"Okay."
Beth rolled her eyes. "I mean, yeah, the 'Vous isn't in the best part of town."
"Nope."
"Will you say something that's not monosyllabic?"
Mitchell turned to look at her, eyes cool. "You are an idiot. A very talented idiot. Is that enough syllables for you? Although technically, 'okay' is disyllabic."
Beth sputtered even as the compliment warmed her. "I'm not an idiot. I'm a straight-A student. Honor roll." She shook her head, disgusted. Then sighed. "But you liked it?"
Mitchell's eyes changed. Went from cool to devastated. "Yes. I liked it very much."
"I wouldn't have taken you for a poetry fan."
One side of the woman's mouth lifted. "I wouldn't have, either. 'There once was a lady from Nantucket' is more my speed."
Beth huffed a chuckle. "The limericks crack me up, too." She sobered and drew a breath. "So, are you going to tell my dad?"
Her blonde brows went up. "Shouldn't I?"
"He's gonna freak."
"As well he should. He's a good father, Beth, and he loves you."
"He keeps me locked up like a prisoner."
Mitchell's eyes flickered. "Believe me, you're no prisoner. Do you love your dad?"
Beth's eyes stung. "Yes," she whispered.
"Then why didn't you tell him about the slam thing?"
"He's not into this kind of stuff. He's into sports. He wouldn't understand."
"I think he would have tried." She sighed. "Look, I don't want to get between the two of you. I'll give you until tomorrow to tell him. If you don't, then I will."
Chapter Twenty-one
Indianapolis Friday, December 1, 11:00 p.m.
There it was. Tyler Young's townhouse. He sat in a car down the street, watching the neighborhood. He'd need to wait a little longer for this crowd to be in bed.
He was nearly calm. He"d had to get a hold of himself back in Champaign. He'd waited too long to exorcise his ghosts, because now they were all dead. Laura Dougherty and now Bill Young and his wife Bitsey. The wife had just passed on, the nursing home said sadly. And our records are confidential, they'd added mournfully, so no, we can't give you next of kin.
He'd nearly lost it. He'd held back only after seeing the flicker of suspicious fear in the nurse's eyes. So he'd respectfully excused himself, gotten in his car, driven to the middle of nowhere and set a cornfield on fire. Just a random act of kindness.
So he was down to two. Tyler and Tim. It was like Tim Young had dropped off the face of the earth. He could let Tim go. But Tim had been big enough, strong enough then. Just not brave enough to stop Tyler. He had to find them both. To finish this.
If Tyler knows where his brother was, by God, he'll tell me. Because this time, I hold the power. I'll hear him beg.
Then I'll see him die. You count to ten, you fucking bastard. Then go to hell.
Chicago Friday, December 1, 11:05 P.M.
Mia closed the door to Lauren's place. It was dark and quiet. "Reed?"
But no one answered. She wandered through the house, half hoping she'd find him asleep on the sofa or better yet, in the bed, but the house was empty. Just me.
She should be tired, but she was still buzzed. She held Lauren's keys up to the light. There were two keys; one was for the other side. She could slip in, find him. Beth was safe in her room, having shimmied back up the tree despite Mia's objections.
She actually considered going up the same tree to Reed's room, but chucked the idea with a grin. She'd probably fall on her ass and break something. She fingered the chain around her neck. Or not. She seemed remarkably resilient these days.
Or not. She thought about sitting on his lap, crying her eyes out, then once again telling him things she had no business telling him. But he was easy to talk to and she'd wanted him to know. For the first time she'd wanted to throw her faults out there.
Maybe it was a test. To see if he'd throw her back. He hadn't yet.
She slipped into Reed's side of the duplex. It was quiet. She crept up the stairs, her heart pounding. If the house was a mirror image to Lauren's, the last door on the right was the master bedroom. There he was, sprawled on top of the bedspread, sleeping deeply with the light still burning. Still dressed down to his shiny shoes.
He'd had a long day, too. She'd get him comfortable, then go back to her own room on the other side. Then tomorrow, she thought, she'd find a new apartment as close to this house as she could. Because there was no way in hell she was having sex in this room. It was Christine's, down to the lace on the bedspread.
She frowned at the picture on his nightstand. Christine. Of course he'd have a picture of his wife. He loved her. Still. He's never found anyone quite as good, the little voice reminded her. Beth felt the same. It was when Mia went to loosen his belt that she saw the book. Carefully she slid it from his fingers and curious, peeked at the title, but there was none. It was a notebook, and every page inside was handwritten.
She glanced at his face. He still slept. She should put the book right down. Right now. But he'd listened to her conversations. This only seemed fair. She flipped to the front page. It said simply "My Poems, by Christine Solliday" but the next page tightened her throat. "To my darling Reed. I promised you my heart. Here it is."
Poems. Every page was poems, in Christine's own hand. So Beth came by her talent naturally, she thought. And how wrong the girl had been about her father's understanding. Every page was worn, some dog-eared. This book was well read and well loved. It was Christine's heart. And Reed's.
The words blurred as she read and Mia blinked away the stupid tears. He'd been honest after all. He'd said no strings. And like a fool I believed that would be enough.
Hands trembling, she put the book on the nightstand and went to work on his shirt. A fine gold chain appeared, glistening in the dark hair of his chest. He hadn't worn it when they'd made love, but vaguely she remembered feeling it against her cheek earlier, as he'd held her and let her cry. She wouldn't cry now. Not yet. She'd put him to bed, then go back and… She got to the bottom of his shirt and her fingers went still.
At the end of the chain was a ring. A plain gold band. He still wears his wedding ring. Her heart squeezed painfully, but her hand was bent on self-torture and lifted the chain. The ring dangled, reflecting the light from the lamp.
With a jerk Reed woke, one hand closing over the ring while the other closed over her wrist with enough force to make her flinch. "You're hurting me,"' she whispered.
Immediately he released her arm, but his hand stayed wrapped around the ring. His face was hard and angry. "What are you doing here?"
Mia took a step back. "Obviously making a big mistake. Good night, Reed."
She made it out of his room, down the stairs and out the front door. Her hands shaking, she managed to get the key in Lauren's front door and bolted inside. She stood, breathing harder than if she'd run a mile. She thought he'd follow her. Obviously that was a big mistake, too. Her whole body was shaking now. Badly.
Stupid. She hadn't eaten in… She couldn't remember the last time. She downed a slice of cold pizza, her stomach churning. When she was on her second slice the front door opened. Reed's face was pained, his shirt buttoned. If he still wore his ring, at least he had the decency to hide it from her. No, that wasn't fair. The ring was his business. He told you from the beginning, Mia. No strings. "We need to talk, Mia."
She shook her head. "It's all right. Go back to bed, Reed." He didn't move and her patience snapped. "You know, I've had a really foul day. I would like to be alone now."
He came closer, cupped her cheek in his palm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Don't be." She swallowed back the lump that rose in her throat. "You told me what you wanted from the start. I'm the one who keeps crossing the line. I can't play by your ground rules, Reed. I can't do an affair with no strings. I was wrong to try."