felt beneath my lingerie, locating the canister of pepper spray now hidden there.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he said, dropping lightly onto my bed. He was long and lean, dressed in expensive tan slacks and a pale blue button-down shirt. His light-brown hair was losing its battle against the grey, and I remembered a time when his age had made him seem distinguished to me. “I do love your flair for the dramatic, my dear. Have me served then disappear for a week. Brava! ”
His words also reminded me of a time when I’d debated whether my husband might be gay. The prospect had softened me toward him. I’d wanted to help him come out, let him know it was okay. He’d grown up in a time and in a world not so understanding of alternate lifestyles. Then I discovered his penchant for prostitutes. Jessica Black had only been the first of many contact slips I’d found. No, it seemed his only problem was having sex with his wife.
“Elaine called and invited me on a spa retreat,” I said, keeping my voice calm. I continued unpacking, silently waiting for him to make his next move. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
“Spa retreat? Why didn’t you tell me,” he had the nerve to act hurt. “You know I enjoy a good massage as much as the next guy.”
He enjoyed a happy ending. He probably had masseuses all over town ready to jerk him off for a modest fee. The thought made me sick.
“It was more of a friend getaway.” The tension was making my shoulders ache. I wanted him to say whatever he’d come to say or do and leave. “You would’ve been bored.”
“No doubt of that.” Then as if he’d somehow lost interest, he sat up and went to the door. “As I said, some third-rate lawyer sent your papers. A James Pettigrew or something?”
“James Perry.” He knew damn well my lawyer’s name.
“Perry, right.” He paused in the doorway. “I sent them on to Thomas for a good once-over. Can’t have my lady screwing me now, can I.”
It would be the first time in a long time, I thought bitterly, but I wouldn’t take his bait.
Thomas was Sloan’s self-serving lawyer, and if there was anything wrong with the divorce papers, he’d find it. The shocker for both of them would come when they discovered I just wanted out. No alimony, no settlement, just freedom.
“Look them over as much as you need,” I said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll find they’re completely to your benefit.”
He nodded. “Then, welcome home Melissa.”
I didn’t reply. This was not my home.
Once I had finished unpacking, I walked down the hall to my study. The office was also a library, and when I’d first visited this wing last year, I’d been thrilled with all the books I could read. Little did I know, reading was all I’d end up doing. A desk was placed in one corner, and I saw my small, silver Macbook lying there. I’d left it behind on my trip, not wanting anything that reminded me of Baltimore. As if I could escape that easily.
Tonight, I went to it, lifted the cover and opened the browser. It had only been a day, and already the pain gripped my chest so hard, it hurt to breathe. Quickly I typed in “Derek Alexander” and “private investigator.”
Moments later a page of links popped up with the one I sought right at the top. Alexander & Knight, LLC. I glanced quickly at the door then leaned forward, looking as far down the hallway as I could see. No one was coming.
Holding my breath, I clicked on the link. Instantly, I was taken to a plain but professional-looking business site with an A&K logo over an exterior shot of what must be their offices in Princeton. One of the small links across the top said “About Us,” and again, my heart clenched as I clicked on it.
The screen changed and there he was. A tiny gasp escaped my lips when I saw his face. It was a professionally posed shot—him in a suit, all-business, just the smallest hint of a smile. His blue eyes seemed to glow, and a
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he said, dropping lightly onto my bed. He was long and lean, dressed in expensive tan slacks and a pale blue button-down shirt. His light-brown hair was losing its battle against the grey, and I remembered a time when his age had made him seem distinguished to me. “I do love your flair for the dramatic, my dear. Have me served then disappear for a week. Brava! ”
His words also reminded me of a time when I’d debated whether my husband might be gay. The prospect had softened me toward him. I’d wanted to help him come out, let him know it was okay. He’d grown up in a time and in a world not so understanding of alternate lifestyles. Then I discovered his penchant for prostitutes. Jessica Black had only been the first of many contact slips I’d found. No, it seemed his only problem was having sex with his wife.
“Elaine called and invited me on a spa retreat,” I said, keeping my voice calm. I continued unpacking, silently waiting for him to make his next move. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
“Spa retreat? Why didn’t you tell me,” he had the nerve to act hurt. “You know I enjoy a good massage as much as the next guy.”
He enjoyed a happy ending. He probably had masseuses all over town ready to jerk him off for a modest fee. The thought made me sick.
“It was more of a friend getaway.” The tension was making my shoulders ache. I wanted him to say whatever he’d come to say or do and leave. “You would’ve been bored.”
“No doubt of that.” Then as if he’d somehow lost interest, he sat up and went to the door. “As I said, some third-rate lawyer sent your papers. A James Pettigrew or something?”
“James Perry.” He knew damn well my lawyer’s name.
“Perry, right.” He paused in the doorway. “I sent them on to Thomas for a good once-over. Can’t have my lady screwing me now, can I.”
It would be the first time in a long time, I thought bitterly, but I wouldn’t take his bait.
Thomas was Sloan’s self-serving lawyer, and if there was anything wrong with the divorce papers, he’d find it. The shocker for both of them would come when they discovered I just wanted out. No alimony, no settlement, just freedom.
“Look them over as much as you need,” I said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll find they’re completely to your benefit.”
He nodded. “Then, welcome home Melissa.”
I didn’t reply. This was not my home.
Once I had finished unpacking, I walked down the hall to my study. The office was also a library, and when I’d first visited this wing last year, I’d been thrilled with all the books I could read. Little did I know, reading was all I’d end up doing. A desk was placed in one corner, and I saw my small, silver Macbook lying there. I’d left it behind on my trip, not wanting anything that reminded me of Baltimore. As if I could escape that easily.
Tonight, I went to it, lifted the cover and opened the browser. It had only been a day, and already the pain gripped my chest so hard, it hurt to breathe. Quickly I typed in “Derek Alexander” and “private investigator.”
Moments later a page of links popped up with the one I sought right at the top. Alexander & Knight, LLC. I glanced quickly at the door then leaned forward, looking as far down the hallway as I could see. No one was coming.
Holding my breath, I clicked on the link. Instantly, I was taken to a plain but professional-looking business site with an A&K logo over an exterior shot of what must be their offices in Princeton. One of the small links across the top said “About Us,” and again, my heart clenched as I clicked on it.
The screen changed and there he was. A tiny gasp escaped my lips when I saw his face. It was a professionally posed shot—him in a suit, all-business, just the smallest hint of a smile. His blue eyes seemed to glow, and a
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