called after him as he stalked furiously down the street. “Baby, please come back!”
She watched as he stopped at the home of the Nigerian woman who used to babysit him and Michael. After several moments the front door opened, and Marcus disappeared inside.
Wrapping her arms around her heaving midsection, Celeste turned and hobbled back into her house. She’d barely crossed the threshold before shame overtook her, sending her to the floor in a crumpled heap of sorrow and regret.
Sterling had just strode through the door of his office that afternoon when his phone rang. Reaching his desk, he snatched up the receiver and grunted,
“Detective Wolf.”
There was a pregnant pause. “Sterling, this is Mrs. Akonye.”
“Oh, hey, Mrs. Akonye,” Sterling said warmly as he dropped into his chair.
“How’re you doing?”
“I’m doing fine, my dear. I hate to bother you at work, but I wanted you to know that Marcus is here.”
Sterling smiled. “Uh-oh. Did that boy forget his key again?”
“Well…”
“Celeste is probably sleeping. She worked a double shift yesterday. Just tell Marcus to knock harder so she’ll hear him.”
“He didn’t forget his key,” Mrs. Akonye said in a carefully measured tone. “He went home first, and then he came here.”
A dagger of alarm shot through Sterling. “Why? Is everything okay?”
“I’m afraid not. He’s very upset, Sterling. He won’t say what happened, but he doesn’t want to go back home.”
Sterling frowned. “Put him on the phone, please.”
“Just a minute. He’s in the bathroom.”
While he waited for Marcus, Sterling eyed his desk, which was cluttered with files and crime scene photographs and lab reports that needed his immediate attention.
As soon as his son came on the line, nothing else mattered.
“What’s wrong, Little Man?” Sterling asked with concern. “Where’s your mother? Why aren’t you at home?”
On the other end of the phone, Marcus drew a deep, shuddering breath and croaked out, “Can you come get me, Dad? Please?” Sterling was already on his feet, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and charging from the office. “Sit tight, son. I’ll be right there.” He knew, with a grim sense of fatalism, that the end he’d been bracing for had finally arrived.
Chapter Ten
“I’m sorry.”
Celeste looked like hell. Her face was ashen, her eyes were puffy and bloodshot from crying, and her hair was a tangled mess. In all the years Sterling had known her, he’d never seen her looking so thoroughly ravaged. If the circumstances had been different—if she hadn’t just ripped their family apart—he would have felt sorry for her.
But of all the emotions raging through him tonight, compassion wasn’t one of them.
Leaning against the dresser with his arms folded across his chest, he regarded his wife as coldly as if he were looking at a complete stranger.
She sat propped against the headboard with her bandaged foot elevated on a pillow to alleviate the swelling in her ankle, which she’d apparently sprained when she hopped down from the kitchen counter too fast.
Dear God , Sterling thought, his gut tightening with fury at a mental image of Celeste and another man locked in a passionate embrace, so caught up in each other that they hadn’t even heard Marcus enter the house.
Celeste continued remorsefully, “I know there’s absolutely nothing I can say or do to erase the pain I’ve caused you and our children—”
“Did you fuck him in our bed?” Sterling demanded bluntly.
She shot him a stricken look. “No! Of course not!”
“So you drew the line somewhere.” His lips twisted mockingly. “How decent of you.”
She flinched, her face reddening with humiliation. Dropping her gaze to her lap, she murmured, “I know I deserved that.”
“Damn right you did.”
She swallowed visibly. “You may not believe this, and I know it doesn’t make any difference, but I only slept with Grant once.”
She watched as he stopped at the home of the Nigerian woman who used to babysit him and Michael. After several moments the front door opened, and Marcus disappeared inside.
Wrapping her arms around her heaving midsection, Celeste turned and hobbled back into her house. She’d barely crossed the threshold before shame overtook her, sending her to the floor in a crumpled heap of sorrow and regret.
Sterling had just strode through the door of his office that afternoon when his phone rang. Reaching his desk, he snatched up the receiver and grunted,
“Detective Wolf.”
There was a pregnant pause. “Sterling, this is Mrs. Akonye.”
“Oh, hey, Mrs. Akonye,” Sterling said warmly as he dropped into his chair.
“How’re you doing?”
“I’m doing fine, my dear. I hate to bother you at work, but I wanted you to know that Marcus is here.”
Sterling smiled. “Uh-oh. Did that boy forget his key again?”
“Well…”
“Celeste is probably sleeping. She worked a double shift yesterday. Just tell Marcus to knock harder so she’ll hear him.”
“He didn’t forget his key,” Mrs. Akonye said in a carefully measured tone. “He went home first, and then he came here.”
A dagger of alarm shot through Sterling. “Why? Is everything okay?”
“I’m afraid not. He’s very upset, Sterling. He won’t say what happened, but he doesn’t want to go back home.”
Sterling frowned. “Put him on the phone, please.”
“Just a minute. He’s in the bathroom.”
While he waited for Marcus, Sterling eyed his desk, which was cluttered with files and crime scene photographs and lab reports that needed his immediate attention.
As soon as his son came on the line, nothing else mattered.
“What’s wrong, Little Man?” Sterling asked with concern. “Where’s your mother? Why aren’t you at home?”
On the other end of the phone, Marcus drew a deep, shuddering breath and croaked out, “Can you come get me, Dad? Please?” Sterling was already on his feet, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair and charging from the office. “Sit tight, son. I’ll be right there.” He knew, with a grim sense of fatalism, that the end he’d been bracing for had finally arrived.
Chapter Ten
“I’m sorry.”
Celeste looked like hell. Her face was ashen, her eyes were puffy and bloodshot from crying, and her hair was a tangled mess. In all the years Sterling had known her, he’d never seen her looking so thoroughly ravaged. If the circumstances had been different—if she hadn’t just ripped their family apart—he would have felt sorry for her.
But of all the emotions raging through him tonight, compassion wasn’t one of them.
Leaning against the dresser with his arms folded across his chest, he regarded his wife as coldly as if he were looking at a complete stranger.
She sat propped against the headboard with her bandaged foot elevated on a pillow to alleviate the swelling in her ankle, which she’d apparently sprained when she hopped down from the kitchen counter too fast.
Dear God , Sterling thought, his gut tightening with fury at a mental image of Celeste and another man locked in a passionate embrace, so caught up in each other that they hadn’t even heard Marcus enter the house.
Celeste continued remorsefully, “I know there’s absolutely nothing I can say or do to erase the pain I’ve caused you and our children—”
“Did you fuck him in our bed?” Sterling demanded bluntly.
She shot him a stricken look. “No! Of course not!”
“So you drew the line somewhere.” His lips twisted mockingly. “How decent of you.”
She flinched, her face reddening with humiliation. Dropping her gaze to her lap, she murmured, “I know I deserved that.”
“Damn right you did.”
She swallowed visibly. “You may not believe this, and I know it doesn’t make any difference, but I only slept with Grant once.”
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