Sandra Brown - Play Dirty

He yanked a robe off a hanger, then began rifling bureau drawers until he found her underwear. Not the skimpier, lacier kind he’d seen Laura in, but what he came up with would do.

Pads. Wouldn’t Ellie be past menopause? Hell if he knew. He searched their bathroom but didn’t find any personal products in any of the cabinets. The guest bath? Ellie had nieces who came to visit occasionally. Maybe…

In the guest bath closet he found extra toilet tissue, toothpaste and soap, disposable razors, even cellophane-wrapped toothbrushes. Pads and tampons. Thank God for Ellie. He grabbed the box of pads.

Laura was sitting on the lid of the toilet, hugging her waistline, staring into near space, rocking back and forth. He set the items on the counter, then crouched in front of her. She was still wrapped in the towel. He saw the goose bumps on her bare arms and legs. “I’m sorry I took so long.”

“You didn’t. It’s all right.”

“You’re cold.” He placed the thick robe around her shoulders. “Put your arms in.” He guided her arms into the sleeves, then pulled the robe together over her chest, towel and all.

“Thank you.”

“What else can I do?”

“Nothing.”

He remained squatted down in front of her, staring into her face. “Are you sure…Maybe…” She shook her head, cutting him off, severing his hope.

Fresh tears spilled over her eyelids and rolled down her cheeks. “There was a lot. Too much for it to be a false alarm.”

“You should go to the hospital. Call your doctor at least.”

“In a day or so, I’ll go to the doctor. I know they have to make sure that it all came out.” She swallowed hard, he thought probably to hold back sobs. “I’ll be okay. I have to get through this part. It’s not pleasant, but…” She swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “This happens all the time. One out of every ten pregnancies. Something like that.”

But it doesn’t happen to you. And not to me. This was a sorrow they shared. He touched her cheek, but she yanked her head back and stood up. “I need privacy now.”

“Can’t I-”

“No. There’s nothing you can do. Just…” She motioned for him to leave.

Her rejection made him feel like he had fangs and claws. His merest touch was a violation to her tender, feminine flesh. His size and sex suddenly felt incriminatory. He didn’t know why that was, but he felt burly and awkward and blameworthy as he stood up and backed into the open doorway. He went out and pulled the door closed behind himself.

When she came out, Griff was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, his fingers making tunnels through his hair.

Hearing her, he looked up, his expression bleak. She felt self-conscious, wrapped from chin to ankles in the pink terry-cloth robe that belonged to a woman she’d never met. He’d found underwear for her. Sanitary pads. Even with her husband, she’d never shared moments as personal as the last few she’d shared with Griff Burkett.

He said, “It’s my fault, isn’t it?”

“Your fault?”

He came to his feet. “In the hotel, I was rough with you.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Yes, I was. I manhandled you. Then I forced you to run, made you crawl through a wall on your belly, dragged you-”

“It wasn’t your fault, Griff.”

“Like hell! It wouldn’t have happened if I’d left you alone. You’d still have your baby if you were safe inside your hotel room, not on this damn fool’s mission of mine.”

“Listen,” she said softly, hoping to calm him. “I’ve been feeling twinges for several days. I was spotting on the morning of Foster’s funeral. That’s normal during early pregnancy. I thought it was caused by stress, the shock of his death. I ignored it. But the cramps and spotting were signals. It would have happened no matter what, Griff.” She could tell by his expression that she hadn’t persuaded him.

“Are you still bleeding?”

“Some. I think I’ve already expelled the…” Unable to bring herself to say it, she ended with “I think the worst of it is over.”

“So, you’re going to be okay?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m sorry I caused you this delay.”

“Delay?”

“Manuelo.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Do you know how to get to Itasca?”

He looked at her like he didn’t understand the question, then said, “South on 35 out of Fort Worth. I’ll find it.”

“How long will it take you?”

“I don’t know. Hour and a half maybe.”

“And if you do find Manuelo, how are you going to convince him to come back with you? He doesn’t even speak English.”

“I’ll make myself understood.”

“He’ll be scared. When he sees you, God knows what he’ll do.”

“I can take care of myself. Can you?”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Can I get you anything before I go?”

“I can’t think of anything.”

He turned his head away. “Yeah, okay.” He was speaking in a clipped voice, lightly slapping his palms against the outsides of his thighs, anxious to be away. “I would stay, except-”

“No, you must go. Actually, I’d prefer to be alone right now.”

“Sure. Understandable.” He plowed his fingers through his hair and walked in a tight circle, then whipped the bedspread back. “Lie down. Sleep.”

“I will. Be careful.”

“Yeah.”

He turned abruptly and left the room, pulling the door closed, not loudly but soundly. She heard the door connecting the hallway to the living room being opened, then shut.

Knowing she was finally alone, she sagged under the weight of her heartache. She lay down on the bed, turned onto her side, and drew herself into a tight ball. Then, burying her face in the pillow, she opened the floodgate that had been tenuously holding back her emotions.

Her sobs were so intense, they shook her whole body. So when the mattress dipped, she didn’t trust herself to believe that he had come back. She didn’t let herself accept it until she felt his hand stroking her shoulder and heard his whispered “Shh, shh.”

He’d made it as far as the back door. He’d even taken hold of the doorknob. His future, possibly his life, depended on finding Manuelo Ruiz before Rodarte did. It was in his best interest to leave now, drive as fast as he could to that dot on the map, and rout out the only individual in the world who could save him from being convicted of murdering Foster Speakman.

Besides that, Laura had rejected his help. She’d practically pushed him out the door. No mystery there. It was his fault that she’d lost the baby. Earlier tonight, when she told him it was for real, that she was pregnant, he’d thought: Finally. For the first time in his life, he’d done something right and good.

He should have known that it wouldn’t last, that he would somehow mess it up. Anyway, it was over. The baby was lost, and there was nothing he could do about it now.

Go! Go! Turn the freaking doorknob.

He was moving back through the living room before he fully realized he’d made an about-face. He heard her sobs when he opened the door into the hallway. The sight of her huddled inside the pink robe, weeping into the pillow, made his heart feel like something had pinched it, hard.

He lay down behind her and touched her shoulder. “Shh, shh.”

“You need to go,” she moaned.

“No, I need to be here with you. I want to be.” Placing his arm across her waist, he scooped her back against him.

“You can’t let Rodarte-”

“I can’t leave you. I won’t.” He pressed his face into the nape of her neck. “I’m sorry, Laura. God, I’m so sorry.”

“Please stop saying that, Griff. Stop thinking it. This wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was nature’s way of saying something wasn’t right. I was only seven weeks pregnant. It wasn’t even a baby yet.”