Page 2 of Dead Bled Ringer

Tick

My nails were done, my golden blonde curls a lush fall down my back, my skin singing with nightly diamond cream, the luxurious feeling of my silky pajamas soft against my skin.

I was a pampered, wealthy housewife, but I was still here at midnight in my massive home without my husband.

There was a flicker of movement in the backyard, beyond those big French doors.

But the motion detectors didn't turn on.

For a moment I was frozen, hands clutching the sofa.

The motion detector must be broken.

That’s all this was.

Then I saw it again. Another flicker, another shadowy movement.

And then through the glass, I saw him.

The rider from the motorcycle. And if he had any innocent reason for being at my back door, he wouldn’t be dressed all in black—black leather jacket, black jeans, big black boots, with a ski mask over his face.

I stumbled up and across the room.

My phone was plugged in on the table, but could I get to it in time. . .

Ripping desperately at the cord, I whirled around as the French doors exploded in a million splinters of glass.

And for a moment, I was scared absolutely shitless at the hulking dark figure who stepped into my house, crunching through the shards of glass with massive shitkicker boots. He was at least 6’5 with broad shoulders and powerful arms.

And then those dark eyes met mine through the ski mask. One a deep, rich chestnut color, and the other an unusual amber, with swirls of gold and copper. My spine instantly relaxed.

It was my husband

He had come after all!

When the therapist suggested spicing up our sex life, Henry had scoffed at the suggestion that we do more role-playing.

And then he said he was too busy with the merger and would be home late all week.

But for once I had put my foot down.

For once, I had said the d word.

Divorce

The fact that he was here meant he really cared. Our marriage was salvageable after all!

Excitement sliced through me and I turned and ran.

I shot down the hallway and into the kitchen, already feeling my nipples tightening with excitement at the crunching sounds behind me as he gave chase.

Skittering under a long table, I crawled beneath the tablecloth and waited, my heart pounding.

Then I heard steps in the kitchen, slow and deliberate.

My thighs were trembling and I squeezed them together as I curled into a little ball, making sure my pink toes weren’t peeking out, hardly daring to breathe.

He walked with heavy steps across the beautiful tiled floors, dragging something all across my marble countertops.