered, reminded herself that this was a small price to pay for all they had.

  Her man had fantasies. It was her personal and professional job to indulge them.

  And it was best for Adam not to know.

  Because he was not the dormant killer that he believed himself to be. She had allowed him to think that he was. Led him to the conclusion because she had to.

  Yes, there was a time when Selena believed that Adam had murderous urges. But soon after his treatment started she realized that his impulses were merely a blood fetish. Her husband didn’t have a murderous bone in his body.

  But the dominion she held over Adam’s mind when he believed that she was helping him to suppress the worst of his urges and become the decent man he couldn’t otherwise be, and the awe in which he held her — it would all be gone if she told him the truth. So she let it continue.

  Adam’s breathing sped up and his hands fisted around his erection. He was almost ready.

  “I want to lick the blood off every inch of her body.”

  She should have stopped there. Torn his clothes off. Bled off all that excitement and anger by fucking him on her couch.

  But something in her couldn’t resist pushing him. Proving that her husband wasn’t a psychopath.

  “Why haven’t you killed her?”

  “Because that would be wrong.”

  “Why would it be wrong?”

  “Stealing her life just to give mine a thrill, taking her from her friends and family forever.” Adam shook his head, looking visibly upset even with his eyes still closed. “I just couldn’t do it.”

  Psychopaths were emotionally crippled. Adam was not. He felt good after helping people, and always wanted to do his best. He was kind and considerate most of the time. He felt deeply, which was one of the many reasons that he was funny, even if she didn’t always give him the props he deserved. Adam was motivated to do good things and avoid the bad, probably more than most people. The man clearly had a conscience. Psychopaths could never be happy, because happiness is emotional and they were a vacuum.

  Adam wore his emotions like a winter coat.

  He was a nice guy with a creepy fetish. Not that Selena was judging.

  “But then,” Adam said, with something ugly catching in his throat. “Sometimes I think that may
be I could.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  No one spoke on the way to dinner. Selena didn’t care. She was relieved to be leaving tomorrow morning, and unnerved by Adam’s admission during their session. She almost thought she’d misheard. It doesn’t mean anything.

  Then there was the silent tension that had the boys at each other’s throats. It was easier to ignore when everyone was in a different room. But locked in a car with them as they took turns either ignoring or sniping at each other …

  A few days of work would give her a chance to recharge.

  She checked her phone as Adam pulled into the Tequila Sunrise parking lot, just in case Sharpe had sent an update. She’d chosen the restaurant for its separate bar, where she could meet the detective on the down-low.

  After a short wait, a redheaded waitress led them to their table. Adam had his eyes head-to-toe all over her, and he wasn’t being discreet. Levi was oblivious, but Corban noticed for sure. He looked at his father in what might have been disgust, then over at Selena in what was probably sympathy.

  Better that he assumed Adam was checking out the waitress than to know what his father actually fantasized about her.

  She checked her phone as they sat. Still nothing from Sharpe.

  Adam gave her a suspicious look.

  “Sam is supposed to be sending me notes, but he hasn’t yet,” she improvised.

  That earned her a pissy look. Fine with her. Go back to ogling the waitress.

  Selena looked down at the water, grateful that Tequila Sunrise was one of the restaurants that served it first, because their waters were already on the table. She downed hers fast to make her upcoming exodus to the restroom more believable.

  “Can we get nachos for appetizers?” Levi asked.

  “The tableside guac is better,” Corban said.

  “We can get both. And these.” Adam pointed to the short rib quesadillas. His favorite.

  “That’s a lot of appetizers,” Selena said, resisting the temptation to check her phone again.

  “So, Dad,” Levi said, “do you think they’re going to cancel any of the upcoming summer stuff?”

  “No,” Selena said. “Definitely not.”

  “I agree with your mother.”

  “They might,” Corban said.

  Levi slapped his menu on the table and glared at his brother. “Of course you’d think that.”

  Selena and Adam traded a glance. If she didn’t intervene, would he? Or would he allow the boys to work it out?

  She drank more of her water.

  Corban said, “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

  “You know what it’s supposed to mean.” Levi glared harder.

  “I really don’t. Maybe you should try to articulate yourself better.”

  Selena had no idea either, but was grateful for the distraction. She pulled out her phone and checked for a text. Nothing yet. But Adam saw her slipping it back into her purse.

  She pretended not to see his frown. They could fight later. Right now, she didn’t want Corban to know. He couldn’t know. Because it would crush him. He liked Kari a lot.

  So did Selena. But that didn’t mean she was about to protect a murderer. It would be irresponsible to keep what she learned from the detective, especially after he specifically asked her to share any information that she might come across. And yes, he made the same request of everyone, but she was their little town’s most well-respected authority.

  “What is it between you two lately?” Adam finally asked. And good for him.

  Selena swallowed the rest of her water.

  Levi looked at his brother. “Ask him.”

  Corban turned to Adam. “You don’t want to know.”

  Her phone buzzed. Finally. Selena looked down and saw a text from the detective: in the bar.

  She said, “All three of those sound great. Go ahead and order if they get here before I’m back. And you can order me the Number Two. I’m going to the restroom.”

  Levi laughed. Adam smiled. Corban rolled his eyes.

  Adam put his hand on Selena’s. “Stay. Just until we order. The waiter will have questions, and you can be particular.”

  “I won’t be particular tonight.”

  “Tell us about your trip,” he pressed. “You’re going to be on live TV, right? That’s a big deal.”

  “It sure is. And that’s why I tried to talk about it at home, and then again on the way to dinner. Now I really have to go to the bathroom.” Selena snatched her hand away from Adam and stood, glaring down at him. “I’ll be right back.”

  With far more visible irritation than the situation called for, Selena turned and marched toward the bathroom, stopping for a furtive rendezvous at the bar.

  Sharpe was sitting at the far end, alone. Selena walked right over and stood beside him.

  The detective looked down at the empty seat. “You’re not gonna sit?”

  “My husband is likely to come and investigate any minute. I’ll explain it all to him later, but for now we need to hurry.”

  “Okay then,” Sharpe said, casting his eyes back at the restaurant. “How can I help you?”

  “Ollie Harris. You should look into—”

  “You think we haven’t looked into Ollie Harris? He was doing work for both families. Do you have anything more than that?”

  “Ollie worked on a lot of the houses in the development, but he had to go back a second time to those two houses, to replace shoddy parts because the original contractor was careless or cutting corners.”

  Sharpe was interested. “Anything else?”

  Instead of the thrill she expected, Selena’s chest felt hollow, as if her heart were surrounded by a vast space. Corban would never forgive her if he knew what she told the detective, and the reward for her betrayal was almost nonexistent.

  “Thanks for the tip, Mrs. Nash.”

  And for wasting my time, his tone suggested.

  This hadn’t gone how she expected. She had imagined his gratitude. She even mentally catalogued everything he was wearing, from the wool on his shoulders to the light blue cotton socks, preparing for the day she would have to describe meeting with him.

  But the detective might as well have been shaking his head.

  And in that moment she found herself missing Dane. Imagined him leaning forward in his seat, fingers gripping whatever he might be holding tighter. Obvious interest coloring his face, a cascade of questions.

  “I’ll call you when I have something more substantial,” Selena said.

  When.

  “I’ll let you get back to your family.”

  Sharpe smiled, but Selena didn’t like what she saw behind it.

  Condescension, annoyance, and the realization that Selena Nash was a disappointment.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Adam spit, rinsed, and dropped his toothbrush in the holder.

  Selena was slipping into her nightgown in the bedroom, but he could see her clearly in the mirror. She wasn’t putting on a show for him. In fact, she seemed indifferent to his presence. That was his fault, and he would make it right.

  Tomorrow was a big day. Selena loved being on television, and couldn’t wait to have a show of her own. But that didn’t mean the experience wasn’t always nerve-wracking. That part was easier for him than it was for her, and it was sometimes easy to get lost in the truth that what was simple for one person might be hell for another. Not that going to L.A. and appearing on Whispers would be hell for Selena. But her insides would be burning until that first minute. Then everything would be okay. It always was.

  But tonight, more than a half-day away from when she’d be sitting across from Isla Porter yet again, Selena was obviously nervous. Stressed at the restaurant. She ran off to the bathroom twice, despite usually being an I’ll wait until we get home sorta girl.

  Adam had been telling himself that Selena was off, but it took him the seven minutes driving home to realize that he was the one who’d lost his center. Things were happeni
ng fast for all of them, and he seemed to be having some sort of problem with that. Tomorrow he’d write and write and write, keep that pen moving on the page until he figured out more of it. He knew where it started, with feeling more ignored than he wanted, or deserved to be.

  Selena had been waiting for a call from Sam, because she was always waiting for a call from him before a scheduled appearance. It was almost a ritual. But there’d been a moment at the restaurant when he’d felt a flare of genuine anger, a sudden trill of rage as Selena kept checking her phone and making excuses to run off. He’d been sure it was Dane, even though that didn’t make any sense.

  He felt like an asshole on the way home, and tried in tiny ways to make it up to her. So far, nothing worked. Not that holding the door open was much of an effort. But he had to figure it out, and fast. Because there was something else that was almost a ritual, something they always did before Selena got on a plane, or would be gone for more than a day, and he wanted to lose himself in their sacrament.

  Adam didn’t want to fight. He wanted to fuck.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked, stepping into the bedroom.

  “Not exactly. You know how it is.”

  He did. Once upon a time, Adam imagined that he might eventually live his professional life from the other side of a talk-show host’s desk. “I wonder how nervous Isla is right now.”

  “Isla isn’t thinking about me.”

  “Oh,” Adam said, “I didn’t mean that she’s thinking about you. I just wonder if she’s nervous because of all those choices on the Cheesecake Factory’s menu. Seriously, who needs all those options? It’s a lot of pressure.”

  Perfect delivery. Thoroughly unexpected.

  Selena laughed and some of the ice melted between them.

  “Do you know what you’re going to say?” he asked.

  “I didn’t get the questions ahead of time, but I don’t need them. They can start asking me whatever and I’ll get going. I won’t even really know what I’m saying until I’m watching it later.”

  “But you have a good idea of the questions they’re going to ask, so you have some answers semi-prepared, right?”

  Selena shrugged. “I guess.”