The Real Mrs. Price (21 page)

He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed Marlowe's number.

“Hello?” she answered.

Quentin breathed a sigh of relief. “Marlowe? This is Quentin. Are you all right?”

There was a long pause before she responded, “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Where are you?”

“Shopping. Why?”

“We're at the house. I got a warrant to search it. What happened here?”

Marlowe paused again. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Quentin had been doing this job long enough to know when someone was lying, and Marlowe Price was lying through her ass. “Someone broke in. Were you attacked?”

“You've got a warrant?” she asked.

It was an odd question considering what he'd just told her.

“Yes. We're here now. Where are you?”

“I'm at the outlet mall in Portsmith.”

Portsmith was nearly fifty miles away.

“You need to get home. Better yet, call me as soon as you get back. I want to talk to you.”

“Are you going to search my house?”

“Yes.” He swallowed. “I'm going to proceed with the search.”

Marlowe was silent again for a few moments. “Make sure you look the door when you leave,” she said coolly.

It was a strange exchange, and she didn't sound at all like herself. But at least she was alive. He doubted that she was in Portsmith. Anybody could've done this. She'd been harassed pretty extensively by people in town. It didn't appear that anyone forced their way in, at least not on the surface. But there'd definitely been some kind of altercation inside the house, and for some reason, Marlowe hadn't bothered to report it.

His officers had found a few shell casings, and of course they'd dusted for prints.

“We've bagged and tagged the lamp, Chief. Looks like there might be hair fibers on it. Taking it to the lab to check it out.”

Parker nodded. Something had gone on here. And Marlowe was digging herself into an even deeper mess by keeping secrets.

 

Wash Out the Pain

“T
HE POLICE HAVE A WARRANT
,” she said to Plato sitting next to her on the side of the bed. “They're at my house.”

What good would it have done to try to explain to Quentin that she'd been attacked by Eddie? He'd have just thought she was lying.

Marlowe felt fragile and vulnerable. She was an open wound, raw and exposed, and there was nothing she could do about it except to brace herself for that inevitable moment when the ground finally did give out from underneath her.

The deed was done as far as she and Plato were concerned. It had been foretold that he'd come for her, he'd seduce her, and after that was anybody's guess. Marlowe had given herself to him freely, willingly, because she realized that she'd had it all wrong. He wasn't here to drag her off to hell. Marlowe was already in it. He was just company. That's all. And in her darkest moment, he'd offered the only comfort available to her, and she'd desperately needed the escape she'd found in him when he kissed her.

“Did you want me to take you home?” he asked, sitting on the side of the bed.

She shook her head. “I can't go home right now,” she whispered.

Home wasn't home. Eddie had soiled it the night before, and now Quentin was in her house with a mob of police tearing it apart. Marlowe was sensitive to things like that. You don't let dirty people or thoughts into your space and think that it's not going to be affected.

“Eddie was desperate,” she admitted. “Scared and crazed.” Marlowe thought back to the wild look in his eyes. He wasn't the man she'd married, and he'd have done something terrible to her if she hadn't gotten away from him. “What's on that drive, Plato? Whatever it was, he was willing to kill me for it.”

He shrugged. “Numbers, codes. Nothing that makes sense to me.”

“It has something to do with that money you said he stole?”

“I'm sure. I just don't know how it relates. Could be accounts. Access codes. But to what?”

“Maybe I should call Lucy,” she suddenly said.

“Why?” he asked, genuinely confused at her abrupt change of the subject.

“She's afraid he'll come after her,” she told him. “And he might.”

“The two Mrs. Prices are close like that now?” he asked suspiciously.

Marlowe eyed him defensively. “No. We are not. But we talked, and she told me some things about him.”

He leaned across the bed, closer to her. “I'm listening.”

The irises of his eyes were black. Just because she'd fucked him didn't make him any less dangerous. She needed to remember that. Plato's mission hadn't changed, and nothing, not even she, was going to stop him from achieving it. He'd made that clear. “Lucy confronted him about killing a man, and he attacked her. Almost killed her, too.”

“Does she know about the money?”

Marlowe reluctantly nodded. “She said something about stocks, but that was it.” Marlowe pulled up Lucy's number. “She needs to know that he's alive. If he came after me, he could go after her, too.”

Plato waited while she called and spoke to Lucy and explained her encounter with Eddie to her.

After Marlowe hung up, he turned his head slowly and looked at her. “How'd she take it?”

Marlowe shrugged. “I think she's probably trying to figure that out.”

Lucy was processing the way Marlowe had been processing. There was no particular way to take news like the kind Marlowe had just delivered to her. The man that they'd both married, who'd betrayed them, threatened them, and who they both wished they'd never laid eyes on was even more dangerous than he'd been before he'd disappeared.

“Do you want to stay here?” Plato asked after a long silence from Marlowe.

Marlowe weighed her options. She could stay with Shou Shou or even Belle, but she'd been trying not to involve either of them too much in this circus. And now that she knew that Eddie was alive, the last thing she wanted was to put either of them in harm's way. Plato could protect her from Eddie, but who would protect her from him?

“Would I be safe with you?” she finally asked, remembering the implications of his warning last night when she'd wanted to call the police about Eddie. “If I got in the way of what you're here to do”—she swallowed—“would you kill me as easily as you could kill Eddie?”

He didn't respond right away, which, to Marlowe, wasn't necessarily a good sign.

“I would move you out of my way,” he finally said. “In whatever way was necessary at the time.”

She pondered his response. “So that means yes even after—”

“That means this conversation is moot. I'm not here to hurt you, Marlowe. I never was.”

“But you would if you felt you had to, even after we made love?”

“Why'd you let me?”

Marlowe stared blankly at him. “At the time, I don't know. I needed … someone, and I was cold.” She managed a smile. “I needed you.”

“Aren't there rules about sleeping with the devil, Marlowe? Shouldn't you have to say some Hail Marys or something?”

He was mocking her.

“I get it. I do. You don't believe what I believe, and that's fine. I never expected you to. But at least respect me enough not to make fun of me.”

“You're right. Apologies.” Plato's expression turned serious. “If I wanted to do it again, though, would you let me?”

“I likened you to a hit-it-and-quit-it kinda guy,” she said bitingly. “One and done? That sort of thing.”

“Usually, yes. But with you?” He shook his head and grinned. “Nah. With you, the first time was like foreplay. I was just getting warmed up.”

It was hard to know how much of him was being truthful and how much was toying with her. But then, that was his nature. Wasn't it? He could be beautiful when he wanted to be. And then he could be just as ugly.

“No,” she finally responded. “No, I won't let you touch me again.”

In this moment, it was the truth. Marlowe had been in a very vulnerable place last night, weakened by circumstances beyond her control. He'd been a temporary remedy to settle her so that she could escape, even for just a little while. That's all.

That cocky expression on his face started to piss her off.

“So you say.” He laughed and then leaned in and kissed her the way he'd kissed her when they'd made love. His scent was all over her. Still.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

The mention of food did stir an appetite, and she thought that it was a good idea to switch this conversation to food and take it off sex. “I am.”

He smiled. “What do you want?”

She thought about it. “A hamburger,” she said, staring back at him. “And a cup of coffee.” She smiled. “And ice cream.”

He stared back at her. “That's what you want?”

All of a sudden, it dawned on her. “No. I think that's what you want.”

She'd nailed it because his expression changed all of a sudden to one of disbelief and surprise.

“Am I right?” she asked.

Of course she was right, and it scared him. This time, it was her turn to look smug. “I need something to wear if we're going out,” she said.

“No, you don't.” He stood up. “I'm going to take a shower. You should join me.”

“I'll wait until you're done.”

“There might not be any hot water left when I'm done.” He looked at her as if the fear of a cold shower would be enough to convince her to change her mind.

“I like my water cold.” She smiled.

“And I might use all the soap.”

“I'll risk it.”

“I like that.” He winked. “Make me chase you, girl. It's the least of what you deserve.” He disappeared inside the bathroom. “Make me work.”

*   *   *

Twenty minutes later, he was out of the shower, dressed, and searching though his drawers to find her something to put on. Plato had an extra pair of sweatpants long enough to cover her entire body. “If we cut some holes out here, you could slip your arm through them, and then we could pull that drawstring tight around your neck. It'd be like a jumpsuit,” he explained, watching her pull them up past her ankles so they wouldn't drag on the ground.

Marlowe had to give him credit for trying to keep her from sinking into emotional quicksand. At any second, she was on the verge of despair and tears and hopelessness. “We can stop somewhere on the way so that I can get pants that fit.”

“You look cute in those,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes. “I'm ready.” She sighed. “Remind me to buy a bra,” she said on the way out.

“Nope. I will remind you of no such thing.”

 

Go Through Hell

L
UCY HAD JUST MADE
it home from yoga when the phone rang, and it was Marlowe.

“He's not dead, Lucy,” the woman said grimly over the phone. “Eddie's alive.”

It was as if someone had taken a fist and driven it into Lucy's chest. She sank down into the sofa, her whole body suddenly feeling like it weighed a ton.

“How do you know? How do you know this, Marlowe?” she asked, constricted.

“He came to my house,” she said hoarsely. “He broke in while I was asleep. He, uh
 …
wanted something, one of those portable computer drives. You know? The small ones?”

She didn't know. Lucy's brain had screeched to a halt.

“He thought I had it.”

“But you managed to get away from him?” Lucy asked shakily, getting to the heart of this conversation. Yes, Ed had broken in on Marlowe, but she had escaped. She wouldn't be making this call if she hadn't gotten away from him.

Marlowe sort of chuckled. “I pepper sprayed him. Got that sucker right in the face.”

He'd come for Marlowe. Would he come for Lucy next?

“Did you tell the police?”

Marlowe didn't answer.

Panic and confusion shot through Lucy. “Did you tell the police?”

“No,” she said stoically. “They wouldn't believe me if I had told them. They think I killed him, Lucy. They're determined to prove that I did, so nothing I say to them is going to mean a damn thing.”

“So he got away?” Dread tasted like bile in the back of her throat. “He's still out there?”

“Yes, Lucy. He still is.”

*   *   *

“I don't like being at home because I'm afraid he'll show up,” Lucy said to Roman sitting across from her in a coffee shop near the campus. “And I don't like being away from home because I'm afraid he'll show up.” She smiled sheepishly. “I was just beginning to think that it was safe.”

“He's in Texas, Lucy,” he said, trying to reassure her.

“He was in Texas as recently as a day ago, Roman. I have no idea where he is now.”

“What did she say he wanted?”

“Some sort of drive, computer drive. I was thinking portable hard drive, maybe?”

“You really believe her? She didn't tell the police.”

“Because she said they wouldn't believe her.”

“So why do you?”

“Why would she lie?” she asked, frowning. “Marlowe and I aren't BFFs, but I don't think she'd lie about something like this to me. She knows that I'm afraid of him coming after me.”

“Are you thinking of going back there to try and find him again?”

The first time she'd had that harebrained idea, it had seemed like a good one, but now it seemed idiotic to go chasing after Ed. Lucy needed to protect herself, though. She needed to move, to get a gun—something—in case he did decide to show up here again.