Grumpaluffagus and I trekked along the riverbed, slipping and sliding on the wet rocks. Up ahead, Wallace stood knee-high in the brisk current, flicking his fishing rod back and forth above his head.
I scratched behind my buddy’s ear. He nudged me with a massive shoulder and nearly knocked me on my butt.
“See that man?” I asked and pointed up the river.
Grumpy answered with a head shake and a snort.
“I do so despise him. He’s done some terrible, terrible things. Wanna know what the worst part is?” I unhooked the leash from his spike-studded collar. “He thinks he can get away with it because he has money.”
A string of drool dangled above my feet when he growled.
“Now he’s eating your yummy fish.”
Grumpy shook his head and bounced up and down on his mighty front paws, his snout curled in a snarl.
“He’ll be easy to catch, and I bet he tastes every bit as good as those scaly appetizers. Plus, you’ll have some bones to chew when you’ve finished your meal.” I ruffled the fur between his ears. “Now, be a good little teddy bear and eat that bad man.”
I patted the grizzly’s hindquarters, turned, and headed back down the rocky shore. I smiled when I heard a shrill scream, laughed out loud when a shredded pair of waders floated past me.
“Baby?”
A heavy hand shook me back to consciousness. “What’s so funny?”
Wow, that voice. What a way to wake up. I peeled my moist face from his warm skin. “Sorry. I was dreaming.”
“Must’ve been a good one.”
“It was.” One of the best yet.
He trailed a finger up and down the curve of my back. “Tell me.”
I buried my nose in his chest and shook my head. “You don’t want to know.”
“I want to know everything. Especially if it makes you laugh.” How did he always know the right thing to say?
“It was about Wallace.”
Franklin’s body tensed.
I smacked his chest. “I’ll tell you, but no judging, okay?”
“Cross my heart.”
I couldn’t believe I was telling somebody. “I dream about killing him. Almost every day. It usually isn’t pretty.”
“That’s why you were laughing?” he asked with a chuckle.
I nodded. “Warped, huh?”
“Just a little, Killer.”
“Killer? Ha! You’re funny.” I smacked his arm. “I fantasize about it at work, too. When I’m zoning out, and you have to yell to get my attention, I’m usually murdering him.”
“Huh,” he huffed. “Morbid, but kinda sexy.” He shifted to his side and molded my breast in his hand, pinching my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. My breath caught and my hips rolled and pressed into him, seeking his skin, his heat…just him.
I pressed a finger to his lips when he leaned in for a kiss. “Nope. I spilled the beans. Now it’s your turn.”
He groaned and nipped the pad of my finger.
“You didn’t judge. I won’t either,” I promised and laid my hand over his heart.
“No one has ever given me a gift aside from my mother.” He pressed his forehead to mine. Tingles flittered across my skin.
“You gave me the most precious gift.” His voice thickened. “One I don’t deserve. I took it like a greedy son of a bitch. You can never have it back. It’s mine forever. It hit me in the shower, how fucking monumental that was…” He cupped my ass and ground me against his swollen cock. “I didn’t expect it. I was overwhelmed.” His lips tickled my cheek. “I just wish I’d known, I would’ve been careful with you.”
“It was perfect,” I managed to mumble through the lump stuck in my throat. “And you’re perfect.”
“I’m not. God, I’ll never be good enough for you.”
That wasn’t the self-confident Franklin I’d worked side by side with for the past couple of months. He wasn’t the man who’d swooped down from his white cloud to cloak me with his protective shield. The Franklin, lying naked with me in the dark, seemed halfway real and for the first time…attainable.
I’d set him high on a pedestal, to worship and adore. So close, but forever out of reach. With the absence of light, when his unreal beauty couldn’t blind me, I saw the man inside. I liked what was in there. I liked it so much, my chest hurt.
“Let’s not waste any more time talking,” I said, sliding my hand down the bumpy muscles of his torso.
He gripped my wrist and stopped me. “I don’t want to hurt you. We should take it easy.”
“I’m a twenty-four year old virgin. Was a twenty-four year old virgin. I’m a freakin’ pressure cooker ready to blow. You can’t lay next to me all naked and muscular and super sexy and expect me to sleep. Come on. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
Franklin laughed. I loved his laugh. I loved making him laugh.
I didn’t know what hour of the night or morning it was, but by the time the sun peeked through the trees, I’d gained an intimate knowledge of my body. Franklin’s, too.
The drive home that afternoon was mostly a blur. We did stop to buy a new phone. Franklin insisted I get a new number and a whole new carrier. His, actually. The sex coma I’d been in the entire day prevented me from arguing. I’d change it later if necessary, when my thoughts weren’t inundated with visions of male body parts.
“Shall I stay with you tonight?” he asked when he pulled next to my car in the parking lot of his apartment. I knew it was more a statement than a question.
“Um, duh.” I stuck my tongue out and crossed my eyes.
He put the suitcase in my trunk and made sure I was belted in the driver’s seat before closing the door. “I’ll run upstairs, grab some clean clothes. Be right down. I’ll follow you home, don’t leave without me.”
“Okay, Dad.” I gave him a two-finger salute and watched his fine ass strut across the gravel lot. I scanned my surroundings after he disappeared behind the door. It was daylight, yet the innocent parking lot reminded me of a cemetery on a foggy night during a full moon. A motorcycle passed on the street and my pulse raced. A tall man walked by and I shrunk in my seat. Shit. The stalker creep had wedged his way under my skin and stuck, hindering my ability to look at the world through rose-colored glasses.
Franklin took too damned long to come back. When he did, I released my death grip on the steering wheel. He gave me a thumbs up and pulled a baseball cap low on his forehead before hopping in his car.
He rode my ass the entire drive home.
* * * *
Who knew a zipper could be sexy? I’d never given much consideration to the sound the slider made as it bumped over metal teeth, traveling downward, freeing its captor from the binds of cotton, leather, or in my case, denim. But through the short, heavy breaths, the smack of wet lips across my collarbone, the drone of cars passing in the street below, that one sound resonated above every other. Franklin Reed pulled the zipper of my jeans down with a slow, steady, controlled motion, driving me completely out of my mind with want.
I wiggled, hoping to speed things up.
“We have all night, Killer. No need to rush.” The muscles behind that zipper tightened in response to the deep rasp of his voice.
Oh, how I did need to rush. Every part of me burned and swelled with the ebb and flow of heated blood pounding through my veins. The softest touch, each whisper or slight shift of his body, amplified the vibrations of overwrought nerves. I would die. I truly would die if he didn’t grant me a reprieve from the torture.
I couldn’t take any more. “You’re killing me,” I screamed, pushing him away.
My cheeks throbbed, flushed with need. That was nothing compared to the burn behind Franklin’s eyes when he watched me strip the last of my clothing away. My jeans landed somewhere near the bathroom door. My panties? Who cared?
Exhausted as I was from the zero hours of sleep granted the night before, my sole concern was to have the man, who stood in his birthday suit center stage in my bedroom, in any position other than upright. As long as any of our body parts touched, I’d be a happy, happy girl. I stepped closer, ready to pounce. Franklin took a step back, folded his arms across his chest and made a clicking noise with his tongue. “Good God, woman. That body is blazing.” Holding a hand up, he spun his finger in a fast circle. “Turn around.”
I wasn’t oblivious to the dimples gracing my plump rear. I had natural curves, cellulite in a few places. Body image had never been an issue. I didn’t need a man or a size two waist to make me feel pretty, but holy heaven above, the way his eyes narrowed and lips twisted—Sophia Loren, Marilyn Monroe, hell, even Scarlett Johansson had nothing on me. I turned slow, jetted my rear and tossed my hair over my shoulder.
Smack.
Franklin’s hand stung my fanny. I squealed.
“This ass is mine.” From behind, he rubbed away the bite of his slap.
I reached back and guided his hands to my chest. “And these?”
He massaged my breasts, holding their weight. “These tits are mine.”
A fiery spasm roared between my legs. As if sensing the heat, he slid one hand down my stomach and cupped my sex. “And this, Killer, belongs to me.” He trailed wet kisses along my shoulder and up my neck. “Forever,” he whispered, sliding a finger inside me.
Forever? Wow. That sounded insane. How could he talk about forever, this stranger who’d become my world? It was too soon. At least that’s what common sense dictated. I wanted an eternity with him, as sure as the sun would rise in the morning.
His clever fingers rubbed and invaded, his lips moistened my skin from ear to chin. His erection pushed between my butt cheeks, settling nice and tight.
“I’m the only man who’s been inside you. I get so fucking hard just thinking about it.” He pushed deeper. “Promise me, love. Tell me there will never be another.” His strong finger curled and white heat exploded inside me. My legs buckled and Franklin let me collapse to the floor, catching me in his lap, never retreating. I came with violent shudders around his thick, magical finger. My head fell against his shoulder, my body tensed and quivered in his arms. He held me tight, rocked with me as I writhed in wanton pleasure, fucking his hand.
When I relaxed into him, he didn’t relent. He cupped my sex, circling the sensitive nub with his thumb, teased a nipple between his fingers with the other hand. “Say it, love. I want you to say it. Your words, your promise. They mean everything.”
Completely out of my mind with orgasmic overload, I hadn’t a clue what he wanted me to say, let alone the wherewithal to slow my breathing enough to speak.
Releasing my nipple, he squeezed my jaw and forced my face to meet his. “No other man will have you, Tate. Say it.”
Holy shit.
His eyes burned, hands trembled. “Say it,” he commanded through gritted teeth.
“I only want you.” I forced my words through jagged breaths.
His thumb circled harder, possessive against me. “No other man. Promise me.”
Pillow talk, heat-of-the-moment, lust-fueled words? Nope. Franklin pulled some Mark Wahlberg in Fear, Julian Sands in Boxing Helena shit. Was I afraid? Yes—of disappointing him or scaring him away.
I grasped his wrist and pulled his hand from between my thighs. Then I turned and wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck. “No other man. Ever. Only you.”
Did I only say that to appease him?
No. I wanted him—all of him, in every way possible. I just couldn’t understand why he wanted me, plain old, soft-and-squishy me. But he did, and I would’ve done or said anything he asked. Not because I was powerless to resist his charms. Nor was I a mindless bimbo trying to up her social status by association with a should-be super model. It was because, in Franklin, I sensed not only a kindred spirit, but a haunting desire for unconditional trust and commitment. Those were key ingredients in any successful relationship.
I had them to give in spades.
* * * *
We’d slept in because we’d kept each other awake most of the night. He’d discovered my birth control pills in the bathroom and came out wearing a shit-eating grin. He confessed that he’d always worn a condom with his ex. Since I’d never been with another man, and he’d been safe, we ditched the Magnums. After that, it was no holds barred.
After I’d dipped my toe in the pool of sexual bliss, I felt the need to cannonball into the deepest end, float the bottom and only come up for air when absolutely necessary.
We rushed to get ready for work. I threw my cell into my purse, grabbed my keys, and almost forgot to lock the door as we scurried out. Franklin, however, did not. Shooting a scornful glare, he pulled his own set of keys from his suit jacket and took care of business.
We rode the elevator to the parking garage and he escorted me, hand in hand, to my car and held the door while I situated myself.
“See you there, Killer.” He kneaded my breast, kissed me hard, and waited for me to fasten my safety belt. We’d agreed at some point during the night’s festivities that, considering office gossip, it’d be better to take separate cars to work.
I watched him leave through the pedestrian door, shoulders back, head held high, rockin’ the hell out of his Armani suit. How could he afford Armani anything? On the salary Wallace paid his lower level employees, Suits-R-Us would better fit his budget. The sight of him, especially the backside, had my thoughts traversing a torrid path. I was tempted to forget about work and drag the man back upstairs.
A pang of fear ripped through my chest when he strutted out of sight, like it was the last gander I’d ever get of his magnificent form. I shifted the car into drive and tapped the wheel, struggling for breath and impatiently waiting for the heavy grille door to inch its way up, up, up. I tore through before it completely opened. My pulse stopped racing only after I spied Franklin leaning against his car with his cell raised to his ear. He flashed his pearly whites my direction. Air returned to my lungs.
Whew. What the hell was that mini panic attack about? Lack of sleep. Yes. Must be overtired. I waved to him and headed toward a fresh new Monday with hopes it’d be better than the last.
I checked my rearview, Franklin-style, certain Mr. Sexy Pants was hot on my tail. Disappointment misted through me when there was no sign of him. A few blocks later, I checked again. No Franklin, but there was a man on a motorcycle two cars behind—and by golly, he straddled a black Harley.
Gut clench? Yup.
Rapid heartbeat? Um, yeah. Jackrabbit speed.
I swerved into the right lane to make my exit, cutting off a not-so-friendly Audi. I ignored the middle finger waving objections and focused on the motorcycle’s actions. Staying two cars behind, he slipped into my lane.
Shit.
A storm brewed in my belly. Steam rolled between my ears. I waited for the light that seemed perpetually red. Where was Franklin? Mr. Overprotective-and-Overbearing suddenly decided to leave me on my own? My usual route would’ve taken me left. To test my I’m-being-followed theory, I turned right. So did the motorcycle.
Another right. He swerved between my car and a parcel delivery truck to land behind me. I took a sharp left, pissing off more than a few drivers and a couple pedestrians.
Motorcycle man followed, this time riding my ass. I could’ve slammed on the brakes and ended things right quick. I could’ve driven to the police station only a few blocks away. I decided it best to get to work, where Franklin should be waiting. At least, I hoped like hell he was.
To my surprise and relief, half the SPD surrounded our building, accompanied by two fire trucks, a news crew, and a fleet of unmarked matching black Buicks. I parked behind Franklin’s SUV in the middle of the street.
Motorcycle man, apparently displeased by the scene, turned his bike around with minimal squealing of tires. He disappeared before I could get a look at his license number.
My heart skipped a beat when Franklin strode toward me, but it sunk to my gut when Detective Waters appeared from behind an ambulance and interrupted his trek. They exchanged words. Franklin’s wrinkles set hard, and Leland’s shoulders raised at least an inch. I stayed right where I was, snug as a bug in my safe little car.
Detective Waters typed something on his cell, shook Franklin’s hand, and walked away after nodding my direction.
For crying out loud, what now?
Franklin climbed into my passenger seat.
“What’s going on?” I was almost afraid to ask.
Face grim, eyes dark, he muttered, “Wallace is dead.”
“What?” I heard the words. They didn’t make sense.
“Murdered,” he mumbled, eyes glazed, jaw tight.
I shook my head. “No!”
He leaned over the console and pulled me into the safety of his arms.
“What do you mean, murdered? I don’t understand.” I tried to wiggle free. Franklin held me tight as if he needed the comfort more than I did.
“Someone threw him off the roof. The detective wouldn’t tell me more than that.”
I’d known the dick-wad my whole life. He was like the creepy uncle that nobody wanted around, yet could never get rid of. But he’d always been there. I couldn’t accept he was dead. “I don’t know what to say.”
“I know, baby.”
I looked up to see Nan coming out the front entrance tucked under the arm of a robust but gentle-looking officer. Face red and wet with tears, she looked my direction before he helped her into the back of his car.
No. This was not happening. No way did someone murder Wallace. I was the only one allowed to do that. Before Franklin could stop me, I jumped from the car and jogged toward the building. I needed to see for myself.
Bad idea? Hell yes.
I hadn’t considered Wallace’s body would still be on the cold pavement like a rag-doll that’d been tossed on the ground, limbs impossibly twisted, face unrecognizable. Uncovered, on display for the world to see.
Funny, the blood didn’t bother me so much. Maybe because I’d seen it so many times in my dreams. What did bother me? This wasn’t a dream I could wake from and shake off with a giggle. This reality wasn’t amusing in any way.
A solid voice over my shoulder made me jump. “I’m sorry, ma’am, you’ll need to return to your vehicle.”
A hand splayed against my lower back. “Are you crazy? What the hell were you thinking?” Franklin’s rebuke sliced through the fog invading my brain. He wrapped an arm around my waist and nudged me back toward the car. “We need to go. Detective Waters asked us to meet him at the police station to answer some questions.”
I started to turn, but a glimpse of something green caught my eye near Wallace’s foot, the one that wasn’t twisted the wrong way. “Wait.” I pushed Franklin’s arm off to get a better look. “No. It can’t be.”
He leaned over my shoulder. “Fuck.”
A shriveled, long stemmed, red rose lay on the ground next to Wallace, untouched by the blood.
* * * *
“Thank you for coming in. We’ll be talking to each employee. I wanted to get you in and out of here as quick as possible, considering—”
“The dead bodies following me around like flies,” I interrupted, unable to hold back a nervous smirk.
Leland slammed his pen on the table, rubbed his eyes, then crossed his arms. Apparently he wasn’t amused by my inability to keep my mouth shut when appropriate. I wasn’t trying to be funny. Two dead men and one brutal attack in two weeks? If it wasn’t a cruel joke, what the hell was going on? Were there hidden cameras and a jolly host hiding behind the desk, waiting to jump out and tell me I’d been duped? The shit I’d witnessed didn’t happen in the real world. Certainly not my sheltered corner of it.
“Miss Wood.”
“Tatum,” I reminded him. I leaned back in my chair and mimicked his posture.
“How well did you know Mr. Cruse?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’ve known him my whole life. He was friends with my father. He was always around.”
“I see.” He scribbled something on his yellow notepad. Chicken scratch from my perspective. “You don’t seem upset.” Leland held his pen in the writing position but lifted his eyes to mine, weariness evident by the dark half-moon shapes underneath.
“I should be, shouldn’t I? Maybe I’m in shock or something.”
“People who are in shock don’t know they’re in shock, and you don’t have any symptoms,” he grunted.
There went that theory. Maybe I’d seen too many corpses to be bothered by the sight of them anymore. “I won’t lie. I didn’t like him much. Nobody did. Any idea what happened?”
“We’re putting the pieces together and I’m asking the questions, remember?”
“I just…my father started the company. He got bored and sold it to Wallace. I don’t need the job, don’t like it much, either. I’ve stayed on because I feel close to my dad in that building.”
“I understand.” The detective pursed his lips. “Where were you last night and this morning?”
“At home.” I swallowed hard. “With Franklin.”
“I see.” His face lit up and a hefty dose of I told you so flashed in his eyes.
I needed to change the subject, and fast. “What about the rose?”
“What rose?”
“The one laying on the ground next to the body.”
“You saw the body?” He slammed his pen down again.
Oops. That damn mouth of mine. Did I get somebody in trouble? “It wasn’t anybody’s fault. I needed to see for myself that he was dead. They tried to stop me.” I proceeded to tell Leland about the roses and my stalker, leaving no detail out.
“Miss Wood, why didn’t you let me know this has been going on?”
“I was going to. Things have just been crazy.”
He massaged his right temple.”Yeah. Crazy is right.”
“Any news on Jacob Smart?” I asked, more curious about his connection with my father than anything.
Leland shot a nervous glance to the door, then the camera mounted in the corner of the room. “No, and we can’t discuss that here,” he whispered.
“What’s going to happen to Cruse Investigations? What about our clients? When can we get back to work?”
“You’ll be contacted when the place has been cleared. Shouldn’t be long. And Miss Wood, as much as I like you, I’d enjoy not having to see your face again for a while. Try to steer clear of trouble, will ya?” He half smiled and shook my hand.
I stepped into the hallway. Franklin leaned against the wall opposite me, hands tucked in his pockets, tie loose, legs crossed at the ankle. My cheeks heated. If public sex were legal, I would’ve jumped him right there. No joke.
“How you holding up?” He stood straight and grabbed my hand.
“Better than I should be, I suppose.” At least according to the good detective.
The door behind me opened with a jerk and I wheeled around, bumping against Franklin’s shoulder. “Reed,” Leland shouted. “Need a minute.” He paused and looked at me. “A private word.”
Franklin squeezed my hand. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” With a kiss to my head, he left me standing alone.
I leaned against the wall and watched people go about their business. Several uniformed men passed and nodded. A round, perky woman bounced past carrying two boxes of Krispy Kremes. My stomach grumbled. The aroma of java wafted my way.
I was about to go in search of the coffee but Franklin tore through the door with a red face and a scowl that made my hackles rise. He grabbed my elbow and tugged me toward the elevator.
“What?” I shrieked, struggling to balance while keeping pace with his strides. “Ouch. Let go.”
His grip tightened.
I tried to yank my arm free, which apparently pissed him off. He slammed me so hard against his chest, my teeth rattled. What in the world happened in the two minutes he was with Detective Waters?
The elevator door opened and we stepped inside. Or rather, he pulled me inside. Thank God it was empty, because I was about to unleash Hell’s wrath on his ass. Who did he think he was, manhandling me that way? My insides trembled with fury.
“Get your hands off me,” I shouted, shocked by the strength in my voice.
In a blink, I was pinned in the corner. Held silent by a set of pained and angry eyes. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
I couldn’t speak. I’d never seen him so enraged.
“That asshole followed you this morning?” He banged his hands against the wall panels on either side of my head. My stomach rolled and my heart relocated to my nether regions. “Why did I hear about it from that fuck of a detective?” he shouted.
I’m not sure where I found the courage, or what I would gain from violence, but I balled my fist and punched Franklin in the gut. That’s one thing I learned from my father. How to punch. I flat out refused to take self-defense and karate classes, mostly because I didn’t want to wear the stupid outfits. But Dad had let me play around with his punching bag. We had even sparred occasionally.
So, I punched Franklin. He made an oof sound and stepped away. That’s all I wanted, for him to back off. I couldn’t have hurt him. I had too little room to get a good jab in. Pissed that he’d acted the bully, I threw another punch the second I had ample clearance. I aimed for his face. My fist met his forearm. Damn, the man was fast.
Before I could yelp in shock, he managed to block my strike, twist my arm behind my back and pin me to the wall again.
“You were gonna hit me?” he asked, the gravel in his voice deeper than ever.
I turned my face from his, unable to bear the hurt lurking behind his angry expression. “You’re being a bully. What was I supposed to do?”
He released my arm. “Shit.” Tension rolled off his body and he backed away.
The elevator bounced to a stop and the doors slid open. Franklin stormed out and made a beeline for my car, fisting and stretching his fingers. He didn’t look back. I stayed a few paces behind on purpose. I hit the unlock button on my key fob, slid in, started the car, and tried to pull my door shut. Franklin held it open. I was too angry to look at him. What was that shit in the elevator about? Whatever his explanation, I sure as hell wasn’t about to put up with it.
He huffed. “Tate, baby. I’m—”
I raised my hand to stop him. “Not now. Not another word. Close my goddamned door and let me go home.”
He did.
As I drove away, I rolled my window down. “And don’t you dare think about following me.”
* * * *
I tossed my keys on the counter and got busy, and a smidge aggressive, with the coffee pot. My skin burned with anger so I splashed cold water on my face. While coffee brewed, I changed into my favorite new article of clothing—Franklin’s Pearl Jam T-shirt. It was long enough to cover my rear so I didn’t bother searching for bottoms. It’s not like I was going anywhere for the rest of the day. Why not be comfy? I ditched my bra, happy to be free of its binds. My room reeked of Gendarme and sex. Not what I needed to smell at the moment. I hightailed it out of there.
I filled my cup, doused it with extra cream, and nestled into the familiar cushions of my couch. It would’ve been a good time to call my mom, or a friend, but how could I explain what my life had become? Nobody would understand. Mom would worry herself sick and demand I move. My girlfriends would offer empty condolences and insist I spill the dirt on my new sex life. I’d be the gossip topic for the week, then they’d move on. Pissed as I was at him, I would not throw Franklin to the pack of she-wolves.
I wanted to talk to Lizzie. She seemed to get me. She knew Franklin, was fun, and definitely not a gossip whore. I should’ve asked for her number the other night. I’d have to remember to do that next time I saw her.
So I sat, alone on my couch, drinking coffee-flavored cream and pouting over Franklin Reed, the mystery man. I’d told him not to follow me, and as far as I could tell, he didn’t. Of that, I was pleased.
Okay, that wasn’t true. Was I happy? No. Abandoned. Vulnerable. Lonely. Not how I expected to feel in my moment of self-righteous indignation.
I wasn’t about to call him. Yes, dammit, I wanted him near me, on top of me, in me, but he needed to apologize. He’d have to make the first move. I clung to my phone like a security blanket. He’d call. He better.
At some point during the day, I dug out the photo album I’d wrangled from Mom after Dad died. Flipping through the pages sparked a case of the heebie-jeebies, and reminded me why Wallace creeped me out as a child. In the majority of photos, he sat or stood off to the side, gaze glued to my father. His smiles insincere. His expression…perverted adoration?
Most of the photos were of Mom, Dad and Wallace together. My parents were always touching. Always happy.
I’d have to call my mother and let her know about Wallace. After all, they’d been friends, too. Better sooner than later. I picked up the phone and dialed.
She answered on the second ring.
“Hi honey. It’s so nice to hear from you.”
“Hi Mom.” My voice crackled.
“Everything okay?” she asked, her tone guarded.
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean. I’m fine. Don’t worry.” Jeez, what was wrong with my tongue? “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
I heard shuffling on her end then the click of a door closing. “What, darling? You’re scaring me.”
I needed to say it. No sense beating around the bush. “Wallace was murdered this morning.”
What came next was a long, uncomfortable silence, then a sniffle.
“Mom?”
Her voice wavered when she asked, “What happened?”
“They found him outside our office this morning.” I couldn’t give the gory details and left it at that.
“Are you all right, Tatum?” she asked. “I know you didn’t love the man, but he was like family.”
“Yes. I am. It feels weird, you know?”
“I’ll catch the first flight I can get.”
“No, Mom. That’s not necessary. Let’s wait. I’ll get back to you with funeral details as soon as I know anything.”
“You’re right. That will give me time to arrange a caretaker for Grandpa.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Chugging along. He keeps asking when you’re coming to visit.”
Well, since I was no longer employed, or at least, didn’t have an employer, that might be sooner than later. “Kiss him for me. Maybe I’ll plan a trip after the funeral.”
“Oh, Tatum,” her voice raised an octave. “That would be lovely. I miss you so much.”
“Miss you too, Mom. I’ll call you when I know more.”
“Love you.” She made a kissing noise.
“Love you more, bye.”
Our conversations were always short and sweet. Mom wasn’t much of a talker. She showed her love and affection through actions more than words.
Dad, on the other hand, drowned you with it. A full-blown attack from every possible outlet. Physical, verbal, emotional. Nobody doubted Antonio Wood’s feelings for them, whether good or bad.
I pulled the photo that Detective Waters had given me from my purse. The one starring Dad, Jacob, and two beautiful women. Mom wasn’t in it. The photo must have been older than their marriage. Dad wouldn’t have cheated. He hadn’t been that kind of man. They’d celebrated their twenty-first wedding anniversary one month before Dad died. Could this photo be over twenty, twenty-five years old? I flipped it to check the back. No date printed. Damn.
I studied the faded image for answers. The woman snuggling next to my father had light hair. Platinum, from what I could tell. Dad used to joke he liked his ladies buxom and blond. I couldn’t help but think she looked familiar somehow. Maybe I’d seen her growing up. Maybe she was a family friend? No. That couldn’t be right. She touched my father far too intimately for that to be true.
I slammed the photo down, stretched on the couch and pulled the afghan over myself. Franklin still hadn’t called. I sure wasn’t going to call him. No way. No how.
But Lordy, I was tempted.