Insidious (27 page)

I didn’t need his words or his implications: his acetone breath brought back a rush of memories.
Had I never stood this close? Had I not tried to know, or did I just not want to know?
The answer didn’t matter.
Fatal Lullaby
played in the distance as I remembered scenes.

Closing my eyes for only a second, I backed slightly away from his touch and made the most of my five-foot-six-inch frame. With my red-glossed lips pressed into a smile, I allowed my steel-gray eyes to give him the recognition he apparently thought I was too simple to obtain. “Thank you, Senator. I appreciate your concern for my husband’s arrangements and for my future. I can guarantee you that my future will be considerably different from my past.”

Senator Robert Keene stepped back from the determination of my statement. I’m sure it wasn’t what he’d expected. After all, I’d never been allowed to speak. Sheila’s eyes flickered back to her husband’s and then to mine. As she was about to speak, I saw Travis and his familiar narrow-eyed glare.

“Robert,” Sheila began, “this is no place to be discussing business. Victoria has her plate full. I’m sure that whatever you’re discussing can wait.”

Before Robert could respond, I reached for Sheila’s hands. “Thank you again, Sheila. I’m sure Robert meant well. I promise, I’ll be fine.” Blinking, I focused my newfound disgust into the right amount of emotion and fostered a tear. “I’ll see you next week at the Harrington Society meeting. Maybe after that we can get coffee?”

“Oh, I didn’t think you would… so soon.”

“Stewart would want me to do that. He was so proud of my work with the foundation.”

Smiling sadly, Sheila agreed, “You’re right. We’ll let you get to your next visitors. Once again, we’re so sorry for your loss.”

If only she knew. I wasn’t sorry, but I couldn’t help but think that if her husband pursued his current train of thought, he would be.

“Mrs. Harrington…” The condolences continued.

I nodded and responded mechanically, until the familiar aquamarine appeared before me. I had difficulty not reaching up and stroking Brody’s cheek as he respectfully extended his hand and began a speech about how much my husband would be missed. There was a comical relief to his words. Though not each one of them registered, I listened, taking in their cadence as a melody to my dark soul. It was the infusion of energy I needed to continue my role.

“Thank you, Mr. Phillips.” My hand lingered for a little longer than normal in his warm embrace. Finally, I removed it, afraid of watchful eyes. A similar greeting two days before had been our perfect secret rendezvous for slipping him Parker’s information. I had scanned the papers, but not to paper form; instead, I placed them on a flash drive. A quick reach into my pocket and a lingering handshake, and magic: the papers were in Brody’s possession. “Thank you for all of your support. We’ve had a wonderful turnout from Craven and Knowles this evening.”

His eyes widened in question. “Well, yes, Mrs. Harrington, your husband meant a lot to each and every one of us at the firm.”

I nodded slightly, answering his unasked question. Parker and Maura Craven had both made their way to me. However, with Maura present, Parker had refrained from mentioning the impending legal documents.

Brody tipped his head. “If we can be of any assistance, please feel free to call.”

“Thank you, I will.”

My insides twisted at the promise of his grin and the shimmer of his smirk.

When the final guest left, I settled into an overstuffed loveseat and retrieved my phone. Before I could look, both Travis and Val were at my side: Val sitting down next to me, leaning in close and offering me her support, while Travis loomed above.

“Mrs. Harrington, would you like me to bring the car around?”

I peered down at the screen.

“I CAN’T STAND SEEING YOU AND NOT TOUCHING YOU. CALL ME.”

Turning off the message, I looked up at Travis’ narrowing glare.
Did he see that?
Fuck it!
I looked over at Val. Her eyes were closed with her head on my shoulder.

“No, Travis. I’m going to stay at Val’s tonight. I’ve had enough of all of this for one day. Why don’t you run along, and you can pick me up in the morning.”

I saw Val’s lips quirk.

“Mrs. Harrington, the funeral—”

I lowered my voice. “I’m well aware that my husband’s funeral is tomorrow, thank you. Tonight I want to spend some time with my sister. Need I remind you..?” I didn’t finish the sentence.

“Thank you, Mrs. Harrington. I’ll be awaiting your call tomorrow morning.”

Val and I giggled at Travis’ clenched jaws.

“You know,” Val began. “If he keeps that up, he could have real TMJ problems. The man needs to learn to loosen up.”

“You have no idea.”

“I’m kind of surprised that he’s still here. I always got the feeling you didn’t like him much.”

I shrugged. “I guess I want to get through all this stuff…” I gestured toward the chairs and the empty funeral home. “…first.”

“So, you’re coming home with me? I like that.”

“Then let’s go.”

I waited until we were in her car before I sprung my news. “Thanks for letting me spend the night. Can I borrow your car?”

Val did a double take. “My car? Where do you want to go? I can take you.”

I tilted my head to the side, opened my eyes wide, and elongated my plea. “Ple-eea-se.”

“Oh, shit! This is horizontal-sleeping-friend, isn’t it? Sis, give Stewart a day or two to get cold.”

“He didn’t need a day or two. He was cold as ice long before he died.”

WHILE VAL DROVE us to her apartment, I couldn’t help my eyes drifting toward the side and rearview mirrors. In the pit of my stomach, I knew that Travis would be watching. It didn’t take long for my suspicions to be confirmed. Nearing the medical center, I spotted his black SUV.
Fuck!
Isn’t it my SUV?
I should have fired him two days ago.
Why didn’t I? What did he know?
I remembered a long time ago wanting Stewart to fire him, asking Stewart to fire him, and he told me no. He said Travis knew too much.
What the fuck was too much?

I pushed my thoughts away and concentrated on Val’s words. As usual, she was in the middle of some soliloquy. “…come in, unless you’re too preoccupied with your friend to spend some more time with your sister.”

I sighed. “I’d love to come in, but only if you have a glass of wine. Spending all night listening to everyone tell me what a wonderful man Stewart was has me ready to jump out of my skin.”

Val’s tone lowered. “You really can’t blame him.”

My head spun toward her. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not sticking up for Stewart, or against you. Please don’t take it that way. I have no idea about the particulars of your life. That’s been your decision not to share.”

And the do-not-disclose clause.

She continued, “But I have been trying to tell you: those drugs he was on—they make people different. I know it was driving you crazy that he wanted you around all the time and wanted to know where you were, but, Vik, the man was dying. He knew he was dying. That’s not something that’s easy to swallow, especially for a man as young as Stewart.”

I stifled a laugh. “I seem to remember your calling him old when I told you we were getting married.”

“Well, hell, I was seventeen years old. You were eighteen. He was old! But for a victim of the rapidly progressing leukemia that he had, he was young. That doesn’t usually happen to people until they’re in their seventies or eighties.”

I took a deep breath, eyeing Travis again in the side mirror. “I know that. I know you think I need counseling. Maybe I do; maybe I will. Right now I just need to get through the next few weeks of shit. My plate is full.”

I watched as Val inserted a card into a reader and the gate to her apartment’s parking garage opened. I sighed, watching Travis’ SUV fade away as we drove deeper into the bowels of the parking garage toward her assigned space.

“I get that,” she replied. “I just don’t want you to forget the eight-plus good years you had because he was hard to live with near the end.”

I shook my head. “Thanks, I promise. The memories of him at the end won’t tarnish the other years.”
Quite the opposite
.

AN HOUR, A glass of Merlot, and a string of text messages later, and I was out of Val’s apartment and on my way toward Brody. Wearing my hair up in one of Val’s baseball caps, I drove a loop around the medical center. It was my diversionary tactic. If Travis saw the car leave the garage, I hoped he’d think it was Val. After repeatedly checking my mirrors and looking down side streets, I breathed a sigh of relief that he was nowhere to be found.

As I made my way toward the small, secluded motel, taking the less than direct route, I had the realization: this was fucking ridiculous. Stewart was dead.
Why the hell did I feel the need to hide my activities from my own damn employee?

Earlier, when I’d brought up the motel’s address on my phone, I knew it wasn’t our normal type of place. From its pictures it looked like the kind of motel seen on crime shows, the places where prostitutes frequented and often ended up dead.

As I got closer I laughed. Maybe it was the perfect place. Because tonight I wanted to be a whore: not Stewart’s whore, but my own. For the first time since I could remember, I wanted sex—pure, unadulterated fucking—and I wanted it bad. So much so that as I drove into the darkness the night before my husband’s funeral, all I could think about was Brody Phillips. I thought about his tall, trim, and healthy physique. I remembered him standing in the funeral home all proper and businesslike. I imagined the clean scent of his aftershave.

As miles passed, I embellished the memory:

No longer were we conversing in front of the other mourners. No. I imagined the same scene with significantly different details. In my fantasy, as he stood in front of me and gave me his condolences, instead of nodding, I unbuttoned his starched white shirt. As each button came undone, more of his wide chest became visible. Unable to control myself, I ran my hands up and down his firm abs. His aquamarine eyes zeroed in as each ripple of muscle tightened under the tips of my fingers. When his stare turned sultry, my nails gently raked the surface of his tanned skin. With a quick lick of my fingers, I rolled his nipple and licked my lips. His gaze narrowed as I allowed my hand to fall lower, teasing the buckle of his black leather belt.

He leaned closer as the room of people hushed at our blatant display of disrespect. Seizing my shoulders, Brody growled in my ear, “What the fuck are you doing?”

Instead of answering, I nuzzled his neck, hearing the stir in his throat and feeling growth of his erection. I pushed my hips forward.

“Oh, you want to put on a show?” he asked, his deep voice now raspy.

“Yeah,” I cooed, just before playfully nipping his ear.

Grabbing my chin, he harshly captured my lips, holding them hostage until my body melted and I moaned in both pleasure and pain. Pulling away, he reached for my shoulder and in one fluid move, spun me around, bending me over the table—the one with Stewart’s urn. My hips bruised against the polished wood as his stone-hard cock met my ass. His stubbly cheek against my neck felt like sandpaper as he snarled near my ear, “If you want a show, I’ll give you a fucking show. I’ll show all these assholes that you’re mine. No one else’s, ever. Just mine.”

Before I could respond, he reached for the hem of my black dress and pulled it to my waist, exposing my black lace panties, now wet in anticipation. “Is that what you want?” He continued to taunt me with his cock.

Speech was becoming more difficult as the murmurs throughout the funeral home disappeared into the sounds of his frantic heart and warm breath at my ear. All I could do was nod.

Brody snatched my hair, twisted it around his fist, and held my head still. “No, Vik. No more nodding. Fucking talk. Tell me what you want.”