When the Heart Lies (13 page)

“Dang, maybe I should just go plum crazy once in a while and get myself out of the house a bit.”

Kinsley squeezed her legs together, pressing her folded hands into her lap. She thought she was going to pee herself laughing at Veda’s outlandish statement.

Veda, bopping up and down a bit like a teenager, appeared more than excited for her. “Did you get his number? Will you see him again?”

Kinsley’s smile diminished, and she tilted her head toward Veda. “You know I can’t get involved.”

Veda closed and opened her mouth quickly, producing a smack sound with her tongue. “What are you doing with Wayde? I’ve never seen such a mismatch in all my life.”

“I’m leaving. It’s just going to take a while. I’m going back to Nick. For Max.”

“What about you? Max will never be happy if you aren’t. I get it, you don’t want to be a single parent, but a lot of kids’ parents are divorced. You deserve more. You have to get past the fairy tale and get on with life.” Veda’s frown was sincere as she took Kinsley’s hand and squeezed.

Veda was spot on; Kinsley lived life believing fairytales could come true. She blinked back tears and smiled. “I will.”

“You two wanna stay for dinner tonight? Just going to be me and Colt.”

“Sounds terrific. You’re a lifesaver.” Any time she got away from Wayde was heaven. They had a nice dinner, said their goodbyes, and she and Max headed back.

After Max fell asleep for the night, she returned to the kitchen to wash up the dinner dishes they’d left for her. She never minded if they left them. In front of the sink was the one place she felt comfortable and alone, even though Savannah and Wayde were only two feet away. Day after day, night after night, she was under a spell as she stared out the window. For her, imagining all the people and things the old, crooked oak with the hanging moss had seen over the years was like opening a storybook. Maybe someday two star-crossed lovers would meet there in one of her novels.

“You almost done,” Wayde said.

“Just about.” Too bad she didn’t write fairytales; Wayde would be the perfect character study for a troll. She pushed the thought away wanting to keep the peace tonight. When she finished, she went to the bedroom and grabbed her book, but there was nowhere to read in comfort. The bedroom, with its old, sagging mattress and faux, black silk sheets reminded her of Wayde touching her, and the old filthy sofa in the living room was itchy from the sand that had
bore into the fabric over the years. She supposed she could put a blanket over the thing, but there were no lamps in the room anyway, only a bright bulb hanging from a string with no shade, and she didn’t want to wake Max. When she returned to the kitchen to join Wayde and Savannah, she slipped into her chair and opened her book.

“Hey, darlin’, did ya get enough of rubbing crotches with the bitch down the road?” Wayde said as he ground his torso into his chair several times, adding sound effects for emphasis.

She glared at him with pursed lips, becoming so angry, the corner of her eye began to twitch. “You’re an abomination to men everywhere.” The only phone was in the kitchen, or she would’ve gotten up right then and called Nick. Maybe he would tell her she made her ragged bed with the faux silk sheets, and now she had to lie in it. Maybe that’s what she deserved.

“Darlin’, why don’t you put the stupid book away and enjoy the night with us.”

She slapped the book onto the table. “Why do you have to call me darlin’?”

His head reeled back. “What the hell am I supposed to call you?”

“How about Kinsley? Or don’t talk to me at all. That’d be fine.”

Savannah stood, went to the coffee pot, and as she poured, snickered, “Even her name sounds stuck up.”

Kinsley ignored her and opened her book.

Wayde snatched the book roughly from her hands. She’d had a firm grip, and she nearly followed it to the trashcan.

“Why don’t you be sociable? You need to forget about your old life and try getting along. Shit.”

“Hell, I’d even try to get along with her if she wasn’t such a bitch all the time,” Savannah said. “I can hear Remy’s truck in the driveway. He ain’t gonna put up with her talkin’ to me the way she does.” Her head wobbled a warning in Kinsley’s direction.

“I’m not afraid of Remy.”

Savannah squinted her eyes, looking evil. “You should be. Never know what he’ll do when he gets mad.”

Remy
was
creepy, and she found out from Veda he’d been in jail for beating his wife a few times. Sometimes she wished she could hold her tongue, but when she got angry, the thing seemed to flap on without her. Now more than ever, she worried she’d go too far.

“I don’t understand why you’re so ornery,” Wayde said. “Have a few drinks with us. You’ve been in a mood since you came home, and I ain’t putting up with no more crap.”

She decided she had better stay quiet and go along. Pretend. After all, going along had been her first instinct. Unfortunately, she’d been pretending for so long now that life before Wayde seemed make-believe. Some story she’d read. “You’re right. I should relax and have a few drinks. Savannah, why don’t we start over. I’m willing to try if you are.”

Savannah didn’t respond and darted up from the table right away when Remy came in rubbing the stubble on his shaved head and chewing on the toothpick that rarely left his mouth.

“Wha’d you want to drink, baby?” Savannah said.

Before responding, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close, kissing her. He maneuvered his tongue around and around. Apparently, he was trying to find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.

Repulsive.

“Sweet tea, baby.” Remy pinched Savannah’s ass, sent her on her way, and turned to Wayde. “So, the Queen’s back. I can only imagine what you’re gonna hit her with when you git her between the sheets tonight. Hit her once for me, too.”

Kinsley envisioned herself leaping over the table and ripping Remy’s eyes out for that nasty statement. She began quivering inside and stood to leave to keep herself from acting out the scene. “All right, enough, I’m going to bed.”

When she got up to leave, Wayde grabbed her arm and pulled her so hard she fell back onto her seat. It shocked her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Let go of me. I said I’m going to bed.” She was convinced now. She should start playing the part of the submissive doormat. To say it’d be difficult would be an understatement. She naively thought she’d be able to leave easily.

“Have a drink, darlin’. By the time we go to bed, you won’t think it’s such a bad idea. We’re going to have some fun tonight.”

She took the bottle from him, sat back down, and poured herself some vodka. She didn’t take her eyes off him and drank the shot down in one gulp, not allowing him to see it tasted awful and burned raw the lining of her throat. She was done giving him the satisfaction of seeing how he intimidated her. It was hard enough to admit he did.

Chapter 8

Before getting ready for dinner, Jackson took an hour and searched the internet. Not much luck with addresses. Wayde seemed to like PO boxes, and he appeared to be uncommonly transient up until the last ten years, when he began working and living in Orangevale. There were no name changes, previous jobs, or insurance records, and his DMV records added nothing to the investigation. After blowing out an exaggerated breath, he closed the computer and went to get ready for dinner.

He was finishing dressing when Olivia’s knock came.

“Jackson, it’s me.”

He hollered over his shoulder and continued tying his tie. “C’mon in. I left it open, and I’m not even naked.”

As she walked in, she assessed his reflection in the mirror. “Nice suit. I approve.”

“Thanks, you look nice, too.”

She wore an ivory silk dress. She usually wore black or red. The dress hung only a couple inches above the knee, long for her. He gave his tie one last adjustment and turned around to face her.

“We’d better head to the restaurant.” Olivia said. “We don’t want to keep Xavier waiting.”

As they entered Chez Armand, Jackson slipped his hand around Olivia’s waist launching their little masquerade. The restaurant was elegant and upscale. An assortment of midnight blues and grays complemented the candlelit chandeliers hanging low above the tables that were adorned with fresh floral arrangements.

“We’re with the Wentworth party,” he said.

“Right this way, please.”

The maître d’, an expressionless, stuffy, little fat man, whose chin squished down as an extension of his neck, took them into the dining room, wobbling as he walked. He led them to a table with a bay window overlooking a garden seating area with small white lights in the flowering trees. Xavier and Nick stood to greet them. Again, Xavier took Olivia’s hand and gave her a kiss on the cheek. He broke the connection quickly, and turned his attention to Jackson.

“Jackson, this is my wife, Angela, and my son, Nick.”

Xavier tilted his head toward Nick and Angela. “You’ve both met Olivia.” Angela scanned him and pulled at her earring with a distracted smile.

Jackson smiled and nodded in Angela’s direction. “Ma’am.” He and Nick shook hands. “Nice to meet you, Nick.”

The maître d’ stood holding Olivia’s chair and waited for them to sit. The waiter appeared promptly to take their drink orders and suggested the entrées of the evening. When he left, he gave a slight bow.

“Olivia, what on earth are you doing here all the way from Le Grand?” Angela said, pulling at her earring again as she shot Xavier a glare.

Olivia flashed a pert smile. “I’m doing some work here for a couple of days.”

Tight-lipped, Angela arranged her napkin as she placed it on her lap. “How nice.”

The two women resembled felines, purring at each other rather than clawing to keep things civilized.

“Yes, very nice,” Olivia said, glancing at Xavier. Angela noticed.

“So, Jackson, what do you do?” Angela asked.

From her tone, the question was obvious. What’s your status? And he found it annoying. He maintained eye contact with a challenging stare. “I’m a cop. I work in Olivia’s precinct in Le Grand.”

“Really? You and Nick have at least one thing in common … remotely.” She flipped her hand dismissively. “Nick’s a lawyer.”

Nick’s head darted up when Angela made the tactless statement. She might as well have said, “My son’s better than you are.” The eye Xavier gave her was nothing less than a warning.

“That must be a very exciting line of work,” Xavier said. “I’ve always admired police officers for their bravery.” He lifted his glass. “Heroes every day.”

“That’s for sure. I could never be a cop.” Nick’s comment followed Xavier’s offhandedly, but sounded genuine.

“He’s a terrific cop. One of the best.” Olivia gave Jackson an admiring smile.

Jackson never mentioned he’d been a prosecuting attorney in Le Grand for years, and Olivia knew him well enough to know he could care less about the conclusions people might make about him. They made small talk over dinner. Nick seemed personable, thus far, and Xavier appeared to be over his displeasure with his earlier questioning. The food was delicious, and he was able to assess the family dynamics, specifically Nick’s character. The three Wentworths looked as if they were relatively comfortable with each other, in a superficial sort of way.

“It might be fun for the three of you to go out after dinner,” Xavier said. “Nick, maybe you could show them around town.”

Nick swallowed his mouthful of steak too soon. Stretching his neck, he gulped before getting any words out. “I’d love to.”

“Great, what do you think Jackson?” Olivia said.

“Fine with me.” He draped his arm over her chair, leaned back, and continued to observe their interactions.

“Ah, shit.” Nick said as is head dropped to the side. He grimaced, pinching his forehead with his fingers.

“Oh, Lord,” Angela added and looked in every direction, avoiding the sexy red head coming their way. She stopped as the woman came closer and glared at Nick. “She has some nerve. Get rid of her.” She turned to Xavier. “Xavier?”

Xavier raised his brow and opened his hands with a shrug delivering the universal ‘what the hell would you like me to do about it’ gesture. Nick appeared to be over it and smiled as she approached.

The woman flipped her phony red hair over her shoulder and sat her abundant ass on the chair between Jackson and Nick. She slung her arm casually around the back of Nick’s chair. Leaning in, she flashed him a choice view of the cleavage spilling from her sausage-tight, emerald dress. “All alone again tonight, Nick?” she said in a sultry voice. “Where’s that wife of yours been hiding?”

Nick pulled his salad fork from his mouth, leaned back into his chair and patted his lips with his napkin. “Now, Stephanie, what would be the point of her hiding, if I knew where she was? I rather like a mystery.” He dragged his finger along the neckline of her dress, smiling. “Don’t you?” The only response he got was the budding of her nipples beneath the thin fabric of her dress.