Poisoned by Gilt (35 page)

you off the hit list you were worried about last night."

"Hooray for me," she said over her shoulder as the

door swung shut behind her.

Not five minutes had passed before someone threw

the door open so hard it banged against its stop. Matthew

stepped inside. His cheeks were red, his eyes blazing, and

he seemed to be staring directly at my neck as he came

toward me, breathing heavily with his hands balled into

fists.

I sat up and braced myself. I had no place to run. I

could flip my chair over and use it to shield me. Should I

try to call 911? Would it be too late when they arrived?

He shook a piece of paper, clenched in his fist, at me.

"I now have a police record, thanks to you, bitch!"

"What do you mean?"

"They arrested me in connection with stolen merchandise!"

"When?"

"Saturday!"

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"Morning? How did you deliver the desk to Burke?"

"I had Mike do it. My employee. And thanks so much

for your concern!"

"Your being under arrest at the time might have been

the best thing that's happened to you, Matthew. The desk

was booby-trapped with a grenade. This way you might

have an alibi."

"I know! The police grilled me about that Saturday

night! I had nothing to do with the damned grenade, and

no idea how the damn thing got there!"

He was leaning into my face close enough for me to

smell his sour breath.

"If that's--"

"It was put there after Mike delivered it. So I don't give

a rat's ass about the grenade! I just care about trying to

keep myself out of jail and my business afloat despite

these lame-ass charges!"

I mustered some courage and said, "This is my office,

Matthew. Get out of my face before I call the police on

you again!"

He snarled at me, but took a step back. "I'll get you for

this, Erin! You'll be sorry for reporting me!"

To my immense relief, he turned and left, slamming

the door again behind him.

c h a p t e r
2 3

sullivan arrived at the office half an hour later. By

then, all was quiet, no shrieking former clients

or furniture makers barging through the door to vent at

me. I had calmed down enough to decide that Matthew

was just voicing empty threats in my direction--if he'd

been the killer, his words would have served no purpose.

I'd vowed not to say a word to Steve about Jennifer

Fairfax's presence at the awards presentation Saturday

night. Or to ask if they'd spent Sunday together.

With his hair adorably tousled and his coat collar up,

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he looked ridiculously handsome. I sighed and shook my

head.

"What?" He removed his coat and hung it up. "Did I

miss an appointment already or something?"

"No, just some whining and shouting. Margot's upset

that the Sentinel ran a sidebar on the front page about her

private jet . . . not exactly a solar-powered vehicle. And

Matthew Hayes is probably going to get a heavy fine for

buying stolen merchandise. Personally, I doubt he'll do

jail time for that. In any case, he blames me."

"He should look in the mirror. He's the one who broke

the law."

"That's exactly what I told him."

"Good. Did he thank you for showing him the light?"

"Of course. And then we burst into a rousing rendition

of 'Amazing Grace' together."

He chuckled. "Sorry I missed that."

My heart was racing. Something was wrong with the

way Sullivan was acting. The tone of his voice was fine,

but he wasn't quite looking at me. He and I felt out of

step somehow, and it now seemed impossible to keep my

promise to myself.

"Guess you should have gotten up earlier, then," I

said.

He ignored my remark. He raked his fingers through

his hair. His eyes were glassy, and his hands were shaking

a little.

"What's the matter? Did Jennifer Fairfax keep you up

late last night?"

"No, Erin."

"Something's going on between you two, Steve. I saw

the way she was looking at you Saturday night."

He set his jaw and stared at the top of his desk.

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"Tell me something, Sullivan. How is it that you can

find yourself standing two feet away from a grenade that's

ready to explode, and calmly pick it up and throw it into

a pond, but you can't sit ten feet away from me and tell

me the truth about your feelings?"

"Because I'd rather lose my right arm than lose you."

He spoke through clenched teeth.

"Lose me? By telling me the truth?"

Sullivan winced, but otherwise remained motionless.

"Oh, God. I'm right about you and Jennifer." I sank

my head into my hands. "Just when I'd have given anything to be wrong."

"Erin. It was just--"

"Just what?!" I shouted. I was suddenly so irate that I

felt utterly out of control. "Just a mistake? Just a one-night

stand? Just sex? What are you going to say? That it was

meaningless and you were thinking of me the whole

time?"

"I was, actually," he answered in a choked voice. "Not

that it makes it any more forgivable."

"No, it doesn't." I got to my feet. This felt unreal. How

could this be happening? How could I feel stabbed in the

heart like this? Because I'd believed all along that he was

my soul mate. "You knew full well that I didn't want you

making love to Jennifer Fairfax and imagining it was me!

I wanted it to be me!"

"I know, Erin. That's what I want, too. I'd go back in

time and change it if--"

"Are you in love with her?"

"No!"

"It sure looks like she's in love with you, though."

"She thinks she is. But I told Jen Saturday night

that--"

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"Don't say her name! I know who you're talking

about!"

"It was a one-night stand. Right after Richard died.

When we ran into each other downtown. I was out of my

head, Erin. And I know it was wrong of me, but I was so

mad at you. For not . . . knowing things that I hadn't told

you. And there she was, all of a sudden, throwing herself

at me . . ."

"Yet you went on seeing her time after time, working

with her one-on-one as your private client! What's this

going to do to our business? To our word-of-mouth referrals? Don't you realize she'll tell her friends about this?"

"She won't, Erin. I told her before and afterwards that

it could never happen again, and she said it was fine.

That she, too, was a consenting adult. That she was just

looking for a good time, and that it meant nothing to her,

either."

"Here's a news flash, Sullivan. Women lie. It's less

painful than admitting to someone's face that he's just

broken your heart."

"Have you ever gotten your breath knocked out so bad

you can't get your breath again? And for a split second

you feel like you're going to die from the pain?"

"Yes, Sullivan, I have! That's what I'm feeling right

now!"

"That's the way I felt when I heard Richard died," he

continued, ignoring my remark. "When I felt like it was

my fault." The phone started to ring. I stared at it. "Don't

answer that," he said. He went over to the phone jack on

the wall and disconnected the wire.

I headed for the door. "I've got to go."

"Please, listen to me, Erin. These last few weeks . . .

months, even, I'd gotten so wrapped up in you, in us, it

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was all I could think about. Wanting to be with you, to

make love to you. Then Richard called out of the blue. It

just felt . . . connected somehow. I got this fantasy stuck in

my head where he'd be my best man at our wedding. You

two would hit it off, and we'd introduce him to Audrey,

and the four of us would be these fast friends, for the rest

of our lives. It was crazy and stupid. Then, just when I realize it's actually happening, that you want me, too,

Richard calls, totally whacked-out. And you two meet,

and you hate each other. Then he gets murdered right in

front of me, and it was too damned stupid to take him to

the emergency room. And--what's-her-name comes on

to me like gangbusters. I was in a state of shock. Couldn't

figure out how it all went so wrong. I started thinking . . .

maybe I was wrong about you and me."

Although I'd listened to his long confession as best I

could, part of me was silently arguing with his every statement. "I've endured my own share of rough times, damn

it all! You don't see me hopping into the sack with the

first client who comes on to me!" I grabbed my coat.

"Erin, please." He came toward me. "I don't deserve

you. I know that. Don't let this be the last straw for you.

I'm begging you to forgive me. I hope I can make you understand. It was a mistake that I regret. But I told you the

truth. All of it. I thought that's what you wanted."

"I wanted the truth to be different."

"So did I. So do I." He stood in front of me, blocking

my path to the door. "Right after the awards ceremony I

told . . . her that I was in love with you. I love you, Erin."

"What am I supposed to say to that now? That you've

got one hell of a way of showing it?"

He looked stricken. "How about that you understand

that I made a mistake? And that you can find it in your

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heart to forgive me someday? Can't you focus on the fact

that I love you? Not on the screwup I made when I was

out of my head?"

"Not right now, I sure can't. This is all too much to

sort out at once, Sullivan."

"I understand. All I can do now is apologize and

promise nothing like this will ever happen again."

"I have to go." I left, and this time, he didn't try to

stop me.

I ran to my van, got behind the wheel and sobbed for a

few minutes, but afterwards I didn't feel any better. I

needed to talk to a girlfriend right now. And although I

had several closer friends, it was Linda Delgardio whose

advice I most craved. Maybe because her relationship

with her husband was the one that I most admired of all

my friends.

She answered her cell phone by saying, "Hi, Erin.

What's up?"

"Are you on duty right now?" My voice sounded utterly pathetic to my own ears.

"Not for another two hours." Her voice was rife with

alarm. "What's wrong? Please tell me you're not being

held at gunpoint, so I can keep breathing."

"No, I'm fine. Rather, I'm not in physical danger. It's

about Sullivan. We broke up. He slept with a client."

Silence. "Was this right after his friend was killed?"

"Are you psychic, or something? He didn't talk about

that during a police interview, did he?"

"No, Erin. It's just . . . something that's been known to

happen. A reaction to being confronted with one's own

mortality. But never mind that now. Do you want to

come over?"

"No, I want to know what to do! I want to be somebody

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else . . . anybody but me! He just said he loved me, but

now I can't believe him. We agreed a while ago that we

weren't going to see anybody else. I thought I could trust

him, but I obviously can't. I'm feeling so . . . I don't even

know how to describe it. Like I'm getting pulled every

which way."

Linda was silent for several seconds. "Where are you

right now?" she asked gently.

"In my van. In my parking space."

"If he came after you right now, what would you do?"

"I don't know."

"Do you love him?"

"I don't want to answer that question. The man just

told me he cheated on me!"

"I thought you hadn't even slept with him yet."

"I haven't. Why? Should that make a difference?"

"It would to me."

I reconsidered. It wasn't as if we were engaged, or married. I wanted an operator's guide to this situation. Or just

a step-by-step guide to surviving the next five minutes.

"What would you do if you were me?"

"That depends. Do I still get to be a cop, and carry a

loaded service revolver?"

"No, you're an interior designer. And he's your business partner. Linda, he said all the right things that I've

been dying for him to say, but at the worst possible time.

He broke my heart." I sighed. "I can't take this. It's just

not worth the pain."

"Sure it is."

"Jim's never cheated on you, though, has he?"

"Not since we were engaged, no, but we've had plenty

of fights and other people who caught his eye, or caught

mine. Plenty of times over the years one of has done

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something stupid or claimed that this was the last straw,

that it's over between us. But we just . . . muddle through

them somehow. If you really want my advice, Erin, it's to

go treat yourself to a massage, or whatever helps you relax. Me, I'd go to a shooting range, but that probably