Michele Martinez - Most Wanted

“Steve?” she gasped, her nails digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt. “This…is… not …a…good…idea.”

“Ohhh, baby, you are so hot!”

Okay, maybe this was not the moment for serious discussion. She’d use him for sex, talk later. A girl has needs, after all.

When they were finished, he carried her into the bedroom and dumped her onto the bed, then collapsed beside her.

“God, I’m an idiot!” he cried. “What a tragedy.”

She sat up on one elbow and studied him. Was it possible he shared her anguish? That he felt the same sadness she did, having sex, with their estrangement weighing them down? Maybe this guy was really ready to work on things.

“Why do you say that?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Because.” He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “You are the hottest thing on this planet. That face, that body. Wild in the sack. What was I thinking, when I had this at home?”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. So if she had a bad hair day or gained a few pounds, he’d be out there looking for someone better?

“Steve, you’re not an idiot.” She paused. “You’re an asshole.”

She marched into the bathroom, slammed the door, and locked it.

“Melanie,” he called a minute later from the other side of the door, “I’m sorry! It came out wrong, okay? I’m exhausted. I’ve been up for thirty-six hours straight. All I meant was, I’m crazy about you and I can’t believe how I screwed up. Melanie?”

She turned the shower on full blast to drown out his words and stood under the scalding spray. She’d been so happy with him, and he had to go fuck it up just when they should’ve been closest because of the new baby, just when she needed him most. She knew she wouldn’t stay with him if it wasn’t the right thing. Where children were involved, she believed in forgiveness. But not if he kept acting the way he just did, like he truly didn’t get it. And yet, what would happen if they couldn’t put it back together? All her white-dress dreams would be over. She always promised herself that, no matter what, she’d never get divorced. She’d give Maya a better childhood than she’d had.

By the time she came out of the bathroom, Steve had crawled under the covers and fallen dead asleep. She looked at his handsome face and felt her heart break all over again. How many times had she watched him sleep, secure and happy in the knowledge that he belonged to her? Now he felt like a stranger.

She got dressed quickly. If she didn’t leave right away, she’d go totally loca . Work was the answer. Work was always the answer. She’d go check out that new lead. Steve could stay with Maya until Elsie showed up.

She was heading out of the room when it struck her. Today was the day. She’d declare independence, then figure things out from there. She had to tug hard to get them off. She left the wedding and engagement bands on the bedside table, right where he couldn’t miss them.

MELANIE WALKED THROUGH DAPPLED LIGHT ON a leafy block in the East Sixties, checking the numbers on the beautifully maintained brownstones. She found Sarah van der Vere’s building and studied the names written beside the intercom. Sarah lived on the second floor, but Melanie didn’t want to announce herself if she could possibly avoid it. Peering through a pane of etched glass set into the wooden door, she saw a mom in shorts and running shoes in the foyer loading her baby into a jogger-stroller. The mom turned and opened the front door. Melanie held it for her so she could maneuver the stroller through.

“Thanks,” the mom said, looking at Melanie questioningly.

“I’m a friend of Sarah’s,” Melanie explained. “Two, right?”

“Yup, parlor level.”

Whoever had taken the evidence from her bag last night knew that, too. She hoped they wouldn’t decide to pay Sarah a visit, because the security here was nonexistent. With her black pantsuit, heels, and briefcase, Melanie looked plenty respectable, but still…The mom had let her in without checking at all. Life without a doorman. The place was beautiful, though, the foyer cool, elaborately wallpapered. In Manhattan real estate, you made trade-offs.

She walked up the stairs and pressed the buzzer outside Sarah’s door. No answer. She buzzed again, holding the button down longer.

“Who is it?” a voice answered warily after a couple of minutes.

“Melanie Vargas from the U.S. Attorney’s Office, Sarah. We met in the elevator at your firm yesterday. I’m here to talk to you about Jed Benson’s murder.”

Complete silence. A moment passed, then another.

“Sarah?” she called, more insistently this time.

“You have the wrong apartment. Go away.”

“I know I’m in the right place. If you don’t open the door, I’ll have to come interview you at work.”

Melanie held her breath, listening. A moment later she heard the sound of the chain being removed. Sarah van der Vere opened the door and stepped aside, frowning. Still in her bathrobe, wet hair streaming over her shoulders, she looked young, yet firmly in possession of herself.

Melanie walked past her into a large, loftlike space. The internal walls had been removed from what had once been a one-bedroom floor-through. Light streamed in through tall windows at either end of the apartment, reflecting off lovely hardwood floors. In the front part of the space, two love seats were arranged before a charming old mantel. Opposite, a sleek kitchen opened to the room, divided off by a marble breakfast bar and two high stools. At the far end, a queen-size bed stood against one wall, its rumpled sheets telling of a fitful sleep.

Melanie gestured toward the seating area. “Let’s talk,” she said.

“What do you want?” Sarah asked irritably, not moving from her spot near the door.

“You spoke to me on the elevator yesterday. I know you know something about Jed Benson’s murder.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Sarah’s face was bright red, her breathing fast. Was she angry or scared?

“Are you afraid to talk to me, Sarah?” Melanie asked, searching her face.

“Afraid? No! I just don’t know why you’re here accusing me, that’s all. Jed was my supervisor. I don’t know anything about his death. Why should I?”

She was clearly lying. And the way she said Jed Benson’s name had an interesting ring to it. An intimate ring. Melanie took a shot in the dark.

“Sarah, somebody wanted Jed Benson dead. Given your close personal relationship with him, you could be next. You need to talk to me.”

“What do you know about me and Jed?” Sarah scoffed.

“We know a lot,” Melanie bluffed.

Sarah stood there for a second in silence. Then, slowly, her chin began to quiver, her face crumpled, and she started to sob. There was a stagy, overdone quality to the display, and Melanie made no move to comfort her. Besides, it was too galling, given Melanie’s own current circumstances. Sarah might be young, but she was old enough to know it was wrong to sleep with your married boss. And if the big secret was an affair with Jed Benson, it wasn’t much of a lead. No reason to think such an affair would have caused Benson’s murder.

Sarah got up and bolted for a door off the kitchen, leaving it ajar. Melanie heard the sounds of water being turned on and Sarah sobbing melodramatically.

“Go away! Just go away!” Sarah cried, and slammed the bathroom door.

Melanie sighed and checked her watch. She was due downtown in half an hour to meet Dan and Randall for the trip to Otisville. She needed to wrap this up and get on her way, and she hadn’t gotten a single useful piece of information yet. But something told her not to quit. The karma here was weird.