Sandra Brown: Ricochet

She took a noisy sip of her Diet Coke. “Yeah, there’s that. I gotta give credit where credit’s due. As usual, your sexual radar homed in on the dishiest babe in the room.”

He shot her his wicked smile. “It’s this gift I have.”

The couple moved away from the woman, leaving her standing by herself in the midst of the crowd. “The lady looks lost and lonely,” Duncan said. “Like maybe she needs a big strong cop to come to her rescue. Hold my drink.” He thrust his glass toward DeeDee.

“Have you lost your mind?” She stepped in front of him to block his path. “That would be the height of stupidity. I will not stand by and watch as you self-destruct.”

“What are you talking about?”

DeeDee looked at him with sudden understanding. “Oh. You don’t know.”

“What?”

“She’s married, Duncan.”

“Shit. Are you sure?”

“To Judge Cato Laird.”

“What did he say to you?”

Elise Laird set her jeweled handbag on the dressing table and stepped out of her sandals. Cato had come upstairs to their bedroom ahead of her. He was already undressed and in his robe, sitting on the side of their bed.

“Who?” she asked.

“Duncan Hatcher.”

She pulled a pin from her hair. “Who?”

“The man you were talking to in the porte cochere. When I went to pay for the valet parking. Surely you remember. Tall, rugged, in dire need of a haircut, built like a wide receiver. Which he was. At Georgia, I believe.”

“Oh, right.” She dropped the hairpins next to her handbag and uncoiled the chignon, then combed her fingers through her hair. Facing the mirror, she smiled at her husband’s reflection. “He asked if I had change. He needed to tip the parking valet and didn’t have any bills smaller than a ten.”

“He only asked for change?”

“Hmm.” Reaching behind her she tried to undo the clasp of the diamond brooch at the small of her back. “Could you help me here, please?”

Cato left the bed and moved up behind her. He unfastened the clasp, pulled the pin from the black silk with care, then handed her the brooch and placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging gently. “Did Hatcher address you by name?”

“I honestly don’t remember. Why? Who is he?”

“He’s a homicide detective.”

“Savannah police?”

“A decorated hero with a master’s degree in criminology. He has brains and brawn.”

“Impressive.”

“Up till now he’s been an exemplary officer.”

“Till now?”

“He testified in my court this week. Murder trial. When circumstances forced me to declare a mistrial, he lost his temper. Became vituperative. I found him in contempt and sentenced him to two days in jail. He was released just this afternoon.”

She laughed softly. “Then I’m sure he didn’t know who I was. If he had, he would have avoided speaking to me.” She took off her earrings. “Was the woman with him his wife?”

“Police partner. I don’t believe he’s married.” He slipped the dress off Elise’s shoulders, sliding the fabric down her arms, baring her to the waist. He studied her in the mirror. “I guess I can’t blame the man for trying.”

“He didn’t try anything, Cato. He asked me for change.”

“There were other people he could have asked, but he asked you.” Reaching around her, he took the weight of her breasts in his palms. “I thought he might have recognized you, that you might have met before.”

Meeting his dark eyes in the mirror, she said, “I suppose it’s possible, but if so, I don’t remember it. I wouldn’t have remembered speaking to him tonight if you hadn’t brought it up.”

“Untrimmed dirty-blond hair isn’t attractive to you? That shaggy, scruffy look doesn’t appeal?”

“I much prefer graying temples and smoother shaves.”

The zipper at the back of her dress was short. He smiled into the mirror as he pulled it down, following the cleft between her buttocks, then pushed the dress to the floor, leaving her in only a black lace thong. He turned her to face him. “This is the best part of these dull evenings out. Coming home with you.” He looked at her, waiting. “No comment?”

“I have to say it? You know I feel the same.”

Taking her hand, he folded it around his erection. “I lied, Elise,” he whispered as he guided her motions. “This is the best part.”

A half hour later, she eased herself from the bed, padded to the closet for a robe, and pulled it on. She paused briefly at her dressing table, then went to the door. It creaked when she pulled it open. She looked back toward the bed. Cato didn’t stir.

She slipped from the room and tiptoed downstairs. Her insomnia concerned him. Sometimes he would come downstairs and find her on the sofa in the den, watching a DVD of one of her favorite movies. Sometimes she was reading in the living room, sometimes sitting in the sunroom, staring out at the lighted swimming pool.

He sympathized with her sleeplessness and urged her to get medication to help remedy it. He chided her for leaving their bed without waking him when he might have helped soothe her into sleep.

Recently she had begun to wonder if his concern was over the insomnia, or her nocturnal prowls through the house.

A night-light was left on in the kitchen, but the route was so familiar she could have found her way without it. Whatever else she did when she came downstairs, she always poured herself a glass of milk, which she claimed helped, and left the empty glass in the sink to ensure never being caught in a lie.

Standing at the sink, sipping the unwanted milk, she hoped that Cato would never catch her in the lie she’d told him tonight.

The detective had known who she was; he had called her by name.

“Mrs. Laird?”

When she turned, she was struck first by his height. Cato was tall, but Duncan Hatcher topped him by several inches. She had to tilt her head back to look into his face. When she did, she realized that he was standing inappropriately close, but not so close as to call attention to it. His eyes had the sheen of inebriation, but his speech wasn’t slurred.

“My name is Duncan Hatcher.”

He didn’t extend his hand, but he looked down at hers as though expecting her to shake hands with him. She didn’t. “How do you do, Mr. Hatcher?”

He had a disarming smile, and she suspected he knew that. He also had enough audacity to say, “Great dress.”

“Thank you.”

“I like the diamond clip at the small of your back.”

She coolly nodded an acknowledgment.

“Is that all that’s keeping it on?”

That was an improper remark. And so was the insinuation in his eyes. Eyes that were light gray and darkly dangerous.

“Good-bye, Mr. Hatcher.”

She was about to turn away when he moved a step closer, and for a moment she thought he would touch her. He said, “When are we going to see each other again?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“When are we going to see each other again?”

“I seriously doubt we are.”

“Oh, we are. See, every judge who finds me in contempt and sends me to jail? I make it a point to fuck his wife.”

He made it sound like a promise. Shock rendered her speechless and motionless. So for several seconds they simply stood there and looked at each other.

Then two things happened simultaneously that broke the stare. The woman she now knew was his partner seized Duncan Hatcher by the arm and dragged him toward the car that a parking valet had just delivered. And Cato appeared in her peripheral vision. As he approached her, she turned toward him and managed to smile, although the muscles of her face felt stiff and unnatural.

Her husband looked suspiciously after Hatcher as the woman hustled him into the passenger seat of the car. Elise had feared Cato would confront her then about the brief exchange, but he hadn’t. Not until they were home, and by then she’d had time to fabricate a lie.