Her father had been just some guy her mother had fucked. She had always told Alex she didn’t know who he was; Alex had preferred to believe she’d been lying.
It hurt so bad she could hardly breathe. Everything she had ever imagined about her father and the past her mother kept hidden had just been shot to hell.
She lashed out at Reed. “That makes me, what? The whore’s kid? Not even conceived in love?”
“What she did or was has nothing to do with you.”
“What a joke my coming back must be to them all. I can imagine what they’re saying. How they’re snickering behind my back.”
“Why would they?” He tried to take her into his arms.
She fought against him. “No. No! Don’t touch me.”
Her stomach rushed to her throat and she turned and ran for the bathroom. She made it just in time, heaving over the commode, heaving until she was empty. And broken. The way she felt inside.
“I’m sorry, Alex,” Reed said softly from the doorway.
She flushed the toilet and stood. “Leave me alone.”
“Can’t do it.”
“Then hand me the mouthwash. It’s in the medicine cabinet.” He did and she rinsed her mouth and spit once, then again. “You don’t have to worry I’m going to freak out or something. I’m not.”
“I wasn’t worried. Sit.”
She flipped down the commode lid and did as he asked. He wet a washcloth and handed it to her. “Hold that on the back of your neck. You’ll feel better.”
She did as he suggested. “This is just great,” she said. “Simply fucking wonderful.”
“Feel better?”
“Than what?” She handed him the washcloth. “You’re calling my mother a whore. And a… my God, a child molester?”
“Technically, since the boys were all older than fourteen, it’s considered statutory rape or carnal knowledge of a juvenile.”
“I feel so much better now.”
“I’m sorry.”
She stood. “If you say you’re sorry one more time, I swear to God, I’m going to lose it.”
He let that pass. She stalked out of the bathroom and to the kitchen. An open cabernet sat on the counter. She poured herself a glass. “Want one?” she asked.
“I’d rather have a beer.”
“Sure. Help yourself.” She sipped the wine and made a face at the taste.
“I was going to warn you about mixing a good red and mouthwash, but figured you’d have tried it anyway.”
He was right, she would have. Stubbornly, she took another sip. This time, the taste was more tolerable. She looked at him. “Who are they? The young men my mother… initiated?”
“Does it matter?”
“To me, yes.” When he didn’t respond, she pursed her lips in thought. “Family friends, you said. As young as fifteen. Let me guess. Your brother Joe. Clark Sommer. The rest shouldn’t be too hard to figure out.” She narrowed her eyes. “The guy who was murdered. What was his name?”
“Tom Schwann.”
“Right. Him.” She thought of what Rachel had said, that Reed had more of a reason to take her ring than just Max’s suicide.
“He had the tattoo that matched my mom’s ring. Of course. That’s what got you asking questions.”
She nodded to herself, confirming her own thoughts. “Your questions either jostled someone’s memory or upset an applecart or two and… voilà, Patsy Sommer, defiler of young men, is exposed.”
“Alex-”
“Who’d you hear it from?” She tapped the stem of her wineglass, considering the options. “Your dad, I’ll bet. Am I right?”
She saw from his expression that she was and went on. “Too bad you were only ten. You missed out on all the fun.”
“Stop it, Alex.”
“But that’s not quite true. You had a piece of the whore’s daughter, so in a way-”
“Stop it,” he said again. He crossed to her, took the wineglass from her hand, then caught her by the shoulders. “Don’t do this.”
“Is it in the genes, then? Is that why I-” Sudden tears flooded her eyes. Dammit, she didn’t want to cry! She preferred anger or even bitterness.
But the tears spilled over anyway. And he caught them with his fingertips, then lips. Kissing her, he dragged her to his chest and into his arms.
He carried her to the bedroom and there, in a frenzy that obliterated grief and transformed anger to passion, they made love.
Afterward, he didn’t release her, instead held her tightly in his arms. She pressed her face to his damp chest. His heart thundered beneath her cheek and she pressed closer.
She thought of all the men she had been with, the therapy sessions she’d had, trying to figure out why. The answers had varied: she’d been looking for love, for Daddy, to rewrite history, as a way to complete or validate herself.
Did it all come down to genetics? Was she just like her mother?
Fear licked at her and she shuddered. Did the same future await her?
Reed stirred; he cocked his head to see her face. “Don’t like what you’re thinking,” he murmured.
“So, now you’re both cop and mind reader?”
She said it lightly, but he didn’t bite. Instead, he drew her up so they were nose-to-nose. “You’re not like your mother.”
She frowned. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
“I’m not young or uninitiated. And you didn’t seduce me.”
It hurt to look at him; she shifted her gaze and stared blankly at the wall. “It hurts,” she said finally, softly.
“I know.” He kissed her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
She turned to meet his eyes. “Don’t say that anymore, okay? I’m tired of people telling me that. I’ve heard it so many times. Not just since Mom’s death, but all my life.”
“What would you rather hear?”
She searched his gaze. “No clue. I just know pity’s not cutting it.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Friday, March 12
7:04 A.M.
Sunlight spilled across the bed. Alex opened her eyes. It all came crashing back. Reed. The night before. The things he had said about her mother. The way they had hurt. Their desperate lovemaking.
She moaned.
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
Alex shifted her gaze. Reed stood at the door to the bathroom. He wore his jeans and a towel looped around his neck. His hair was wet. “I took a shower, I hope you don’t mind?”
She told him she didn’t, watching as he toweled his hair, then disappeared into the bathroom, emerging a moment later without the towel.
She sat up, pulling the blanket to her chin. “What time is it?”
“Just after seven. I’ve got to hit the road.”
“I’ll make coffee.” She moved to climb out of bed.
“Stay put. I’ll grab a cup on my way.” He crossed to the bed, retrieving his shirt from the floor on the way. He pulled it over his head, then grinned down at her. “The drive’ll be a lot more pleasant imagining you here and naked.”
“It’d be a lot more pleasant here, if you’d call in sick and climb back in bed.”
“Wish I could.”
“Prove it.”
“Is that a challenge?”
She let the blanket slip away, revealing her naked torso. “You tell me.”
He bent and kissed her, softly at first, then deeply. Alex arched up to meet him, rubbing, hungry. Desperate.
She didn’t want to be alone.
He caught her hand and brought it to him. “See?” he murmured against her mouth. “I really do wish I could stay.”
“So, stay.”
He groaned and set her away from him. “Can’t. Sorry.”
“No problem. Your loss.” She tossed aside the covers and climbed naked out of bed. She stretched, then slipped by him on her way to the bathroom. She stopped in the doorway and looked over her shoulder at him. The view was having an obvious effect on him. “Be careful out there, Detective”-she lowered her eyes-“you’ve got a loaded weapon.”
He grinned. “I know what you’re doing, Alex.”