Page 7 of Unchained
“Self defense.”
“That’s your story, and there was no one around to collaborate what you say.”
“You were there.”
She shook her head. “I was home watching a movie.” She took a long drag on the joint. “Maybe you can trust that little bimbo who came out to suck your cock.”
I moved from the love seat to the couch and took the joint when she offered it again. Two drags, and I returned the glowing stick. I held the smoke in my lungs and then exhaled. “You would fucking throw me under the bus?”
“In a heartbeat.” The end of the joint grew fiery red when she took another toke. She handed me the remaining joint and then grabbed another from the wooden box.
“Guess I see why you keep out of the public spotlight.” I stubbed out the small nub and held out my fingers for the second joint.
“People should keep their personal life apart from their professional life.” She took the joint back and finished it off without offering me another hit. I put my hand on her leg, and she promptly removed it. “Trust me, you don’t want any of me.”
“How do you know that?” I could honestly say a woman had never fed me that line before.
She dropped the spent joint onto a small tray on the table and smiled. “Because I’m into shit you would never dream of.” She patted my leg and stood. “Trust me on this, Deacon.”
“Trust me when I say there’s nothing I can’t handle.” I stood, and she held up her hand for me to stop.
“Why were you at the club tonight? Doesn’t seem like your place to be.”
“If you know who I am, then you know my wife went missing five years ago.”
“Presumed drowned, according to the authorities.”
“I’m hunting her killer.”
“Heroic of you.”
“You’re from Miami?” I asked, wanting to change the subject from Suzanne. I made it a point to keep my cards close to my chest.
“Not originally.”
“And Carlie wasn’t coming out to suck anything.”
“The guest bedroom is back there. Look in the closet. You may find something to fit you.” She walked away in the opposite direction, and I heard her close a door.
I stood there a moment, not sure of what just happened. And why the hell did she have men’s clothes in the guest bedroom? Women never ceased to confuse me.
The bedroom looked like something from a rich and famous television show. The canopy bed was perfectly made, not a single wrinkle. A half-dozen pillows leaned against the headboard. I went to the closet and found an entire male wardrobe. Scratching my head, I continued to the bathroom and the million-dollar design. I’d prosecuted criminals who lived like this, but her money was all clean, I assumed.
Key West was going to be interesting.
