“No, sheets.”
Noah didn’t wait to hear the rest. He waved her away, repeating the word sheets as if he’d never heard anything more ridiculous.
“He tied them really tight,” she called after him. “It wasn’t normal sex play. You weren’t there. You didn’t see what he was like.”
Pivoting just before the door could close, he caught it and pointed an accusing finger at her. “It’s you, Jane. It’s not him. You’ve been cracking up for a while now. You need therapy and probably a good dose of Prozac.” Slamming the door shut, he locked it.
Tears slipped down Jane’s cheeks as she watched his retreating back through the glass door. She’d scratched that back, massaged it—slept with him, loved him.
But Noah wasn’t hers to love. He never had been, not really. She was married to the psychopath who was waiting for her to come home and make him dinner.
Knowing he’d be spending the rest of the evening with Skye made it difficult for David to think of anything else. There were so many doubts crowding his brain—and, as always, the nagging guilt over Lynnette and Jeremy. But he didn’t see how remarrying Lynnette would work if he didn’t really want to be with her, despite her illness and the compassion and sympathy he felt about the diagnosis. He couldn’t even touch Lynnette, felt absolutely no desire to do so.
On the other hand, he didn’t know where he expected his relationship with Skye to go. He was trying not to think that far down the line, because then he had to consider the prospect of giving his son a stepmother, deciding whether or not he wanted other kids, acknowledging that Lynnette would have it far rougher without him, even if he tried to support her as a friend, and figuring out whether or not he could live comfortably with Skye’s work putting her in constant danger.
Whenever he confronted all those issues, he felt overwhelmed and wanted to force his life back to its original path, which meant trying to reconcile with Lynnette, and that started the whole confusing cycle over again. So he decided he wouldn’t think about the future. He’d take one day at a time—and this day was going to be pretty damn great because, after his last stop, he’d be heading out to the delta to have dinner with Skye. It was nearly six already.
Slowing his police-issue sedan, he read the addresses on the street, trying to figure out which residence belonged to Noah Burke. He’d interviewed Oliver’s brother before the trial nearly four years ago, but that interview had taken place at the station.
He frowned as he remembered the twenty minutes he’d spent with Noah, which had been a waste of time. Noah had maintained the family story: Oliver was a joy to be around, he’d never been a troublemaker, he had no dark side and wasn’t capable of attempted rape. But David hadn’t come to talk about Oliver today.
The four numbers he’d been searching for glinted in brass from a mailbox with an elaborate brick pedestal covered in ivy. Judging by the house, Noah was doing all right for himself. A two-story giant built with New England–style dormers and shutters, it fit perfectly with the other custom homes in the area. The lot alone, which had to be half an acre, was probably worth $500,000. Although Noah and his family weren’t on the river, where many of the real mansions were, he’d paid a pretty penny for the property.
Turning into the brick-rimmed drive that formed a half circle with lighted pillars flanking each side, David parked behind a minivan with its doors open. A quick glance told him no one was inside, but as he approached the house he realized why—Noah’s wife was just leaving.
“Oh! Excuse me,” she exclaimed when she nearly bumped into him on the front stoop. “I didn’t hear the bell.”
He hadn’t had a chance to ring it. He’d been checking the manila file folder he was carrying to make sure he had Bishop’s picture. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m looking for your husband, Noah. Is he around?”
She hadn’t recognized him at first. She’d caught herself to avoid a collision and apologized, but her face clouded as she placed him. “You’re that detective, the one from Oliver’s trial.”
“Detective Willis.” He held out his hand and she took it, but a trifle reluctantly. “Is your husband at home?” he repeated.
Before she could answer, a boy of about ten darted through the door and cut around them, bouncing a basketball as he ran for the van.
“Noah just got home from work. He’s changing and I’m—”
“On your way out. I can see that. If you’d tell Noah I’d like a minute, I’ll wait for him here on the stoop.”
She hesitated as if unsure how to react and settled on cautiously polite. “You can have a seat in the living room if you’d prefer.”
“That’s okay. This is fine.”
She lowered her voice and visibly braced herself. “Oliver hasn’t done anything else, has he?”
“Else?” David repeated.
When she didn’t immediately retract that telling word, he knew she’d become a little disenchanted with her brother-in-law. Or maybe she was tired of the whole situation.
“I’m not here to talk about Oliver.” He opened the folder for the second time and handed her the picture inside it. “Have you ever seen this man?”
Her expression remained blank. “No. Who is he?”
“Lorenzo Bishop. He used to work for one of your husband’s subcontractors.”
The eyes that met his were full of curiosity. “Has he done something wrong?”
“Yes.”
“Then, I wish I could help but—” she shrugged and returned the picture “—I’ve never seen him before in my life.”
“Mom! Come on,” the kid yelled from the car. “If I’m late, Coach Green will make the whole team run liners.”
Wendy Burke’s keys jangled as she slid the strap of her purse onto her shoulder and ducked her head back inside the house. “Noah!” she called. This elicited no response so she raised her voice. “Noah!”
“What is it?”
“Detective Willis is here to see you.”
No other sound came from the house, at least nothing audible. David guessed Noah was cursing under his breath. David wasn’t a popular figure with this family.
“Did you hear me?” she called. “He has some questions about a man who used to work for you. I have to go or Brian’ll be late for basketball practice.”