It was way past the kids’ bedtime, so they skipped reading.
Brent lurched zombie-like into the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and stumbled out again, shuffling into his room and falling into bed. Anna was out like a light. David carried her to bed, pulled the covers up to her shoulders, made sure her Dora night-light was on and left her.
Back in his own bedroom, he found Amy waiting for him, curled on the bed in a nest of pillows. She was naked except for black stockings.
David’s heart beat faster.
She grinned at her husband. “Are they asleep?”
“Yep.”
“How asleep?”
He tugged his tie loose and shrugged out of his jacket. “Very asleep.”
She crooked a finger at him. “Come on then.”
He took it slow this time, kissing a slow trail down her body, luxuriating in her curves. Amy’s skin was bright and clear, an exhilarating contrast to the black stockings. She was soft and warm, and they pressed hard against each other as they kissed, losing themselves to each other completely.
When neither of them could stand it any longer, he positioned himself over her. She guided him in, and he entered slowly, a little at a time. He rocked into her, picking up speed gradually. Her head went back, eyes closed tight, mouth open.
They were both getting close, and David picked up speed.
Amy wrapped her legs around him, crossing her ankles at the small of his back, squeezing him to her. She began to tremble, hands clawing his back, digging in and hanging on tight. Finally her whole body shook, and she groaned David’s name into his ear. He grunted and went stiff and then slack and slid off of her. They lay panting together in bed.
A moment later, Amy trailed her fingers down David’s back. “So. Ready to go again?”
David laughed.
* * *
David was predictably cheerful the rest of the weekend. He’d risen to the occasion and had given Amy the second round she’d asked for, and she’d even been receptive to a predawn quickie before he’d stumbled out of bed the next morning to start the coffeemaker. He’d gotten more action in an eight-hour span than he had in the previous three weeks.
Take it while you can get it, pal. He laughed to himself and whistled as he made pancakes for the family.
He dragged the Weber out that afternoon and grilled hamburgers. The kids chased each other on the lawn. Brent seemed not to miss the little blinking handheld game. Amy stretched in a lounge chair, shorts and bare feet, reading a trashy paperback. Life was good.
He burned the hamburgers. He couldn’t seem to get the hang of charcoal. It didn’t matter. To him it was a gourmet feast.
David tried not to wonder how long it would last. His wife had often been distant and David was acutely aware he was to blame. Since the Army had put him on indefinite leave to “recuperate” he hadn’t done much with himself and he hadn’t explained himself, not fully, not to Amy’s satisfaction. He’d said he was home for a while because of fatigue. He’d been on an overseas deployment, managing the flow of personnel for a U.S. Army base in Germany.
At least, that was the story.
But there had been no sign of David returning to his duties, and when Amy had tried to ask him about it, he’d bristled and then had become evasive. She’d given him his space, but at a cost. She felt shut out, and the resentment bubbled up now and then. He thanked God Amy was a mature woman, but her patience wouldn’t last forever.
Last night they’d been close in a way they hadn’t been in months, and not just physically. David had felt … connected. He wanted that feeling to go on, but wasn’t sure how to make that happen. Eventually the same old problems would circle back on him again.
Something had to change, but David didn’t know what.
Tomorrow. He’d worry about it tomorrow.
A bright and lively day passed into evening. Baths then bed and story time for the kids.
Amy and David sat on the couch, sipping red wine. Amy neared the end of her paperback novel, her feet in David’s lap. He absently massaged one of her feet while paging through a fishing magazine, another hobby he doubted he’d ever take up, but he did like the idea of boats. And rods and reels and lures. Anything with paraphernalia attracted his attention, although not often for long.
He turned to his wife. “This was a good weekend.”
She smiled without looking up from her book. “Yes.”
“I wish Monday was a holiday or something,” David said. “So we could keep it going.”
“So let’s keep it going.”
“Really? Can you skip work?”
Amy laughed and set the paperback aside. “No. Along with the promotion comes the high-profile, high-stress workload. I’m working on a huge case.”
“Oh.”
“But you can drive into the city tomorrow, and we can have lunch,” she suggested.
David mulled that. “Can we get Thai food?”
“No.”
“You like Thai food.”
“I told you. I’m working on a big case,” Amy said. “I’ll have about ten seconds for lunch. If I’m lucky. There’s a diner around the corner for my office. BLTs and chips and root beer.”
“With this new promotion, I’m going to see even less of you now, aren’t I?”
She tensed. “David.”
He held up surrender hands. “Withdrawn, counselor.”
Amy squeezed his thigh. “Look, we’ll make it work.”
“I know.”
She squeezed again. “I’m serious.”
“I know. I believe you,” he said. “Tell me about this big case.”
She grinned. Obviously, she’d been hoping he’d ask. “Naturally you’ve heard of Dante Payne.”
“Nope.”
Her mouth fell open. “Are you kidding? Don’t you read the newspapers?”
His eyes fell to the fishing magazine, and she followed his gaze, rolling her eyes. David had to admit he’d kind of withdrawn from reality the last few months. His world had narrowed to PTA meetings, Little League, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
“Okay, big-city crime one-oh-one,” Amy explained. “Dante Payne is the biggest thing in organized crime since sliced murder. Your incredibly talented wife—”
“And beautiful.”
“Your incredibly talented and beautiful wife is working to put a very bad man behind bars for a very long time.”
“You’re like a superhero,” David said.
“I don’t do capes,” Amy replied. “But yes. Along with the promotion and a microscopic increase in my paycheck, I am now the proud owner of five big boxes of evidence that all need to be sorted.”
“Sounds like you’re up late tonight,” David said.
Amy nodded. “Afraid so.”
“Well, early to bed for me.” He stood and kissed her on top of the head. “Coffee doesn’t make itself in the morning.”
* * *
David’s eyes popped open to darkness. He listened, tried to understand why he was awake. He glanced at the glowing green numerals of the bedside clock: 2:51 A.M.
He turned over gently to look at Amy and Anna. Anna had been slipping into bed with them a lot lately. Sometimes a bad dream. Other times, she said she just didn’t want to be by herself. Amy had come to bed around midnight after putting in some hours on her new case in the little office she kept downstairs. Both slept like logs.
Why am I awake?
He slipped out of bed quietly. He wore only pajama bottoms, bare feet moving silently on thick carpet. He paused down the hall to look in on Brent. The boy was sound asleep, one foot dangling over the side of the bed.
David stood perfectly still in the hall. He listened.
Maybe it was nothing. He was wide awake now, and the chances of his getting back to sleep anytime soon were—
There! A noise downstairs, the faint whisper of shuffling paper. David knew all the sounds the house made, the pipes clanking in winter, the hollow groan of the attic during a big storm. This was different. He padded downstairs quietly, knowing just where to step to avoid creaking floorboards. Sometime in the six years they’d lived in the house, David had made note of this, but he couldn’t remember when. Instinct.
Downstairs. Down the hall, past the kitchen. At the end of the hall, light leaked from a cracked doorway, the little room Amy used as an office. A flicker of shadow. The rustling sound of somebody searching.
David exhaled slowly, controlled his heart rate.
He crept silently to the door, peeked inside. A man in black. A ski mask. All of Amy’s desk drawers had been pulled open.
David mentally scrolled through his options. Back away, find a phone, call the cops. And how long would that take? What would this joker do in the meantime? Better to move in quick, take him out, then hand him to the cops all tied up with a ribbon on top.
Assess. Control the situation.
David watched for another second. The man plucked a padded manila envelope from one of the evidence boxes, read the front before ripping it open and dumping out its contents. David squinted and leaned forward trying to see. A flash drive.
Enough. Let’s do this.
David swept the door open and charged into the room in the same motion. He had a fist cocked back ready to strike. With surprise on his side, it would be no problem to—
The intruder brought his fist up in a circular motion in front of him, blocking David’s strike and then counterpunched to David’s solo plexus. David blocked the jab easily, but the man had already dropped to the ground and connected with a leg sweep.
David stumbled back against Amy’s desk chair and sent it rolling away, got tangled in his own feet, and went backward into a stack of cardboard file boxes that tumbled and sent reams of paper flying.
The intruder rushed forward to press his advantage, but David heaved himself to one knee, and kicked out hard with the other leg, catching the guy in the gut with his heel. He grunted and stepped back, giving David time to spring to his feet.
He didn’t wait, pushed forward immediately, throwing a punch at the man’s nose. He caught it under his arm in a martial arts trap, and when he counterpunched, David did the same thing. For a fraction of a second they were stalemated like that.
David reacted first, slamming his head forward for a head butt. He was hoping to flatten the man’s nose. A broken nose takes the fight out of most guys pretty fast. But the intruder’s reflexes were too good. He turned his head and took the hit on his cheek.
Skull on cheekbone made a loud crack even with the minimal padding of the ski mask. His arms windmilled, and he fell back into the desk, scattering pens and papers and a little plastic cup of paper clips. His hand closed on a large stapler, and he swung.
David rolled with it but still took a sharp hit to the side of his head. Little lights went off in front of his eyes. He brought his arms up to ward off whatever came next, stepped back, shaking his head and trying to clear the bells from his ears. He kept stumbling until he backed up against a set of shelves, knocking off framed photos, books, and ceramic knickknacks. David’s hand closed around something heavy and stone, one of the Aztec bookends he and Amy had brought back from a vacation in Mexico. He threw it blind, without thinking, and was rewarded with a thud and a grunt.
David blinked his eyes clear just in time to see the man coming at him again.
“David, what the hell is the racket—oh, my God!” Amy’s voice.
The intruder’s eyes shifted to Amy, just for a split second. It was enough.
David barreled forward and tackled him. They both flew backward into the desk, knocking off the computer and monitor. Amy screamed.
David and the intruder slid off the table, onto the floor, David on top. The intruder hit hard and grunted. Two hands came up fast and latched onto David’s throat. He punched down hard across the intruder’s face. The hands hung on to his throat. David felt his face turning red. He punched down again. Again.
The hands let go.
David rolled off the man, breathing hard.
“David?”
He lurched to his feet, rubbing his throat. “It’s … it’s fine.”
“Oh, my God. David, are you okay?”
“Call the police,” he said. “Use the phone in the kitchen.”
“But—” She hesitated then nodded and left.
David ripped the electric cord from a clock and bound the intruder’s hands behind his back. The cord from the printer went to bind his feet. He pulled off the man’s mask.
There was nothing special about his looks. A little younger than David, a dark tight crew cut. But Davis knew there was more to the man. The fighting style was familiar, Special Forces maybe, some kind of professional.
In his house.
He grabbed a pen from the debris on the floor, snapped it in half, and poured the ink onto the intruder’s fingers. He found a pad of paper.
“Okay,” David said. “Let’s see who you are, you son of a bitch.”
He blotted the man’s fingers on the pad then squinted at it. The pinky finger smeared, but he had three good prints of the other fingers.
It was only then David realized he’d snapped in half the two-hundred-dollar pen Amy’s boss had given her when she’d been promoted to deputy district attorney.
“Shit.”