“You don’t know why you’re here. You think you do, but you don’t.”
Time to make a move.
She slipped off the bed and stood in front of Ethan. “I’m pretty sure I do know.” She stepped out of her new sweatpants, then pulled her T-shirt over her head. She stood in front of him wearing just her panties, the ones he’d bought for her.
His eyes moved over her bare skin, taking it all in.
“You care about me,” Sheila said. “You might even love me, though you can’t admit it to anyone, let alone yourself. If you could admit it, if you could have let your guard down with me, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Because there’d be no need.”
She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her cotton underwear and began inching them down. “I’m tired of playing games with you. That’s all we’ve done since the moment we got involved. You want me? You want to be with me? Guess what, you don’t have to force me.”
Her panties fell to the floor and she stepped out of them and moved closer to Ethan. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She knew she looked good. She’d lost weight since she’d been in the basement. Those pesky five pounds she couldn’t lose in time for the wedding had finally come off.
“Now who’s the psychopath?” he said, but his breath was coming a little faster. He placed his hands on her naked hips, drawing her closer.
She felt his arms move around her waist as she stepped toward him. Still seated, his lips were on her belly button and she felt his tongue tracing its outline.
It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like anything. But she plunged her fingers into his short hair and allowed a small moan to escape her lips.
He pulled her down and she straddled him. He was still fully dressed, but through the scratchy coarseness of his jeans, she could feel his erection right under the handle of the gun that was digging into her thigh. She kissed his neck, trailing her fingers slowly down his chest toward his crotch and the weapon. She began grinding her hips and his breath came faster.
“You sure you want to do this?” His voice was hoarse.
“I want you. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.” It came out a gasp, and not because she was overwhelmed with emotion. The word had stuck in her throat because she was forcing the lie. Her fingers brushed over his stomach. Another inch or two and she’d be touching the gun.
“More than Morris?” he said.
“No comparison.” Her fingers closed around the handle, already warm from being so close to his body.
“Tell me why you love me more than him.”
Sheila couldn’t pull the gun out of his jeans just yet. She continued nibbling on Ethan’s neck, grinding her hips down a little deeper. With her free hand, she pulled down his zipper and was inside his jeans in one smooth motion. “Because you’re smarter, younger, sexier.”
She had his penis in her hand and she began massaging. His breath came faster and a grunt escaped his lips. She remembered that sound, remembered what it meant. Her right hand gripped the butt of the gun tighter. He was getting close. Another minute, maximum, and he’d be incapacitated for at least five seconds, enough time for her to pull out the gun and point it at his head.
Her hand worked expertly.
“Sheila,” he said, his face buried in her neck.
“Yes,” she said in his ear.
“I’ve always loved you.”
“I know.”
She could feel it, he was about to reach orgasm. She worked faster, her other hand tight around the handle of the small silver gun.
“But here’s the thing…” he said, his voice strangled through his rapid breathing.
“What’s that?” she said, working faster. Come on, come on, let go already.
His hand suddenly gripped her wrist and twisted. The pain was intense, a flash of fire. She had no choice but to let go of the gun with a whimper.
With his other hand, he shoved her off his lap. She fell over, her back slamming into the thick industrial carpet.
“I’ve never trusted you.” Looking down at her naked body, Ethan stood and zipped his pants. “I know now I never will.”
CHAPTER 32
M orris couldn’t put his finger on it, and that was what was bothering him.
He was a solutions guy. He liked to fix things. He liked to take a problem and, using a combination of research, experience, and good judgment, figure out the best answer, the best plan, the best course of action. He’d had two careers in his life-football and banking-and both relied on well-thought-out strategies and their proper executions. And, of course, great instincts, which he normally had. How could his instincts have been so wrong about Sheila?
He should have been relaxing over SportsCenter, as he usually did after a long day of work, but instead he was going over every event of the past few weeks in his mind, like an instant replay he couldn’t shut off. Every conversation with Sheila, everything they’d talked about, everything they’d done or hadn’t done. But the analysis wasn’t getting him anywhere. He was a fat hamster running on a little wheel.
He was stuck.
With every passing day, the chances seemed to grow slimmer that Sheila would ever turn up. There were no real leads. Jerry Isaac hadn’t said as much, but Morris knew the PI was running out of ideas. There was nobody left to interview.
Sheila had left him, willingly, just as her phone message had said. Why couldn’t he accept that, instead of throwing money at a guy who was probably only too happy to keep looking so long as Morris kept paying?
His beautiful son was the only bright spot at the moment. Randall had swept back into his life, and it appeared that whatever chip had been on his shoulder all these years had finally been knocked off. Morris knew he had Sheila to thank for that. Regardless of the pain and anger and worry she was causing him, he knew he would love her the rest of his life for what she’d done.
He poured another shot of Johnnie Walker and pushed away the guilt that came with every ounce he downed. So far Randall hadn’t mentioned Morris’s drinking, but it was probably par for the course as far as his son was concerned. He’d never known his father sober.
The thought saddened him.
His BlackBerry rang. He stared at it until it stopped. It was after 8:00 p.m. and they could call back tomorrow. Then he heard his home phone. Not a work call, then. He reached over and picked it up.
“It’s Jerry,” a voice said on the other end. “You busy? You didn’t answer your cell.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m on a hot date right now.” Morris’s laugh was bitter. “Got a cute blonde with me. Hang on while I remove her from my lap.” He looked at the bottle of Johnnie Walker Gold, still in his hand. Close enough. “What’s up?”
“I met with Ethan Wolfe today. I meant to call you earlier but my wife wanted to go out to dinner. It’s our weekly date night.”
“Let me guess, you took her to the Golden Monkey.”
“Don’t knock it, man. Best Chinese food in Seattle.”
“Do Chinese people agree with you?”
“Bite me. Do you want to know what happened with Wolfe or not?”
“Let me hear it.”
Jerry cleared his throat. “I definitely think he was the one Sheila was having an affair with.”
“He actually admitted it?” Morris felt a stab even though the news wasn’t surprising. He thought once again about the night they’d met in Sheila’s office. The way Wolfe had taunted her, and she didn’t even bust his balls. It all made sense now. He poured himself another shot of whiskey, wondering if the PI could hear it through the phone line.
“I have a very strong hunch. After thirty years as a cop, that ought to mean something.”
“So they were screwing. No shock there.” Morris kept his tone light. Holding the phone away, he downed his whiskey in one gulp. “What does this mean?”
“It might not mean anything.” Jerry paused. “But the guy’s a bit weird, you know? Squirrelly. Freaked out when the door closed. Guess he didn’t want to be stuck in a room alone with me.” The PI snorted. “Logically, I can’t blame him for not copping to the affair. Why would he admit it?”