Page 125 of Carnal Urges
He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling. Then he rises, gets dressed, and leaves the room.
When he still hasn’t returned three days later, I’m in a panic unlike anything I’ve ever known.
Because according to the news, the boss of every mafia syndicate in the country is being murdered, one by one.
THIRTY-THREE
DECLAN
It’s late when I enter the house. Nearly three. I expect to find Sloane asleep in bed, but instead, she’s in the media room, curled up on the sofa with a glass of red wine. Two wine bottles sit on the coffee table, one of them empty, the other a quarter full.
The television is tuned to a twenty-four-hour news station.
She doesn’t notice me. I stand watching her from the door as she gulps from the wineglass and gnaws at her thumbnail. She looks exhausted. Strung out. Frantic with worry.
I feel a twinge of guilt, but am still glad I didn’t call.
Not that it was easy.
She hasn’t been off my mind for a second since I left. If I didn’t already know I was obsessed, three days apart drove the point home with the subtlety of a hatchet.
Grabbing the remote, she starts clicking through channels, jumping from station to station, pausing mere seconds between each. Looking for something.
I know what.
“Try CNN. They love the bloody stuff.”
Sloane jumps to her feet, dropping the glass of Cabernet to the floor. It spills all over the cream-colored carpet, leaving a pattern like the spray of a slit jugular vein.
Curling her hands to fists, she stares at me with wide, unblinking eyes.
“You’re alive.”
“Ah, those astonishing powers of observation.”
Her eyes flash. “Don’t you dare be nonchalant with me. Don’t you dare be glib.” She points a shaking finger at the sofa. “I’ve been sitting here for three fucking days, listening to reports about murdered gangsters. Three.Days. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? Why didn’t you call? Where the hell have you been?”
With every question, her voice rises. She’s mad as hell.
That shouldn’t make me happy, but it does. It makes me so happy, I could float.
“Working.” I glance at the television, then back at her.
I know she understands when her face drains of color.
“You …you…”
I say softly, “‘The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting.’”
Closing her eyes, she shakes her head. “And now you’re quoting Sun Tzu,” she says bitterly. “Like that makes any sense at all.”
“Just testing that superior IQ of yours. You passed. This time.”
Her lids fly open. She impales me with a look of such fury, I almost smile.
“What the fuck, Declan?”
I lean against the wall and fold my arms over my chest. “You’re cursing an unusual amount, lass, even for you. What’s that about?” I let my smile unfurl, like a snake’s coils. “Don’t tell me you missed me.”
