Divorced, Desperate and Delicious, Page 7

It took her one very long second to realize his voice had come from the hall and not the doorway. She hadn’t recovered when he continued talking. “There are some sweats in here, too.” His voice rang out, closer.

  She jerked her arm back, her breath caught. He still wasn’t at the doorway.

  “Do you mind if I slip them on while my jeans dry?”

  She dropped her face on a pillow and squeezed a little air into her throat “If you’ll uncuff me and . . . leave, I’ll even have your pants sent to the dry cleaners and delivered to you.”

  Arm stretched out, she tried again. The handcuffs clanked against the metal head post. If only she had longer fingernails.

  “Thanks.” His voice startled her again.

  The sound of a zipper sent panic ripping through her. Then came his footsteps. She flung herself over, and sat straight up. The handcuffs jingled. He walked in, looking at her, then shifted his gaze to the gun. His left eyebrow twitched.

  She blinked and stared at him, hoping to appear innocent. He wore a white T-shirt with Maytag printed across the front and a pair of gray sweats that matched her own. Carrying his wet jeans, he walked to the bedside table, moved the gun to the floor, then limped into the bathroom. Seconds later, he returned and stood on the other side of the bed.

  “It’s like this.” he said. “I haven’t slept in forty-eight hours. I need a nap in the worst way right now. When I wake up, I hope I’ll be able to think straight and I’ll leave. Until then—” he pointed to the bed “—that half of the bed is yours. This half is mine. I won’t cross the line and neither will you.”

  She jangled her handcuffs. “I think I’ll stay right here.”

  “Yeah, that’s what they all say.” He grinned, but the smile faded. He pointed at Fabio and Sweetie Pie taking up part of his half of the bed. “Would you explain the rules to them?”

  “They don’t follow rules. As far as they’re concerned, this is their bed. They just let me sleep in it.”

  He glanced down. “Okay, guys. Do you mind?” He picked up her white down comforter and crawled in between the sheets, nudging both Sweetie Pie and Fabio until they moved over. Fabio rose on all fours, shook his head until the reindeer horns fell off, then he cuddled up beside the man, resting his head on the stranger’s stomach.

  “Lie back and relax,” the intruder told her.

  Oh, sure she was going to relax! “Fabio, come here. He’s not your friend.” She grabbed the horns, before they got too wrinkled, and set them on the bedside table. If she lived through this, she had to finish the dad-burned photo shoot. The magazine was expecting to see proofs in two weeks. “Come here.” She patted her lap.

  Her dog’s bulging eyes focused on her, but he didn’t move.

  Chase—if the man had told her his real name— patted the little traitor on his side and smiled. “See, your dog trusts me. I’m not a bad guy. Lie back, I’m not crossing the line.”

  He fluffed the pillow behind his head and looked up at the television. A close-up of Oprah appeared on the screen. “We are women, hear us roar!” Oprah’s crowd cheered.

  Lacy rolled her eyes. Handcuffed and held hostage in her own home, she felt a bit low on feminine power.

  Letting out a deep breath, Chase turned his head, and his vivid green eyes met hers. “I’ll wrestle you for the remote.”

  His words brought forth an image of them frolicking around on the bed. She squelched the image. Was she so sex-deprived that she had put aside her fear? And here she’d just blamed Fabio for trusting the man.

  She threw the remote at her unwanted bed partner. “Thought you were going to nap and leave.”

  He picked up the remote and frowned. “I am, but I wanted to see if there is any news on about me.”

  He flipped through the channels, then stopped when he came across a news reporter talking into a microphone. “Police are searching the lake and combing area neighborhoods. While Detective Kelly is only a suspect, police say he could be armed and dangerous.”

  Lacy watched him clench his hands and the lines in his face deepened. He cast his gaze at her and seemed to plead for her trust “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “What if the police come here?” she asked, giving herself another shot at convincing him to leave.

  “I don’t think they’ll look this far up from the lake.”

  Fabio launched off the bed and started barking. A second later the doorbell chimed. Chase jumped up, snatched the gun, and moved to the window. Pulling back the blinds, he stared outside. “It’s not the police.”

  The doorbell rang again. Fabio dashed out of the room, two barks to every step. Lacy’s heart thumped in her throat.

  The front door opened. “Lacy?” Sue’s voice echoed. “Down, Fabio. Where’s your mama?”

  Chase Kelly swung around, his green eyes desperate.

  “It’s my friend,” Lacy whispered, a knot in her throat.

  “Shit!” he said.

  “Lacy?” Sue’s footsteps clicked down the hall.

  “Get rid of her. Please.” He backed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “Please,” he added again.

  “But she’ll see—” Lacy jerked at the handcuffs, then clasped her free hand over her mouth. Sue’s footsteps drew closer. Lacy heard her studio door being opened.

  “Lacy, I stopped—” Sue’s words halted. “Where are you?”

  Options buzzed in Lacy’s head. Scream for Sue to run and hope Chase didn’t catch her, or just get rid of her before she got caught up in this mess, too. Lacy slung her legs up on the bed, jerked a pillow over her wrist to cover the handcuffs and leaned her head down. “In here,” she called, knowing Sue wouldn’t stop until she found her.

  “You okay?” Sue walked into the room. Concern puckered her forehead. “I thought you’d be taking Christmas card photos.”

  “Well, I’m just . . . I got a migraine.”

  “Migraine?” Sue eased down on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t know you got migraines.”

  “I don’t get them often,” Lacy said, careful not to move her wrist, so the handcuffs wouldn’t clank against the bed.

  Sue touched her brow. “You don’t feel feverish.”

  “I’m fine,” Lacy insisted. “Just need rest. Bad headache.”

  Sue sat still, worry tightening her lips. “I don’t want to scare you, but migraines could be symptoms of something serious.”

  “Sue, I’m fine. Really. It’s nothing.”

  Her friend shook her head and her blond hair bobbed around her shoulders. “You should see a doctor.”

  Lacy closed her eyes, wishing she’d not claimed to be sick. As well-meaning as Sue was, she was a well-meaning hypochondriac. Sue went to the doctor monthly. The woman even had regular podiatrist checkups.

  “Who’s your doctor? I’ll call and tell them we’re on the way.” Sue’s gaze moved to the bedside table that had been cleared of the lamp and the phone. “Where’s—”

  “Okay, I’m lying.” Lacy bit down on her lip, knowing she’d better think fast.

  “Lying?” Sue glanced over at Fabio, who scratched and barked at the bathroom door.

  “I’m not sick. I’m . . . I’m depressed,” Lacy said.

  “Depressed?” One of Sue’s eyebrows arched upward. “About what? Oh, Jiminy Cricket, you haven’t slept with Peter again?”

  “No!” Lacy refocused on the barking dog. “Fabio, stop that!” She glanced back at Sue. “I swear I didn’t sleep with Peter.”

  “I hope he was better in the sack this time. If I recall correctly, he was guilty of early withdrawal.”

  “I haven’t slept with Peter.” Lacy’s gaze flickered to the bathroom, wondering if Chase had his ear pressed against the door.

  “Then what’s wrong?” Sue brought her feet up to sit Indian style on the bed. “You didn’t sleep with the FedEx man, did you?”

  “I haven’t slept with anyone.” Lacy clutched the handcuffs so they wouldn’t jingle. Then she remembered the real reason for
her depression. “It’s . . . remember what today is?”

  “Oh goodness. I forgot.” Sue’s five-foot-two frame bounced up from the bed. “You’re coming to my house and we’ll eat Rocky Road ice cream until we’re sick. Come on!”

  Lacy held up her free hand. “No! I just want to hide under the covers. Alone!” Lacy darted a look at the bathroom door.

  Sue plopped back onto the bed. Lacy’s heart plopped with it. Fabio continued to whimper at the bathroom door.

  “Lacy, I hate to say this, but maybe your mother is right. It’s been a year now. Almost two when you consider you didn’t come the last time. Maybe—” she held one finger in the air “—and keep an open mind here, but if you brought that FedEx man inside and screwed his living brains out in every room of this house, you’d be over Peter.”

  “Sue!” Lacy snapped. “Being my friend means you never agree with anything my mom says! Now leave and let me lick my wounds.”

  “What about the vet? Bet he’d lick your wounds.”

  “Sue, please.”

  “Okay, this calls for desperate measures. We’ll break out the red wine and discuss the possibilities of becoming lesbians.” Sue grinned at her own joke. “Not that you’d be my type. If I’m switching sides, I’m going after someone like Anne Heche, Ellen’s old girlfriend. But I think she went straight, didn’t she?”

  Lacy imagined Chase Kelly hearing every word. “I don’t want to become a lesbian.” Her voice came out squeaky.

  “Nah, me either.” Sue glanced at Sweetie Pie. “Now, aren’t you cute?” She petted the cat. “Did Kathy’s e-mail set you off?”

  Lacy moaned. Normally Sue’s perkiness didn’t bother her. But normally, Lacy didn’t have a murderer hiding in her bathroom.

  Suspected murderer, a voice echoed in her head.

  “I haven’t read the e-mail,” Lacy said. “Now please—”

  “Let me save you the trouble,” Sue explained. “Friday night we’ll be contemplating if it’s the length or girth that really makes a man. Or should I say, makes a man good! I’d say it’s length.” Sue chuckled. “Of course, girth does count.”

  Certain she would die from embarrassment Lacy darted her gaze to the bathroom door and then back to Sue. They could both die. Chase Kelly, great biceps and abs aside, might step out and shoot them. Oddly, the thought didn’t instill any real fear.

  I’m not going to hurt you. His words echoed in her mind.

  Sue continued talking. “I do say it will be an interesting discussion, more so than your World War II topic.”

  “It was educational,” Lacy said, hoping to keep the discussion from sex, girth, or lesbianism.

  “It was boring. Length or girth will be educational.” Sue finally took a breath, and the TV interrupted the second of silence. Sue glanced up. “Did you hear about the dead cop?”

  “Dead?” Lacy swallowed.

  “Well, they’re searching the lake behind my place. I spent all morning peeping through my fence. Then a Detective Dodd came to my door. Jason Dodd. What kind of name is Dodd, anyway? He left his card with me and said to call him if I spotted anything. I almost told him I’d spotted something all right—his cute tush.” She hesitated as if visualizing. “Face wasn’t bad, either. Blue eyes, nice kissable lips. And blond hair. I seriously thought about calling him.”

  Dropping back across the foot of the bed, Sue started pedaling her feet up in the air. “But then the warning bells went off.” Sue’s feet stopped in midair. “You know, the warning that says, ‘men are all jerks,’ and I decided I couldn’t do it.” Her hips fell back to the bed and she pressed a hand over her forehead in mock anguish. “Besides, cheating isn’t my style. I couldn’t be unfaithful to my vibrator.” She sat upright again. “Which has both length and girth, I should add.”

  A naughty smile appeared on Sue’s lips. Fabio barked. Lacy moaned. “Go home, Sue.”

  Sue bounced up and off the bed. “I’ll put the key back under the fake dog poop.” She took a step, then danced back around. “I forgot to tell you. Guess who I got a letter from? The editor.” Sue started swishing her hips. “She said she loved my book and it’s on the senior editor’s desk with her recommendations to buy.”

  “That’s great,” Lacy said. “We’ll celebrate later, okay?”

  “Killjoy.” Sue skipped down the hall. The woman couldn’t do anything slowly, not walk, not talk, not think.

  As Sue disappeared, Lacy collapsed against the pillow. She closed her eyes, listening as the front door shut, and waited for the man in the bathroom to come out. He probably had a busted gut by now from trying not to laugh. Lacy heard Sue’s car drive away. The bathroom door squeaked open.

  “Is it safe?” He wore a nonchalant expression.

  Furious at him for invading her privacy, she wished she had something at arm’s reach to throw at him. Then it hit her—anger was all she felt. She really wasn’t afraid of him. “Don’t you say a word!”

  “What?” His eyes seemed serious but a light grin danced at his lips. Then it disappeared.

  “Nothing.” She dropped her head back on her pillow. Maybe he hadn’t heard Sue through all of Fabio’s whimpering. Maybe she would live through this and one day laugh about it. Length and girth, talk of lesbians—just what you wanted some strange man to overhear while he had you handcuffed to the bed.

  His weight shifted the mattress. She stared at the ceiling, trying to understand her lack of fear. What was the name of the syndrome when one started trusting her kidnapper?

  The comforter billowed upward as he crawled into bed beside her. “Thanks for getting rid of her.”

  “I didn’t do it for you,” she snapped. And yet if not motivated by fear, then why had she done it? Why hadn’t she attempted to send Sue some silent message to go straight home and call the police? Why hadn’t she screamed out, “Sue, get the fish and finish off the man hiding in my bathroom?”

  Cutting her gaze toward him, she frowned. She really didn’t want to remain handcuffed to the bed with him resting beside her.

  Did she?

  Their eyes met. He clicked the mute button on the remote.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he settled his forearm over his eyes. Silence hummed through the room. Golden silence and then, “Just for the record,” he said, half his face hidden from her, “you’re much better looking than Anne Heche.”

  He laughed, then jerked his hand over his side as if it hurt. Lacy buried herself deeper into the pillow.

  • • •

  Zeke pulled his Mustang into the drive of the brick house as Bruno’s Chevy eased down the street ahead of him. Bruno had gotten lucky; other than a hole in his windshield and probably a blown eardrum, the man had escaped injury. At least now Bruno knew he meant business.

  They’d walked every inch of that lake again, for nothing. Kelly’s body wasn’t to be found. Maybe Bruno was right. Maybe Kelly’s corpse had gotten lodged somehow at the bottom of the lake. Maybe the fish were nibbling at his flesh right now. God, Zeke hoped so. But he couldn’t just sit by and hope. Kelly could have survived and made it to someone’s home. Zeke wouldn’t rest. He wouldn’t let up until he personally laid a hand on the man’s dead body. And if he found the man alive . . .

  He got out of his car and walked to the front porch. The last three homeowners he’d visited had been more than willing to show him in, let him look around. Of course, his badge always gave people a sense of security. People were idiots!

  Chapter Six