Brenda Novak - The Perfect Murder

“I’m a widow,” she said. “But I might as well be married.”

“You’re seeing someone, then?”

“No.” She didn’t bother to explain.

He put the picnic basket on the dresser next to a flat-screen TV and waved toward a bottle of white zinfandel on his nightstand. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“No, thank you.”

Undaunted, he uncorked the bottle and poured himself a glass. “I’m sorry to hear about your husband’s death.” He took a sip. “How long ago was it?”

She regretted turning down the wine. Maybe it would help settle her nerves, take the edge off. “It’s been nearly five years.”

“And…you’re still in love with him?”

She chuckled without mirth. “God, no.”

His eyebrows knotted as he walked toward her with his wine. “What happened?”

When she didn’t answer, he set his glass down and took her hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over her survivor tattoo. “Did he have anything to do with this?”

Like an old heater with a pilot light that’d gone out years ago, she didn’t think she’d ever get warm again. But his touch sent a spark through her that somehow made her shaky.

Surprised, she jerked her hand away and stepped back, but in just half a foot she came up against the bed.

“Whoa, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She was still within his reach, but he didn’t attempt to touch her again. He held out his hands, palms up, as if to show her he had no intention of hurting her.

The last time Oliver had made love to her had been a cruel experience, one of the worst in her life. In some ways, it had hurt her more than the violence that’d followed because it involved hate disguised as love. But Jane knew it was her past-and nothing Sebastian was doing-that had her so rattled.

Overriding her panic, which seemed to come out of nowhere, she forced herself to stand where she was, instead of edging farther away. “I’m not scared.”

He seemed unconvinced but didn’t argue. “Did he do this to you?” He pointed to his own neck, but she understood that he was talking about her scar.

“Yes.”

He lowered his voice. “How’d he die?”

From the deference in his tone, she knew he was guessing she’d killed Oliver in self-defense. She’d often wondered if that would’ve made her recovery easier-or more difficult. “After he left me for dead, lying beside his murdered brother, he attacked a woman he’d attacked once before, a woman by the name of Skye Kellerman.”

“The woman who started The Last Stand.”

“You’ve been doing your homework.”

“I pulled up the Web site.”

“Skye knew he’d be coming for her eventually.” She shrugged. “She was ready for him when he did.”

“She killed him.”

“Yes.”

“It didn’t say that on the Web site.”

“No. She doesn’t talk about it, either. But she was prepared to do what had to be done. She had the benefit of knowing what he really was. I didn’t.”

Sebastian shoved his hands in his pockets. “What was he exactly?”

“A serial rapist and murderer, masquerading as a dentist, a husband, a father.” Her voice dropped involuntarily. “My lover.”

He whistled. “How did you survive such a brutal injury?”

“His knife missed my jugular by a fraction of an inch. Skye brought the authorities to my house before I could bleed out.”

“This Skye sounds like an impressive woman.”

“She is. That’s partly why I work for her.” Jane motioned to the picnic basket. “You’d better eat. The food’s getting cold.”

He spoke over his shoulder while reclaiming the basket. “You’re not planning to eat with me?”

She had been. She’d fed Kate, then loaded her daughter and the food in the car and raced to her in-laws’ place, thinking she’d have dinner at the motel. But she felt too jittery for food right now. She wasn’t sure why Sebastian’s touch had affected her so deeply. She’d been alone with men plenty of times since Oliver’s death-at work, at home, in the car. She’d been fine.

But she’d never been this attracted to any of them. That had to be the difference-that and the fact that they were standing next to a bed.

“I’ve already had dinner,” she lied and tilted the screen of his computer so she could avoid the glare of the lamp. “Wesley Boss isn’t WhosYourDaddy, is he?”

Sebastian decided to make Malcolm wait. He didn’t want to come across as too eager, didn’t want it to seem as if Mary was always online, hoping to hear from him. The role he was playing would be more believable if Malcolm had to work for the attention he craved. Earlier, Sebastian had sent an e-mail from Mary, thanking him for the flowers. That would suffice until after dinner.

Jane sat at the desk, sipping the glass of wine she’d finally accepted when he was halfway through his meal. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a human being eat so much in one sitting,” she mused as he polished off a second gigantic piece of lasagna and yet another slice of garlic bread.

“I was lucky. I grew up in a home where my mother cooked. I miss that.”

She swiveled in the office chair, back and forth. The nervous energy in that motion told him she wasn’t quite as comfortable as she was hoping to seem. “Where’s your mother now?”

“Upstate New York.”

“Is she still with your father?”

Full at last, he put his plate aside. When he’d asked her for dinner, he’d assumed she could cook, and he’d been right. “No, he passed away a decade ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a blessing in the end,” he said, remembering those difficult days.

“What happened?” He doubted she would’ve asked had he not been so direct with her.

“After being perfectly healthy his whole life, he woke up one morning and started convulsing. Then he went into a coma. My mother got him to the hospital right away, but when he came to-” he shook his head “-when he came to, it became obvious that he’d suffered quite a bit of brain damage.”

Concern softened the hint of suspicion with which she seemed to view him. “What caused the convulsions?”

“A rare infection that’d gone straight to his brain. There was no warning, nothing we could’ve done to stop it.”

“How terrible!”

It had been terrible. Although Sebastian was grateful for the time they’d had at the end, he and his mother had spent three long years looking after Angelo, knowing he’d never recover, knowing how much he’d hate being so helpless. It was during that dark time that Emily had married Malcolm. Sebastian had been far too preoccupied with his job, his father and taking his turn as a custodial parent to pay attention to the kind of man she was dating. He wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to spot trouble even if he had paid attention. Malcolm was a cop, and cops were supposed to be safe. “As I said, it was a blessing in the end. I think he wanted to go.”

“Your mother hasn’t remarried?”

He pictured his trim, attractive mother. She looked twenty years younger than her age, but she didn’t seem interested in the men who asked her out. “No.”

Jane crossed her legs. “What does she think about you chasing after Malcolm?”

“I think she’d prefer it if I gave up and came home.”

“But you can’t.”

After what he’d learned about Jane, he was sure she understood why. “No.”

“So you have to hire strangers to cook for you and then you eat a meal for ten all at once.”

He refilled her wineglass. “When you leave, the food goes with you, right?”

“I’d let you keep it, but it doesn’t look as if there’s a fridge in this room.”

“There’s not.” He poured himself more wine. “You see my dilemma.”