Shame on Him

“When did you get a cat?” he asks as he follows me to the door.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you that right now. I may or may not have done something illegal to get her,” I admit.

He laughs and holds the door open for me. “We’re okay here, right?”

I stare up at him and put on a smile. “Yep, we’re fine. I’ll call you later and we can go talk to Stephanie.”

Dallas kisses me one last time before I go. As I walk to the cab waiting in the driveway, I wonder if I made a mistake by forcing Dallas to work with me. I should have stuck to my guns and done it on my own. I like my independence. I like being able to come and go as I please. I finally get out from under my parents’ thumb and then I go right under the watchful eye of someone else.

But Dallas is nothing like my parents; I know that now. He’s much worse. If whatever this is between us doesn’t work out, I’ll never survive telling him off and walking away. Maybe some distance to clear my head right now will do me some good. All of this is just moving too fast. A few weeks ago I couldn’t stand him. Now I’m getting jealous and hating the idea of being away from him. And how do I really know that he isn’t just doing all of this as a way to keep an eye on his investigation?

After a quick change of clothes at my place, I go up to the office to start making calls. First, I call a few colleagues from my law firm who know Miles. I ask them if they have heard anything about his being gay. Most of them are shocked by my question and adamantly deny ever hearing any such rumor. However, a few of them say it was a definite possibility. My next few calls are to some acquaintances of Stephanie’s. I didn’t want to call any of her close friends for fear that it would get back to her. I call people who worked with her on charity events and a few random people whose names were given to me when I talked to the individuals who worked with her, like the woman who used to do her hair and the cleaning service she uses for her home. None of them have ever heard Stephanie say anything about Richard being gay. They do, however, tell me in great detail about the porn addiction Stephanie claimed he had.

It’s dark out by the time I finish with all of my calls and type up my notes. I check my phone and see that I’ve missed five calls from Dallas. With a sigh, I slide my phone into my purse without calling him back.

On the drive to my house, I call my mother to check on her. Since Doug’s wedding the other night, she’s called me no less than ten times to give me updates on her “new” life.

“I’m wearing jeans and a T-shirt, Lorelei. Isn’t that exciting?” she asks as I pull off of the exit on the highway.

I laugh and shake my head. “That’s amazing. How’s Dad?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. He tried apologizing, and when I asked him what he was apologizing for, he had no idea. So I slammed the door in his face. I think I’m going to take a lover. Do people still call it that nowadays?” she asks.

Am I really having this conversation with my mother right now?

“Mom, I think you and Dad need to talk before you do anything too rash.”

She ignores me. “How is Dallas? Did you tell him I was sorry for being so rude at dinner?”

The last time she called me I was naked in bed with him. My thoughts cloud with the memory of his lips on my neck and his hands on my hips.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. “Yes, I told him. It’s fine.”

“He’s a nice young man. And he’s very good-looking. You should sleep with him.”

I choke on a laugh at the words coming out of her mouth.

“Don’t laugh. I’m serious. I wish I had slept with more men before I married your father,” she tells me.

“Okay, well, I’m hanging up now. I just got home. I’ll call you tomorrow,” I tell her as I pull into the driveway and shut off my car.

“Don’t call before noon. I have an appointment with a tattoo artist.”

I drop my keys and my phone almost slips from my hand as I get out of the car. “What?! Mom, are you serious?”

“They looked so nice on Dallas. And you said you had one. I want to do something exciting too,” she tells me.

“Oh, my God,” I mutter, as I grab my keys from the ground and make my way up to my door. “This is a little too much for me right now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, sweetie. Wish me luck!”

I end the call with a shake of my head. Unlocking the door, I push it open. Just as I start to turn around to close the door behind me, something slams into my shoulder, shoving me the rest of the way into the house.

My keys, purse, and phone fly out of my hand and clatter to the floor as my body takes another hit, this one hard enough to make me lose my footing, and I slam against the ground. The wind is knocked out of me and I wheeze, trying to take in a lungful of air. Once the shock of what is happening wears off, I push and shove at the weight on top of me, pinning me to the ground. In the dark entryway of my house, I can just make out a face with a black ski mask. Fear and panic ripple through me as I twist and turn, trying to get out of the person’s grasp. I see a hand come up and before I can move my head out of the way, a fist slams into my cheek.

I see stars for a few seconds and all of the self-defense training Kennedy taught me rushes through my mind. My elbow flies up and connects with the person’s eye and I hear a shocked gasp of pain. I take that opportunity to buck my hips and shove him off of me. When I’m free from the weight of the intruder’s body, I flip over onto my belly and stumble up to my feet. No sooner do I stand up than a hand clamps around both my ankles and yanks my feet backward, forcing me back onto the ground. I immediately flop onto my back and kick out as hard as I can. My foot connects against the person’s mouth and he falls back, his head smacking against the floor with a thunk.