Page 142 of The Woman Left Behind

“I’ll draw you a bath, put in the salts. They leech out the toxins, and it’ll help you relax.”

As answer, she slid her fingers up into his hair and put pressure on his scalp, but Harry didn’t make her try too hard to bend his neck as she came up on her toes and pressed her mouth tight to his.

Harry initiated tongue, Lillian instantly responded, but this wasn’t one of their kisses that fed their fire.

It was thorough, but languid and sweet.

Lillian had had a good day surrounded by family and people who cared. She’d had a massage, and that, coupled with a hot bath, would hopefully help her sleep, and that was what Harry wanted for her.

So this kiss was about intimacy, closeness, togetherness.

This was one of the many types of kisses they’d share thousands of over the decades. A late-evening lazy kiss that said everything, but didn’t have to lead to anything.

Harry absolutely wanted to guide their relationship to the next level.

But right now, this was precisely what both of them needed.

And this was what they had.

Later, while Lillian was in the bath, Harry had the game on and his dogs around him.

And he found he actually liked peppermint tea.

THIRTY-FIVE

See Clear

Harry

Early the next afternoon, Harry was returning to the station from talking to the staff at the bookkeeping firm where Cheryl Ballard worked.

She hadn’t called in sick that day, she was just a no-show, and her boss and co-workers were getting worried about law enforcement visits and Cheryl’s continued absence.

Harry made it worse, because the sheriff coming to call was a strengthening sign things were really not good.

He’d learned what Sean had learned when he’d come out days earlier.

Cheryl Ballard was liked. She was a good employee. Dependable, normally.

Though, one woman who Harry deemed as closer to Cheryl than the others, and as such, she was someone who was cottoning on to the situation, shared Cheryl had very bad taste in men.

This wasn’t news to Harry, and it, along with everything else they weren’t getting meant they were no closer to anything on any of what they were investigating.

The cops in Idaho hadn’t found Sonny’s purse or Avery’s wallet.

Jason and Jesse had been poking around, but along with their inquiries, and those of the police in Coeur d’Alene, they’d been unable to find anyone other than the motel owners who remembered them. Jason and Jesse decided that well had run dry and they were going to return to help dig into things in MP.

No word from the Dietrichs.

Because of this, Rus started putting more pressure on the son in DC, and in return Gerald Jr. started getting nasty, claiming police harassment and throwing barbs “because I know how you all work in Fret County.”

Fortunately, Rus didn’t easily get his feelings hurt, and he didn’t hold back about how choppy the water was where his parents were wading, and if they didn’t do themselves a few favors, the riptide would carry them away.

Unfortunately, what made up his job was nine parts hard slog paperwork, running down leads that came to nothing, filtering through what they had to see if they had anything (and often finding they didn’t), painstakingly going through data and information, and waiting, with only one part being them getting their man (or woman)—that was, if they ever did.

They were neck deep in that shit now, working old cases which made all of it worse.

They just had to have patience and persevere.

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