Page 24 of First Date: Divorce (Wyoming Marriage Association #1)

This counseling stuff was a lot harder than it looked from a distance, Eric thought.

Was it as hard for couples truly trying to save a marriage? They didn’t have to make things up as they went, nor remember what they’d made up previously.

On the other hand, real couples were trying to save a marriage, while he wasn’t. His to Hilary was deader than dead and the supposed one to K.D. didn’t exist.

He fielded another question from Melody with a one-word answer, thanks to Pauline’s questionnaire and drilling.

K.D. asked a question about what if counseling didn’t work.

“We can visit that later — if we have to. But for now, I don’t want either of you to think about this failing, only about how to succeed. We have many successes and…”

He hadn’t really failed at marriage. He’d failed well before that — maybe when he said hello to Hilary. Sure as heck when he’d gone against his instincts in letting things happen so fast.

His family’s lukewarm response should have put the brakes on, but she’d rushed him past that. How would they react to K.D.?

Didn’t matter. Not a valid question.

“What do you think about that, Eric?” Melody asked. “About what you were thinking when you got married?”

He’d missed some of her words, but caught up now.

“I got married thinking what I could do for her, instead of what we could build together, because if I had, I’d have seen—”

He broke off. Not part of the scenario they’d built.

K.D. said, “What you could do for me? That’s what you say, but what did you do for me except try to make me the little wife?”

Good for her, bringing them back on script.

He sank into silence. Let Melody think it was defensive or withdrawn.

K.D. answered a question from Melody and he threw a look toward K.D. without reaching her, figuring that would give the counselor more to chew on.

He had a hard time imagining Hilary digging deep in counseling. His mouth twisted. To her, what was wrong was him and that he didn’t give her the life she expected on schedule. Or had she seen him as a step up the socio-economic ladder from the start?

Probably.

That realization didn’t bother him. It was all part and parcel of Hilary.

Her lemonness, according to Pauline.

He thought of how he’d wanted to share that exchange with K.D., see her amusement…

But then another realization came.

He’d been over Hilary — and over the divorce — for a while.

Not only the part where you swing from thinking you love someone to thinking they’re the demon seed, but to the part where you don’t care.

Maybe he could posit a test: When you thought it amusing that your assistant likened your ex to a lemon car, you were fully recovered.

“This is a good start,” Melody said. “This evening, you’ll have dinner — the two of you — on the patio, then you can join the group for a movie in the reception area. We recommend an early night, because the work really begins tomorrow.”

*

K.D. planned to wait for Eric to fall asleep.

Their dinner on the patio had felt like a command performance, with wait staff in a position to overhear almost anything they said. They’d kept carefully to what they’d practiced.

Watching the movie had been much easier, but not productive, since there’d been no opportunity to learn anything new. Except that the staff clearly didn’t work nine-to-five.

One of the counselors — not Melody — remained on hand until the last guests went to their rooms, apparently available for emergency counseling.

Lily passed through the back of the movie-watchers a couple times.

As did a tall, burly man, though he appeared to be on his way out for the weekend, judging by his quiet good night to Lily.

K.D. and Eric lingered, but that counselor didn’t budge, so after an exchange of looks, they went upstairs.

To their room.

Which left her waiting for Eric to fall asleep so she could get to work, in the expectation that Marriage-Save hadn’t installed night-vision cameras.

One flaw with her plan.

She recognized it lying beside Eric in the dark in the too-small bed. Unless he snored, how would she know he was asleep?

They’d prepared for bed with distant politeness. If there were cameras and anyone watched, they might infer seething sentiments beneath the politeness, but K.D. knew it was simply distant politeness.

He’d waved her to the bathroom first. She brushed her teeth and washed her face, but didn’t change. Yet.

As soon as the door closed with him in the bathroom, she changed into the capri pajama bottoms and three-quarter-sleeve top she’d bought at the big box store. Thank heavens.

If she hadn’t made that shopping stop in order to be more covered up while sharing a house with him, she would have been about to share a bed with him wearing a not-as-long-as-it-could-be nightshirt.

Even with the extra covering, she made sure to have her clothes folded and put away, and to be in the bed with the covers up before he emerged from his turn in the bathroom.

Between slitted eyelids, she saw him come out wearing pajama bottoms.

Only pajama bottoms, and they did not start at his narrow waist, but significantly lower.

No reason to be uncomfortable about that. He certainly was more covered than he would be in the swimming pool or hot tub.

Not a big deal. She saw men’s bare chests all the time.

Eyes closed and breathing deliberately deeper to let him think she’d fallen asleep, she listened to him quietly move around the room. He checked the door, put his clothes away, turned off the lights, then moved to the far side of the bed.

Whether by sound or feel she didn’t know, but she was aware of him draping something at the foot of the bed. A robe? Well, he could have worn that out of the bathroom and spared her the distraction of—

She shut off the indignant thought. It didn’t matter. It had no effect on the investigation.

He climbed in, pulled his half of the sheet up, leaving the blanket to pool between them, and turned on his side with his back to her.

No contact at all. Anywhere.

Sure, there’d been the sensation of the mattress dipping with his weight, almost as if it meant to roll her toward him and—

But it didn’t.

Yes, slight tension on the sheet reminded her another body was under it. A body with broad shoulders and narrow hips. A body with a chest that—

No. Wasn’t going there.

Besides, he had his back to her.

Would his back be as muscled as—?

Not there, either.

Keep her mind on the job.

That was the moment she recognized the flaw. How would she know he was asleep?

Not something they’d covered at the academy.

Time to go. She’d take her chances he was asleep.

She slid one foot out from under the covers. Stretched that leg down until her toes touched the floor. Smoothly, silently, with as little disruption of the covers as possible, she rolled sideways out of bed, then stood.

He didn’t stir. Taking her time, she walked to the dark bathroom, aided by a sliver of light under the hallway door.

She took her time in the bathroom. Making sure that if he hadn’t been deeply asleep when she got out of bed, he had time to get there.

She dug to the bottom of her toiletries bag for one of the pairs of evidence gloves and the tiny combo pinpoint flashlight/digital camera she’d hidden beneath the usual stuff, and stowed them in her robe pockets. She figured she’d waited long enough.

With the light out, she eased out of the bathroom and listened. Nothing. Holding her breath, she stuck close to the bookcase. If there were cameras, they weren’t likely to focus on the bookcase.

At the hallway door, she turned the handle and opened it the minimum necessary. Before she closed it the final half inch, she listened again. No stirring from the vicinity of the bed. Good.

In the dimly lit but camera-less hallway, she let out a breath, and strode confidently along. If questioned, she was a light sleeper in search of something to drink besides water.

Still, no sense inviting questions. She took the stairs, skipping the elevator and its camera.

In the reception area she hesitated. This might be the perfect time to check out Ms. Smiley’s domain behind the desk.

No. First, the area marked “Safe” on the drawings. She followed plans, not impulses.

She went under the archway beneath the stairs, listened for a long moment, because past here it would be harder to explain her presence.

She heard nothing.

She moved quickly and quietly past the counseling rooms.

How is your sexual relationship?

Nonexistent.

This wasn’t the time to think about that.

No time was the time to think about that.

She refocused. She’d reached the door that corresponded with the spot labeled “Safe.”

She’d brought tools, but always try the easiest way first. She turned the handle — unlocked — then slowly pushed the door.

Even the dim light from the hall seemed like a torch in the room’s darkness. She stepped in, quickly drawing the door closed behind her.

In the fraction of a second before her thumb found the button on her tiny flashlight, a hand clamped over her mouth from behind.