Chapter 3: Secrets

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Melissa

Loud, impatient squeals echo from Dex’s room down the hall, forcing my eyes open. Looking around our bedroom, I see no signs of his father. He’d been late again last night after meeting with Patrick, and I wouldn’t have known he was back if he hadn’t pulled me into his arms in the darkness.

Our son is only playfully complaining, so I take a moment to reflect on last night. It’s the second time in a row I’ve gone to bed alone. Combined with Derek’s increasing withdrawal, it’s getting to be more than I can take.

Last night, when his strong arms circled my waist, pulling my back against his chest, it wasn’t like his usual embrace. His face moved into my hair, against my neck. “Melissa...” His voice cracked in a low whisper against my skin.

He hadn’t been trying to wake me, yet the sound of that break tightened my throat. Anxiety moved across my chest, and I slid my palms down his forearms to entwine our fingers.

Sensitivity to my environment is a skill I learned the hard way during my final months in Sloan’s mansion. I’d slept with a can of pepper spray clutched beneath my pillow, all my senses on alert against any changes as I slept.

Only one thing has ever scared Derek, according to him, and that “thing,” that threat—my ex-husband—has been dealt with. How exactly, I still don’t know, but I believe Derek’s words. So if Sloan is no longer a threat, what’s tormenting my love?

I whispered his name in the darkness. Clutching our hands, he wrapped them around my waist as his mouth moved to the top of my shoulder. My head dropped back against him, and we held each other several long, quiet moments, our hearts beating together, our bodies touching head to toe. We were home, our son was in his bed asleep, we were together. What could be wrong?

Releasing one of his hands, I reached up to thread my fingers into the side of his thick hair. I knew how to ease his tension. I wanted to ease his tension.

The climate in Wilmington is warmer than Princeton, so I only sleep in a thin cami and panties. His large hands spanned my bare stomach, tightening my muscles. Derek’s touch is a delicious mixture of gentle and rough. Soft lips, scruff of beard; smoothing hands, firm grip. From the first night we were together, his touch has always made me hotter, wetter than I’ve ever been with anyone.

Shrugging off my lace underwear, my eyes don’t open as he parts my thighs. His thick erection sinks deep into me, stretching me. “Oh, god,” I gasp. It’s so good.

Arching my back to allow him further access, another soft moan scrapes from my throat as his expert fingers find my clit.

Quiet words of desire, love, and appreciation rumble across my skin, and my mouth opens to release another little cry as I buck against him. Pleasure snakes up my thighs. He goes deeper, his length massaging my tightening insides.

I want it harder, and I tell him so. He’s quick to comply. Large hands grip my breasts, and we’re working together, meeting each other thrust for thrust. Moving faster, gasping and grinding, our bodies tense as we reach the crest of orgasm.

“Come, Melissa.” It’s a low order I don’t need.

I’m riding him as the pleasure lifts me out of myself. A quivering little wail comes from me as he clutches my thighs so hard, I’m sure he’ll leave a mark. We ride our orgasm to the end, moaning and trembling, then holding each other, breathing hard.

“I love you so much,” he exhales against my skin, yet even in the sparkling afterglow, that tone is still in his voice.

My chest clenches. I don’t understand. “I love you more,” I whisper back, stealing his usual line as I tighten my grip on him.

He doesn’t speak. His arms never loosen their hold. His lips touch the back of my neck, followed by the scratch of his beard. Derek’s arms are always a safe place for me—they have been since our first night in the desert. He’s sexy, wildly passionate, and deeply safe, the most erotic combination my guarded heart could desire. Whatever’s bothering him, I know we can fix it. Our love hasn’t changed. The thought comforts me as I drift to sleep again.

Sometime before dawn, my eyes open and he’s still holding me. My back is against his chest, and I’m tight in the confines of his strong arms as if I might slip away while he sleeps. I’ve become so used to it, I practically have to relearn how to sleep alone when he travels, which is rare nowadays.

A more insistent squeal from Dex brings me back to the present. It’s time to start the day. Dragging myself out of bed and staggering down the hall, I catch a glimpse of my fiancé in the kitchen already dressed and talking on his cell. His brow is lined, and I can tell we’re back to where we left off. With a sigh, I enter our son’s room.

He’s standing in his crib, holding the side. When he sees me, his blue eyes sparkle and he starts to jump. My worries about his daddy fly away, and I can’t help laughing.

“Good morning, pumpkin,” I coo, lifting him over the rail. His legs pump against my waist as he struggles to get down, out of my arms. “You want to walk, big boy?”

A week short of his first birthday, and he’s already tearing through the house. We’ve had to move all small items to the top shelves in every room as his favorite thing is pulling whatever he can reach down on his head.

“I can drive to Raleigh if I need to.” Derek’s voice is low as he speaks into his cell. That makes my brow crease. Raleigh hasn’t come up in more than a year.

When he sees me, he smiles, but it’s not his usual flood of appreciation at my presence. It’s that tight smile, the one accompanying his subtle mood-swings. He gets an impatient smile from me in response.

“We can talk more at the office. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He disconnects and walks over to pull me into a hug. “Sorry I was late last night. I hope I made it up to you.”

I press my nose against his chest and inhale the warm, slightly woodsy scent I’ve come to associate with the greatest love of my life. I feel him kiss the top of my head. “Still working on the Nikki situation?” I ask.

Releasing me, he picks up a leather portfolio and grabs his keys. “I’m heading to the office to meet Patrick and talk to Stuart. Are you working today?”

“Later,” I say, walking to the coffee maker. I drop in a small, plastic pod, slide my mug in place, and hit the button. “Elaine and I are taking the boys to do their fittings this morning.”

His expression is confused, and I’m ready to have it out with him. I knew he hadn’t been listening to me on our drive home yesterday. “Their tuxes? For our wedding?”

“Oh, right.” He steps back to me and kisses my forehead before heading to the door. “Don’t let Dex knock over the mannequins.”

I give him a little growl, but his comment still makes me smile. Our toddler is a menace to anything in his grabbing space. Derek’s gone, so I grab a baby breakfast bar and a sippy cup of milk. Dex is in front of the flat-screen television attempting to turn it on when I return to the living room.

“Come on, little man, I’ll put on your show.” Scooping him up, I deposit him in the pack and play in my bedroom, pulling up his show on the Internet television. “Be sweet while Mommy showers!”

My shower is fast, and I listen for any changes in the bedroom as I step into jeans and pull on a loose, charcoal tee. I tie my hair in a low, side ponytail, and drop a few necklaces over my head as I step into black ankle boots.

Running down the hall, I stop at Dex’s room and grab his little jeans, long-sleeved polo, and an extra diaper. He can still wear the cowboy boots we bought him for Elaine’s Christmas wedding in Montana. He wasn’t walking yet, and we intentionally bought them a few sizes too big. He’s adorable in them.

When I return to the room, he’s engrossed in his favorite train show, and just like a little man, he doesn’t even look at me when I enter. “Okay, mister. Time to get dressed.”

“May, tank,” he says, twisting and pointing over my shoulder as I scoop him up and carry him to the living room.

“Yes!” I nod. “A blue tank.”

Flipping on the flat screen, I’m about to sit when I hear banging on my back door. “Guess who it is, Dexy? It’s Aunt Elaine and Laney!”

That sends him wiggling again, and I let him down, following him to where they’re smiling and waving at the back glass. Shouts and squeals fill the kitchen as the boys greet each other and my best friend and I hug.

“I tell you,” Elaine says, stripping off her coat and dropping it on the back of a kitchen chair, “After how cute they were in my wedding, I can’t even imagine how they’ll look surrounded by the guys in their dress whites.”

“Blues,” I correct. “Derek told me in spring it’s blues.”

“Are you sure about that?” Elaine has a sour straw hanging out of her mouth. “I think you have it backwards.”

“Hell, you’re probably right. I’ll have to double-check. Properly addressing the invitations was enough to drive me crazy.”

She follows me into the living room where Lane is sitting in front of the television making engine noises as he moves his ever-present truck back and forth across the rug.

Dex is parked in his tiny leather armchair with matching ottoman—identical to his daddy’s right behind it. Love spills through my veins as I pause to study his baby profile. He looks so much like Derek.

“So? How was the weekend getaway?” Elaine drops onto the couch.

“It started out amazing, but then...” I’m trying to figure out how to end that sentence when she cuts in.

“Stop! Don’t say you had a fight. I’ll lose all my faith in happily ever after!”

“You’re so freaking dramatic.” I flop on the couch beside her. “Give me a sour straw.”

“Am I the worst mother or what?” She digs in her purse and pulls out two—one for me, and another for her. “Lane loves these things, and I’m completely addicted.”

That makes me laugh. “I’m sure you only give him one a day.”

“It’s true! But only because I’ve eaten all the rest!” She falls back on the couch, a fresh straw hanging from the side of her mouth. “I’m going to get a cavity, I can feel it.”

“What does Kenny think?” Lane’s birth mother, a young artist Patrick was involved with briefly before he met Elaine, keeps their two-year old one weekend a month.

After a rocky beginning, she and my bestie bonded last fall over a situation involving Kenny’s boyfriend Slayde. Kenny is also how Stuart met Mariska—in a crazy twist of love and fate.

“She’s the one who started it! He came back from Bayville demanding sour straws and Coke floats.”

“Oh, wow. Coke floats.” I try to remember the last time I had that creamy, bubbly deliciousness. “So old-school, and so good.”

A sharp kick to my thigh makes me yelp. “I’m trying not to gain a hundred pounds! I’m convinced Kenny has a worm. It’s impossible she can stay that skinny with all the crap she eats.”

“She’s a fitness instructor,” I snort laughing. “A worm. You sound like my grandma!”

“I’m not lying. She eats the worst shit!”

Lane’s towhead pops up at once. “Mommy, bad word!”

“Good grief.” My friend flops back against the couch. “Don’t tell daddy.”

Lane goes back to engine noises, and I chew on my sour straw. “I thought Kenny was lactose intolerant.”

“Goat’s milk doesn’t bother her. It’s been life changing, apparently. She eats goat ice cream and chévre nonstop now.” I exhale a little laugh, and Lainey’s green eyes blink to me. “So what the heck could’ve spoiled your romantic getaway?”

Leaning beside her on the sofa, I straighten my legs and rest my heels on the coffee table next to hers. “I’m probably overreacting.”

She kicks my leg again. “Spill!”

“Ow!” I cry. “You’re so violent.”

“Mel.”

With a loud groan, I just say it. “He’s keeping something from me again, and it’s kind of making me crazy.”

“Oh, shit.” Elaine’s eyes narrow.

Lane’s little head pops up again. “Mommy, bad word!”

“Mommy said spit,” my best friend casually corrects him.

I can’t help noting the obvious. “Lane’s pretty good at spotting the swear words all of a sudden.”

“It’s Patrick!” she shrieks, slapping her leg. “I said he swore too much, and now all he does is point out when I drop a bomb. I’m ready to kill him!”

That makes me grin. “I love him.”

Her bottom lip goes under her front teeth, and she wriggles out an arm to squeeze me. “I know. Now finish telling me what happened.”

With a sigh, I lean back. “Derek is wonderful and attentive and sexy... and I can’t take how he hides things. It’s like this invisible shield or something, and it’s too... It reminds me too much of living with Sloan. I lived so long in his house of secrets and lies. I just... I can’t do it again, Lainey.”

We’re both quiet, and in my peripheral vision, I see her chewing a sour straw as she thinks. “I get that,” she says quietly. A few more moments pass and she adds, “but you know, the grass isn’t really greener. Now that we’re married, Patrick wants to tell me all this sh-spit he’s working on. You know, because wives can’t testify against their husbands?”

“Yeah?” I can’t hide the eagerness burning in my chest that she might know something.

“I don’t. Want. To know!” She waves her hands over her head. “I’m married to the master of pushing the limits. He’s driving me crazy with worry!”

That gives me pause. I sit back and think a moment. I remember my request from Patrick—the promise I’d asked him to make to keep Derek from doing anything “hazardous or potentially life threatening” as Patrick put it.

“I guess that makes sense,” I say quietly.

“We both love Patrick, but oh my god. He takes too many chances.”

Shaking my head, I catch her hand. “It’s not like that. Derek and Patrick are different people, they have different styles.” Searching for the right words, I just say what’s eating up my thoughts. “Derek’s hidden stuff from me before, and it hurt when I found out. It hurt badly.”

My friend’s eyes are round as she turns to me, all teasing gone. “Derek loves you, Melissa.”

“I know that. I know.” Pushing up I go and pull Dex out of his baby chair, ignoring his complaints as I strip off his pajamas. “I’m not a little girl, Elaine. I don’t want a daddy. I want a partner. I want someone who views me as an equal, not someone who keeps things from me—even if he does believe it’s for my own good.”

The best part about having the same best friend since childhood is sharing a deep understanding of each other. Her expression is serious as she watches me. “Have you told him that?”

“No,” I confess, standing my son in front of me and pulling his jeans over the puff of his new diaper. He’s content to let me change him so long as he can see his trains. “He should know how I feel by now. We’ve already been through this.”

“Wait.” My best friend holds her hands up. “Are you saying a male should know how you feel? Is that what I’m hearing you say?”

“Lainey.” I can’t suppress my irritation. “This is Derek.”

She shakes her head, her light blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. “Who happens to be the most manly male we know? Except for maybe Stuart?”

“Patrick’s pretty manly. And stop defending him!” Dex is dressed, and I grab the remote. “We’ve got to go.”

Once the TV is off, both boys get restless, and I can’t help wondering about that Y chromosome. We scoop them up, grab our bags and head out the door. They’re secure in their car seats, and we’re heading to town when Elaine grabs my forearm.

“Stop at the office for a sec.”

My eyes narrow at her. “We don’t have time for a quickie.”

“Just... it’s not that.” She grins, and I can’t help it. I have to know.

“What is it, then?”

“Mel.”

“Lainey.”

She lets out an exasperated breath. “I visited Patrick at the office Friday, and... well... you know, and I forgot a personal item.”

“Do you have a checklist? Shit! Where have you not done it?”

Lane pipes up from the back seat. “Aunt Mel, bad word.”

“Lane!” I cry, defensive. “I said spit!” Narrowing my eyes at my bestie, I grumble. “You’ve got me lying to babies now.”

“I blame Patrick.”

We both snort as we laugh. “Oh my god.” I shake my head, turning into the parking lot of the long, one-story building where Alexander-Knight’s satellite office is located.

“Besides, we’re newlyweds! It’s our honeymoon period!” She climbs out of her side, and I call after her.

“That excuse might’ve worked if I hadn’t known you before the wedding.”

“Grab the boys. The guys will want to see them.”

I lean into the backseat unbuckling them before we all follow her into the rented space, but it’s empty. “We must’ve missed them,” I call as she heads to the back office.

I stand in the reception area while our little boys resume their usual positions—Lane is on his knees making engine noises as his favorite truck runs over the tracks on the rug, Dex is beside him watching. It’s hard to know how long that will last before my little wrecking ball is up and exploring.

“Hurry up,” I call to her as I pick up an issue of People magazine. “I can’t believe they subscribe to these. Who reads them?”

I flip through the magazine as Dex toddles to where I hear Elaine searching.

“Heads up!” I call. “Here comes my little wrecker.”

“I can’t find it!” My friend’s voice is a muffled reply.

Lane is content being the soundtrack for his truck as it follows the lines on the carpet. I’m scanning a movie review, when the monotony is broken by a CRASH! a shriek from my friend, and the slow siren-whine from my son.

“Dex!” I rush to the back.

My little boy’s heartbroken cries grow louder, and I drop to the floor beside Elaine who’s trying to comfort him. He’s rubbing his eyes, and I look around at the scattered photo prints and a large paperweight he knocked off the desk. I’ll have to clean this up.

“It’s okay, baby,” I whisper, shushing him as he pulls my shoulders and buries his face against my chest. “He’s only scared, not hurt.” I glance up at Elaine. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No,” she says, but her voice trails off. She’s on her knees collecting the photos and looking at them, eyes wide.

“What is it?” I reach out and take one of the prints from her. Turning it over, I have to blink twice to understand what I’m seeing. She hands me another, and my heart starts beating faster. My breath comes in pants as the images click together. I realize what I’m seeing, or rather who I’m seeing.

“Oh my god,” I whisper as my hands tremble. My stomach turns like I might vomit.

Dex is still clutching my arms, and I hold my lips, taking a slow breath and trying to calm down. Breathe, Melissa, breathe... Leaning forward, I pick up another photo and notice my hand is trembling.

The images are horrible—a dead man, his face a sick grey color and his neck bent in an unnatural angle, clearly broken. He’s lying on the floor in what appears to be a dark, hotel conference room.

“It’s...” But everything tilts. The room seems to move out, away from me, and I’m afraid I might faint.

I can’t finish my sentence. It doesn’t matter because my friend whispers it for me. “It’s Sloan.”

Lane makes a loud engine noise from the front, and Dex releases me, running to see what his friend is doing. I can’t move. I can barely breathe. I’m paralyzed and numb—and confused. I don’t understand why I’m reacting this way, why I’m so terrified.

My voice shakes like my hands. “Why do they have these?”

Clearly, he was murdered in some gruesome manner. No. I stop myself. I’m jumping to conclusions. Maybe he had an accident. Could he have fallen? But from where? And how?

This is why Derek has been so preoccupied. Rising to stand, my light-headedness almost makes me fall. Dropping all but one print, I catch the side of the desk.

“Melissa?” Elaine jumps up and holds my arm. “Are you okay?”

“I have to talk to Derek.”

“Of course.” Her face is lined, and she holds my arm as we head back out to the front. “Come on boys. Lane, get your truck. Dex, hold my hand.”

It feels like a thick fog is wrapping around me, clouding my vision. Derek doesn’t want me to know about this... But why? I’m afraid I know the answer without needing to ask.

We’re in Elaine’s car heading back to the beach, and I barely register her telling me she’ll keep Dex for the afternoon. When she stops at my cottage, I see his black Audi sitting in the driveway.

“Call me when you’re ready for me to bring him home,” she says.

Nodding, I glance back to check on my little son before I go. He’s happily chattering baby-gibberish at Lane, unaffected by the sudden change in my mood.

“Thanks,” I say softly and start toward the door.

Pausing, my eyes close, and I listen to the soft whisper of the waves in the distance trying to find calm. I know I have to talk to him, but I’m so afraid of this conversation. My emotions are all over the place. Sloan was an abusive, sick, evil man, who hurt me and kept me living in fear for more than a year. I should not feel emotional at discovering he’s dead. I shouldn’t be shocked or disturbed... I shouldn’t... care. Why do I care?

Opening the door, when I see Derek sitting at the table, I know why I’m so torn up and twisted. I care because I know why my abusive ex is dead. I don’t have to ask who did it. I know who did it.

That leaves one question: What now?

* * *

Derek

I’d been late getting back to the beach cottage last night, and Melissa was already asleep for the second time in a row. I know she’s growing increasingly annoyed with my evasions, and she has no idea how her talk of our wedding plans and Dex’s first birthday party are killing me. The drive back from Princeton had been difficult, but leaving her as soon as we’d arrived home was worse.

“You have to meet Patrick now?” Her hands are on her hips as she follows me to the door.

“He found out about the Nikki situation. He needs to go over a few cases.” Lying to her burns in my chest, but it’s the last time I’ll do it.

“What about Dex? He hasn’t seen you in two days!”

“Patrick and Nikki are close.” I pull my keys from my pocket. “She’s heavily involved in several of his cases. Her leaving probably impacts him the most.”

“Then let him convince her to stay.” She catches my sleeve in her hand. “I can’t believe this can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Covering her small hand with mine, I look into her eyes. “I won’t be long.”

I’m going to make this right, I vow as I walk to my car. I’ll make all of this up to her, and we’ll never be in this situation again.

Patrick is waiting when I arrive at our satellite office in Wilmington. Dressed in his usual faded jeans and a maroon, short-sleeved tee, his light-brown hair is a messy bedhead, and if he didn’t have his son Lane at the house, I’d guess he came straight to meet me from sleeping with Elaine.

Hell, he probably did that anyway. Those two have been known to leave a house full of dinner guests for a quickie in the bathroom.

Standing in our small office space, I hold the fax and read the typed letter. It’s on nondescript, white paper in a basic, serif font. Nothing distinguishes it. Nothing gives us a clue as to who might have sent it.

The message is short and clear:

Ms. Durango:

I know about your involvement in the death of Sloan Reynolds. An item belonging to you, containing your DNA, is in my possession along with digital files of the enclosed photographs.

Lowering the sheet, I glance up at my partner. “Photographs?”

He hands over cheap prints showing Sloan’s corpse from a distance, lying on his back, his head cocked at a sick angle. The images gradually move in closer, frame by frame, until the focus is on a black lace thong in his pocket.

My jaw clenches. “Her fucking underwear.”

Patrick’s bicep flexes as he bends his elbow, pulling a fist to his chest. “We forgot he had it.”

I also know about your record and the child in Myrtle Beach. If you want her to remain safe, you’ll do as I say.

My next letter will contain instructions. Tell anyone, and you can kiss your baby goodbye.

Signed,

A Friend.

“A friend? Is that a fucking joke?” I’m ready to slam my fist through the wall. “What the fuck do they want?”

“Letter number two hasn’t arrived yet. Toni called me as soon as she read this. She’s pretty spooked, which you know takes a lot.” He walks around the only desk in our two-room satellite office. He and I both do the majority of our work on the road or from home, so this space is for the rare occasion we have to meet with a client in person.

Sitting in the chair, his hazel eyes laser into mine. “You get what this means, right? This asshole was there. He or she saw what we did and is looking to exploit it.”

“But why go after her?” My voice is flat. “Why not come straight to me?”

“That’s the part neither of us can figure.” He leans forward, elbows on the desk. “You clearly have more money if it’s blackmail. Maybe whoever it is sees her as the weak link in our chain.”

Growling, I try to think. “What’s this about a kid?”

“A little girl, Camille. She had her about a year ago, but the baby lives with her sister.”

Confused, I look up at him. “Could it be the father?”

“My first question.” He stands and walks around the desk again. “She says no. He still lives in Raleigh. They’re friends, just not together.”

Scrolling through my thoughts, I try to remember the last time we’ve heard from Toni... or “Star,” depending on whether she’s running a con. She’d enrolled in community college and was working toward a degree in criminal justice. I’d offered to help her find a legitimate job when she finished.

“She’s sure he’s not after the baby?”

“From what I understand, Cammie lives with her sister because of Toni’s... work history.”

“She expected something like this to happen?”

“I don’t think she expected Sloan Reynolds to come back from the dead, but apparently she’s been involved in some pretty high-risk jobs. She didn’t want to elaborate. I think she was afraid I might arrest her.”

“So that’s it. Whoever is sending this is trying to drag up her past for some reason.”

“Maybe.” He leans against the desk and crosses his arms. “Only she can’t figure out why. As we’ve both already noted, she’s not rich.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“The fact this person addressed her as Durango and not Brandon, her stage name, has her scared. It means he or she knows the real Toni.” He slips the letter back in his pocket and grabs a manila envelope. I watch as he drops the photographs in it and places it under a paperweight on the desk. “She’s afraid for her little girl.”

“How old is the child?”

“Almost a year.”

Same age as Dex. “I guess I understand how she feels.”

Patrick nods. “She’s tough, but you know how it is. Hit somebody where they live, and you can pretty much get whatever you want.”

Inhaling deeply, I nod and start for the door. “Speaking of, I need to get home. Let me know as soon as you hear from her. Tell her not to be afraid. We’ll take care of this.”