Cold Blue by Gary Neece Page A

the mat, Thorpe asked a question he’d neglected to ask prior to their interlude.
    “Are you married?”
    Deborah hesitated before responding “Yes, but that doesn’t mean we can’t see each other from time to time.”
    “It does for me.”
    “You didn’t seem too interested in whether I was married before we had sex.”
    “Like most people, I think a lot clearer after sex than before it.”
    “We’ll see,” Deborah said. With that, she dressed, bent over, flicked his nipple with her tongue, smiled, and began jogging toward the gate as if intercourse had just been a water station on her running route.
    Following the encounter, he’d avoided the fence line any time he saw Deborah approaching. Eventually, his dogs were trained not to let anyone inside the fence with the exception of Jeff—unless Thorpe issued the proper command. This kept Deborah from coming onto his property uninvited. And she couldn’t phone him because, like any decent cop, Thorpe had an unlisted number.
    Thorpe’s most recent encounter with a Jennings had been with the husband. Thorpe was running on the road when approached by a Mercedes with tinted windows. At first Thorpe worried Deborah sat behind the wheel, but as the car came to rest, the darkened driver’s window powered down and revealed an individual by whom he had little fear of being seduced.
    Mr. Jennings appeared to be in his late sixties, looked down a bulbous capillary-mapped nose indicative of a lifetime of alcohol abuse and was grossly overweight. He told Thorpe he worked as a corporate attorney in one of Tulsa’s larger law firms. Mr. Jennings appeared unaware of Deborah and Thorpe’s tryst. During their short conversation, Mr. Jennings had conveyed they had a live-in maid/chef and bragged about several belongings, including his young bride. Deborah was the quintessential trophy wife and probably no more cherished than the man’s other possessions, a thing to be worn on his arm and shown off at parties. Thorpe didn’t have much sympathy for Deborah; she obviously married the money, not the man. Still, maybe he’d been a little hard on the woman, though most of his avoidance measures were taken so he himself wouldn’t fall again.
    Today, on this warm winter’s morning, Deborah wore long tight running pants and a pink Lycra shirt with zippered front. The zipper dangled below a chasm of exposed cleavage. As Deborah approached, Thorpe smiled and raised his hand. She slowed to a walk. Al and Trixie began to let out low guttural growls until their master called them off.
    “You’re not going to release your hounds on me today?”
    “Sorry, Deborah. You were right. I was just as much to blame as you were. I didn’t want to know the truth.”
    Deborah tilted her head and studied him. “I had it coming…didn’t give you much of a chance. Look, I heard about your family. You were in a bad place.”
    Thorpe nodded his head; he was still in a bad place.
    “My husband says you two met the other day?”
    “Yeah. Although it wasn’t quite the rendezvous you and I had.”
    Deborah laughed. “I certainly hope not. He told me we needed to move. He said he’s embarrassed to share the neighborhood with a civil servant.”
    Thorpe figured the guy would pop a nose capillary if he knew what else they’d shared. “And here I thought he and I were going to be BFFs. Why do you guys live way out here, anyway?”
    “Thomas wanted a ‘country retreat.’ You should see the entertainment area we have behind our house and the view of Tulsa’s skyline. It was great at first, but now he has trouble getting his colleagues out to visit because of the drive. He’s all about entertaining and showing off. I have a feeling we’ll be moving back toward town soon.”
    “Well, I’m sure it’ll all work out.”
    “John, what happened between us…that’s not something I normally do. I don’t want you thinking I jump from bed to bed. I was in a bad place, too. I still