A Grand Seduction Page 22

  “Sounds great. Been a long day.”

  She reached in for a beer, thought for a second, and made it two. Hell, maybe this one and several more that sadly weren’t stocked in there might help her get through this date, if that’s what it truly was.

  “May have caught a small break on that one case, though.”

  Ridelle stiffened. “Oh?”

  “Victim was apparently seeing some woman who wasn’t the wife or the mistress. A distinctive, manicured female with a wide-brimmed hat.”

  Holy shit. Ridelle almost dropped the beer in her hand. “That’s not possible.”

  “What?” Warren shifted a curious gaze her way.

  She forced words past the pounding in her throat as naturally as possible. “I just meant that if the woman wore a big hat, how could anyone really identify her? Wouldn’t that kind of hide her face?”

  He held her gaze for a span of beats as she forced herself to join him on the couch. “Yeah, well, that does make it tougher. But it’s something, and gives me another possible player. Anyway, I’m sorry. Shop talk again. I’ll can it.”

  Warren sipped at the beer she gave him. The gaze he turned on her could melt the one in her hands. “Great place you’ve got. Cozy.” His eyes took in the span of her, sitting beside him in a tight cotton sheath that navigated her curves without the benefit of a bra. But her mind was elsewhere.

  Things were going from dire to desperate. Dominique had to be the woman in question, only the details were wrong. She’d never even left the bar with the guy. He’d rejected her advances. But some drunk idiot with the wrong memory could swing the compass needle far too close for Ridelle’s comfort. She had to talk to the group, now. Dominique especially. They needed a much better plan than “wait and it’ll blow over”. She couldn’t exactly toss Warren out so she could hold a tribal council, though. Her little comment had been stupid enough.

  Warren slid a bit closer to her. “Ridelle.” His voice dropped to a low murmur. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About that kiss.” He leaned closer, reaching out for the back of her neck. Patting herself on the back for not giving into the desire to flinch, she closed her eyes and gave into his lips.

  It wouldn’t be ethical if he was onto her, right? He wouldn’t fuck her if he seriously thought she was involved in this murder.

  Shifting herself onto his lap, she straddled him and wrapped her arms around his neck. It was gratifying to hear his erotic moan and feel the erection burning against her through his trousers. Let him fuck her, and then she could relax. She’d know this wasn’t all a ruse.

  Still, when her wish came true and Warren was buried inside her, panic built rather than dwindled. Stress and worry drowned any hope of experiencing true enjoyment, despite the fact that his technique was admirable. Despite the electric chemistry that had seized her on the dance floor, she found herself having yet another sexual first. She faked an orgasm.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Twyla slammed her car keys on the kitchen counter, grimacing as she felt a fingernail give way. She strode over to a drawer, fished out an emery board and filed the rough edges way harder than necessary.

  Andy had seemed downright unhappy to see her when she’d driven up to the hospital. Granted, the reason for her impromptu visit went beyond paying an innocent visit to her husband, but he didn’t know that. There was a lot he didn’t know about Twyla these days, and the list kept growing. He hadn’t seemed unhappy when his floozy of a nurse walked in on her visit, though.

  She tried to banish the thought as she glanced down at her nail. She’d filed it down too far on one side, leaving it lopsided and ridiculous. Just like her life.

  She knew that Andy would never stray, but why couldn’t he look at her with the same glimmer of life in his eyes that he reserved for other people? Their paths had forked some over the past few years, his with career, hers with raising the kids. Some distance was probably a natural side effect of that. She’d gone and done other things to fill the void, but instead they had forced the chasm wider apart.

  And some of the things she’d done! She sure as hell hadn’t joined the Ladies’ Hospital Auxiliary, had she? What would Andy have to say if he knew what his wife had really been up to in Jersey? It had been with much reluctance that she’d assumed the role of cell phone dumper, but she’d done it. Yes, she’d gotten her hands dirty in this game, even if not her sheets.

  Her pretense of dropping in for a visit had left Andy suspicious and a bit cold. She’d gone a long way out of her way for a quick “pop in,” true. But would it have killed him to act happy to see her? She’d gotten a frowning, “What are you doing here?” while his pretty blonde nurse had ranked a boyish grin and a, “Thanks for all your help.” He didn’t bother introducing Twyla.

  Then again, maybe he just didn’t know who Twyla was anymore. A stranger came to visit him today, and perhaps he’d sensed it. A stranger who aided and abetted, one who’d come darn close to throwing herself around like a prostitute for a cause that wasn’t even her own. Did he have any idea of the kind of woman his wife had become?

  Did she?

  Tugging open the refrigerator, she began assembling ingredients for dinner. The dutiful wife and mother, preparing yet another healthful, wholesome meal from scratch for the family she loved. Would the man of the house rush home to enjoy it? No.

  Dropping a head of cabbage and a bag of carrots on the counter, Twyla sniffed. Her nerves and agitation weren’t Andy’s fault, not really. Nor were they entirely the side effects of her little ditch and run mission. There were other immediate concerns.

  Heading to the kitchen phone, she speed-dialed Fran.

  “It’s done,” she said when Fran answered. “What’s the latest? Anyone heard from Ridelle yet?”

  “She called late this morning,” Fran said.

  “How’d the date go?”

  “Like gangbusters, or should I say, gangbangers.”

  “That’s good.” She measured her words carefully, as they’d all agreed. Saying too much on the phone would be profoundly stupid. “He’s genuinely interested, then. I hope she is, too.”

  “You know Ridelle,” the other twittered. “She still has concerns. But I think that’s getting better.”

  “Coming to lunch on Wednesday?”

  “Couldn’t beat me off with a stick. See you then.”

  Twyla was still thinking about the brief conversation a half hour later as she stood over a large pot of corned beef and cabbage. Steam boiled out to flush her moist skin, frizzing her curls as she tried to shove their predicament out of her mind.

  She still has concerns.

  Who could blame her? Ridelle was in bed with the devil, so to speak, while jail could be knocking on the door. Misgivings bubbled up around all of them, and Twyla wondered how long they could go on like this before one of them boiled over. Maybe it would be better to let the truth come out, rather than live with the eternal drama of looking over their shoulders.

  Twyla stirred spices into the pot. Stirring the pot, was that what she was thinking? No. She couldn’t go to jail and leave her family like that. And Andy wound never forgive her. She may not have been the one starring in the racy photos, but she was bouncing on that mattress just as surely as the rest of them. And their orgy of greed had cost a man his life. Whatever his sins of infidelity, he hadn’t deserved that.

  Tossing a bay leaf into the water, she turned away from the stove and wiped a forearm across her brow. So was this how it would be from now on? Nagging regret over something she never should have been involved in, something that could come back to haunt her. Even if it didn’t, her shoulder angels and devils were jerking her around limb from emotional limb. Would she be able to forget the image of a man lying in a pool of his own blood, if not by her own hand, perhaps by at least half a finger? And if she could, what did that say about the woman she’d become?

  On the built-in desk, a photo of her family smiled out at her from a magical place of better times. All
she could do was hold her breath and pray they’d never learn the truth, because even though she may deserve it, they didn’t. Perhaps her remorse would protect her from the consequences of bad choices. If things did blow over, and the others got any crazy ideas to start their grand seduction scheme up again, she would not be any part of it. She couldn’t control what they did, but by God she’d do her best to talk them out of it. And if she failed, well, she loved her friends, but valued her sanity more. She’d let go with love.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  April was a time of beauty and crisp, razor sharp air along the waterfront, and today the sky blazed with an intensity that almost hurt the eyes. Sun sparkled in the blue-gray iris of the Delaware, though clouds mirrored on the surface reflected a gathering storm. Odette’s was a cacophony of clattering dishware and conversation, save the bubble of quiet at the window table overlooking the river way. Three chairs were occupied there, by friends picking silently at the same food they’d been ordering for years. Today, the food held no luster. Today, it wouldn’t have mattered if it did.

  Silverware scraped plates with a metallic din, the waterfront diners occasionally looking up to sip coffee from a china cup and catching each other’s eye. Unable to hold their gaze for long, they dipped back down to studying meals none had any appetite for.

  “Get anything else for you ladies?”

  Heads snapped up, the reverie broken as their waiter stood behind the vacant seat.

  Dominique shook her head. “Nothing, Ronald. Thank you.”

  “No one else today?” He tapped the back of the empty chair. His smile was infectious, on any other day at least.

  Fran managed a weak imitation. “Ridelle’s not coming. Sorry.”

  He started to reply, then with a slight flush turned away.

  “Poor boy,” Dominique broached the silence barrier between them. “She’ll never give him a chance.”

  “Especially since she’s out with Mr. Wonderful again,” Twyla added. “How many does that make now?”

  “Three, four times a week the past three weeks,” Fran said. “But who’s counting?”

  “He must have it bad for her,” Twyla said. “He’s logging a lot of drive time.”

  Fran nodded. “Hope those cop sedans get good gas mileage. You think the police department pays for all his jaunts back and forth?”

  “That depends on whether he’s doing it for business,” Dominique said. Looks shifted back and forth, then smiles fell and silence descended again.

  After a long moment pushing the same piece of shrimp around her plate, she added, “What exactly did Ridelle say again?”

  Twyla put down her cup of tea. “He was making this date a mid-day lunch to celebrate.”

  Fran sighed. “Yeah, but celebrate what?”

  “He’s a detective,” Twyla said. “I’m guessing we know what.”

  “We don’t know that,” Dominique said. “He could have gotten a raise, or bought a new puppy. We just have to wait and see.”

  Fran shrugged. “And she’ll call us the minute she knows something, right?”

  “Unless it’s a trap,” Twyla said. “She had to drive up there to him this time.”

  “Because his favorite restaurant is there, supposedly,” Dominique corrected. “It wouldn’t make sense otherwise. Why not just come down here and arrest her?”

  “She’s right.” Fran tucked a flurry of red behind one ear. “We have to assume it really is just lunch. But I’m damned curious to know what the big break he hinted at is.”

  “Me too,” Twyla said. “But she did warn that he won’t discuss a lot of specifics.”

  “Seems like most of their conversations are one groin to the other.” Fran attempted a half laugh that became little more than a hiccup.

  A perfect lip print stayed behind as Dominique lowered her coffee cup, showing just how little of her lunch had been consumed. “Hopefully she’ll glean enough information from this to see where the investigation is focused. That should put our minds at ease.”

  Twyla’s arms folded across the front of a lemony cotton sweater. “Are they ever going to be at ease?”

  Fran leaned forward, voice dropping. “You know what she means.”

  “I do. That’s the problem.” The blonde stared out the window. “I can’t help thinking about it. I dream about it, only I’m the one holding the gun. This was all our fault.”

  “We didn’t hold that gun,” Fran said, reaching across for her hand. “Don’t think that way.”

  “Why not? We never should have gotten into this in the first place. Now we’re being punished.”

  Dominique spoke up. “Did it ever occur to you that he had it coming?”

  Twyla sighed. “That doesn’t absolve us. And it scares me a bit that you guys feel it does. After all these years, I wonder if we really know each other at all.”

  Dominique stared back, her expression unreadable. Fran patted Twyla’s hand. “Honey, we’re all sorry for what’s happened. We can’t change the past, not even if we turned ourselves in. I try to take comfort in knowing we did do some good, but now it’s over. All we can do is move forward.”

  Jade eyes flashed with pain. “But what happened was wrong. Are we not supposed to care?”

  “Everyone does wrong, darling,” Dominique implored her with a hard stare. “It’s human. We can’t spend our lives flogging our backs for each mistake.”

  “I suppose.” Folded arms sank back down to rest on the napkin in her lap. Twyla eyed Dominique. “Though ironically spoken by a woman who chose to dress in head to toe black today. I feel like we’re sitting at a funeral.”

  Red lips curved into the briefest of smiles. “We all have our own ways of mourning downfalls, my dear.”

  Fran sat back and snatched her fork off her plate. “Well, I’m going to do my best to stay positive that Ridelle’s new friendship is both coincidental and convenient. Unless we hear anything to suggest otherwise, I think we should just get on with life. No one knew names, our faces, or where we live, and no amount of nosy detective work can change that.”

  “You’re right, of course.” Dominique held up her coffee cup. “And no matter, we’ve got each other. To friends and useful alliances.”

  “Right,” Fran said.

  Two cups joined her toast. Then the ladies went back to their own thoughts. After a moment, Fran laid her napkin beside her plate. “I just wish that Ridelle would hurry up and call.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “You could be arrested for this, you know.”

  Ridelle closed her eyes, not believing what she was experiencing. She may have had misgivings about today—not to mention every date she’d had with Warren—but this. Calling it heaven would do it injustice.

  “Maybe.” Warren took another bite of the concoction and chewed. “But it’d be worth the jail time.”

  “It’s so good it’s got to be illegal. What’s it called again?”

  “Fried stuffed melon.”

  “Amazing.”

  “Hope you save room. The Masala Dosais will knock you off your feet.”

  “I thought you were nuts making me drive up here. Now I see why.”

  “Thali Garden’s the best, if you love Indian buffet.” Warren smiled, then snatched a napkin from his lap and leaned over to dab at Ridelle’s chin. “Haven’t been in ages.”

  Her grateful gaze for getting schmootz wiped off her face dissolved a bit. “But this is a special occasion?”

  “In a manner of speaking. But I thought we’d finish eating first. I’m starved.”

  She gave a close-lipped smile and followed him to the buffet line, where an impossibly large assortment of steaming eastern delights beckoned. Heaping far more vegetables, chicken, lentil cakes, and fruit on her plate than she knew she could eat, she returned to their small table. The place was simple and far less eloquent than the meal with Bruce that seemed ages ago, but the food was absolutely stellar.

  Ridelle wondered why that dinner wi
th Bruce had come to mind as she stabbed at an unidentified piece of meat. For his part, Warren alternated between gobbling food and stopping to watch Ridelle, as if he was trying to memorize every line and twist of her face.

  She made it halfway through her food before her stomach rebelled. Sipping her iced tea, she shot Warren a look. “So no more mystery. What are we celebrating?”

  “You.” He raised his own glass to her.

  Ridelle snorted. “Sounds like a line to me. Come on. Why’d you drag me to New York?”

  She watched with increased trepidation as the glitter sputtered in his fiery blue gaze sputtered, then went out.

  “Warren? Is this really a celebration, or am I about to get the Dear Jane speech?”

  He dropped his napkin on the table and pushed back with a sigh. “It’s neither. I wanted to make sure you’d come. I figured if you thought it was a special occasion, it’d give you more reason.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “You don’t think you’re reason enough?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe not after today.”

  The tone held a foreboding Ridelle had prayed she’d never hear outside her paranoid nightmares. “What are you saying?”

  “There’s been a big break in the Harrison case.”

  Trepidation bloomed into screaming terror. She was a hundred percent certain she didn’t want to hear the rest. But she was about to, either way. “But you’re not celebrating?”

  “No. It’s good that we know, now, so justice can be served. But I must say it was quite a shock.”

  Ridelle swallowed, glancing around the restaurant. Were these the last moments of freedom she would ever experience? Did he have backup standing by in case she tried to fight?

  Her voice caught just a bit. “What are you trying to say?”

  “An arrest is being made for the murder.” He glanced at his watch. “Or will be any minute.”

  They stared at each other for a mouth-drying stretch. “Then shouldn’t you be there?” Then again, he could very well be right where he needed to be.