Lust and Honor, Page 3

CHAPTER ONE

  Alexandra Cameron groaned as the sound of the doorbell yanked her out of the depths of sleep. When it rang again and again, she forced one eye open to squint at the green glow of the bedside clock — 3:00 a.m. Will had to have heard the maddening sound too so why didn’t he wake up and send whoever it was away? She rolled toward her husband’s side of the bed, but there was only emptiness where she expected to find the warmth of his slumbering body. “What the…” she mumbled. Her heart began to race in confusion as she sat up and grabbed a robe to cover her nakedness.

  “Will? Will?” she shouted as she flicked on lights on her way to the door. Where could he be? They’d had a post-sex craving for ice cream and Will had gallantly offered to walk the few short blocks to their neighborhood’s all-night market. He’d left just before midnight and told her not to go to sleep, that he’d be back soon, but she’d closed her eyes and she was out. Where the hell was he? Her thoughts were muddled as she raced barefoot across the living room’s cold hardwood. He must have forgotten his key. That had to be it.

  His name was on her lips as she opened the door, but her eyes widened when instead of her six foot four husband, she found a uniformed cop who looked about sixteen and a paunchy older man in a dark suit.

  “Mrs. Cameron?” the suit asked.

  Her mouth refused to form words so she just nodded. She put a hand on the door to steady herself as fear took hold and her stomach did a flip-flop.

  “Your husband is William Cameron?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, then pulled the short silk robe more tightly around her body when she noticed the younger cop checking her out. Something must have happened to Will if the police had come to their house at three in the morning. Her mind raced to come up with an explanation, while she tried to convince herself that she was in the midst of a particularly vivid and terrifying dream.

  Still standing at the door, she ordered her sleep-fogged brain to think, something she always found difficult without a jolt of caffeine. Her laid-back husband had been on edge for the past couple of weeks, but he’d been smiling, happy and sexually sated when he’d left their bed a few hours ago and he wasn’t the kind of man to just disappear. Was his anxiety caused by a premonition that something bad was about to happen? She wouldn’t allow her mind to go there.

  She blinked and rubbed her eyes, but the older man was still standing at the door. He flashed a badge. “I’m Pete O’Shea, a homicide detective with the Boston Police and this young man is Officer Jim Warren. Is it all right if we come in?”

  “My husband isn’t here…I’m not sure,” Alex mumbled, but O’Shea hadn’t really been asking her permission. She stepped back as the two men strode into the apartment. The detective grasped her arm and steered her into a chair.

  “Find a blanket and a glass of water,” he growled at his young partner, and then added in a voice that was barely audible, “a shot of whiskey would be better.”

  Alex pulled her body as far as possible into the gray cushions of Will’s favorite chair and drew her legs under her. Her heart was pounding and she couldn’t expand her lungs to take the deep breath she desperately needed. She lowered her eyes and waited until she could make her voice work. Then her words tumbled out. “Where is Will? Is he hurt? Is that what you came to tell me? What’s happened to my husband?”

  O’Shea recognized the woman’s imminent hysteria and knew it was best to keep this kind of news short and simple. “I’m very sorry to have to say this Mrs. Cameron, but your husband is dead. He was murdered tonight.”

  “What? What did you say?” Alex’s brain couldn’t immediately decipher the detective’s words and she stared at his deeply lined face. It was a kind face, yet this man with the warm brown eyes had just allowed his mouth to say something monstrous. Her lips parted as she attempted to speak, to question, but her tongue seemed to have been ripped from its roots and she remained silent until a shudder wracked her body and she began to wail, “noooooooo, nooooooo.”

  “Please go away,” she begged as tears streamed down a face that was deathly pale. “He went to the store…for ice cream. I’m sure he’ll be home soon. You need to leave.”

  “I wish that was the case Mrs. Cameron, but I’ve seen his body,” the detective said. The young cop handed O’Shea the plaid blanket he’d found in the bedroom and the older man threw it over Alex’s bare legs, then wrapped her quivering shoulders in a navy blue throw that he’d grabbed from a nearby chair, but she continued to tremble uncontrollably. She tried to take a sip from the glass of water that the rookie put into her hand, but she couldn’t swallow. Was she paralyzed like in a dream when you can’t run from danger?

  “You’re lying! Why are you lying?” she shrieked as she pounded the arm of the chair with her fist. She grasped O’Shea’s hand and raised her pleading eyes to his weary face, then recoiled as she saw the detective’s own sorrow there. He had to strain to hear her next words, ones that would never come true. “I want Will. I want him to come home.”