runs his hands through his hair before continuing.
“I’ll help. You know I will beautiful. But don’t think it’s going to be easy for me.”
I know what he means, and this is what it comes down to. Sex. It’s what it always comes down to. This is his way of letting me know that he’ll have a hard time not getting it from me, and maybe even that he’d find it somewhere else.
I decide that it’s no longer my place to ask him exactly what he means by that and give him a small, reassuring smile.
“I think this is the time we rip the band aid off, so if you don’t have plans today, I suggest we dive right into it.”
He studies me a few moments longer than necessary before standing up.
“No plans. I’m going to go grab a shower and a bite to eat. Meet you back here in an hour?”
I nod my head.
“Sounds good.”
Chapter Ten
I sit at the old wooden table that Tom Morgan and his dear late wife used to share dinners at. They probably smiled and told each other about their day around this table, most likely over a nice home cooked meal.
There will be no smiles around this table today.
Ryder is sitting in his usual spot at the head of the table, and I’m to his right, facing out the window toward his house. The mood is somber, and despite my want for a glass of vodka to accompany the task ahead of us, I know I need to keep a clear head.
“I’m not going to dive right into what happened in the basement, because at this point I don’t think it’s relevant. You’ll see enough from the photos and you’ve already seen my body.”
Out of habit he reaches over to squeeze my leg, but it ends up being more of a pat before he corrects himself.
“What I think is important is for you to look at all the information gathered so far, and do whatever it is you’d normally do to try and figure out who the second attacker is. My being wanted for questioning back in Canada is a moot point at the moment. I’m not asking you for help to get me out of that, I just need your help to find out who’s after me.”
I push the two inch thick folder containing the rest of the things he hasn’t seen toward him. The things he noticed were missing when he first discovered my dark secret spread out on my old kitchen table back in Indy.
“I’ll do what I can and use whatever resources I have to help you, Elle.”
I absorb the sincerity in his eyes before nodding my head, and letting the folder go. He gives me a small, reassuring smile before opening it up.
Ryder heaves out a long breath deep from his lungs and rests his hands on the table, now clenched tight into fists.
I know what he’s looking at, the first photos are of Andrew’s shrine. A wall approximately twenty-feet long by ten-feet tall covered in photos of me, along with notes of my schedule. When I went to work, who I hung out with, what time I usually went to bed at night.
The first few photos are of the full wall. The next photos he’ll see are the close ups on that wall. I wait for him to turn the pages and see the woman I once was; the one with the big smile on her face. The one that walked around without a care in the world. The woman who once swayed her hips when she walked, not because she wanted to flaunt herself, but because she had pride in who she was, what she did.
She was a hard worker, a good mother and a damn good friend to those closest to her. She was pale-skinned, with long wavy light blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. She was everything this new miserable bitch is not, and her name was Jayne O’Connor.
I watch him look at photo after photo. I watch his hands clench and unclench. I watch him grind his teeth, and fidget in his chair.
He turns the page and I see the photo of my daughter and I playing on the swing set in our backyard. Both our smiles
“I’ll help. You know I will beautiful. But don’t think it’s going to be easy for me.”
I know what he means, and this is what it comes down to. Sex. It’s what it always comes down to. This is his way of letting me know that he’ll have a hard time not getting it from me, and maybe even that he’d find it somewhere else.
I decide that it’s no longer my place to ask him exactly what he means by that and give him a small, reassuring smile.
“I think this is the time we rip the band aid off, so if you don’t have plans today, I suggest we dive right into it.”
He studies me a few moments longer than necessary before standing up.
“No plans. I’m going to go grab a shower and a bite to eat. Meet you back here in an hour?”
I nod my head.
“Sounds good.”
Chapter Ten
I sit at the old wooden table that Tom Morgan and his dear late wife used to share dinners at. They probably smiled and told each other about their day around this table, most likely over a nice home cooked meal.
There will be no smiles around this table today.
Ryder is sitting in his usual spot at the head of the table, and I’m to his right, facing out the window toward his house. The mood is somber, and despite my want for a glass of vodka to accompany the task ahead of us, I know I need to keep a clear head.
“I’m not going to dive right into what happened in the basement, because at this point I don’t think it’s relevant. You’ll see enough from the photos and you’ve already seen my body.”
Out of habit he reaches over to squeeze my leg, but it ends up being more of a pat before he corrects himself.
“What I think is important is for you to look at all the information gathered so far, and do whatever it is you’d normally do to try and figure out who the second attacker is. My being wanted for questioning back in Canada is a moot point at the moment. I’m not asking you for help to get me out of that, I just need your help to find out who’s after me.”
I push the two inch thick folder containing the rest of the things he hasn’t seen toward him. The things he noticed were missing when he first discovered my dark secret spread out on my old kitchen table back in Indy.
“I’ll do what I can and use whatever resources I have to help you, Elle.”
I absorb the sincerity in his eyes before nodding my head, and letting the folder go. He gives me a small, reassuring smile before opening it up.
Ryder heaves out a long breath deep from his lungs and rests his hands on the table, now clenched tight into fists.
I know what he’s looking at, the first photos are of Andrew’s shrine. A wall approximately twenty-feet long by ten-feet tall covered in photos of me, along with notes of my schedule. When I went to work, who I hung out with, what time I usually went to bed at night.
The first few photos are of the full wall. The next photos he’ll see are the close ups on that wall. I wait for him to turn the pages and see the woman I once was; the one with the big smile on her face. The one that walked around without a care in the world. The woman who once swayed her hips when she walked, not because she wanted to flaunt herself, but because she had pride in who she was, what she did.
She was a hard worker, a good mother and a damn good friend to those closest to her. She was pale-skinned, with long wavy light blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. She was everything this new miserable bitch is not, and her name was Jayne O’Connor.
I watch him look at photo after photo. I watch his hands clench and unclench. I watch him grind his teeth, and fidget in his chair.
He turns the page and I see the photo of my daughter and I playing on the swing set in our backyard. Both our smiles
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