Luke Murphy - Dead Man's Hand

He flicked on the front hall light, hoping to see Betty standing there, but all that welcomed him was an unfurnished hallway.

Even though his stomach grumbled, he didn’t feel like fixing a late-night dinner. He removed his jacket and threw it on the back of the couch.

He used the bathroom sink to rinse the remains of his last pull of tobacco from his mouth and retreated to the living room couch, where he’d been sleeping since Betty had left. He just couldn’t sleep in their bed, where so many memories lay—the passionate lovemaking, the meaningful pillow talk, the giggling and playing. Those were happy times early in their relationship, so long ago.

He lay down and closed his eyes, replaying the last argument he’d had with Betty, the conversation that had occurred the last time he’d come home this late.

He had come home late, real late, expecting Betty to be sleeping. He had unlocked the front door and heard his little dachshund growl and bark.

“Shut up, Casper,” he whispered, listening for the sounds of footsteps.

He flicked on the front hall light and Betty was standing in the hallway, in her bathrobe, holding the dog.

“Where’s Sammy?” he whispered.

“Sleeping, like everyone should be at this time of night. Where have you been?” she said in a clipped tone.

“Work.”

“This late?”

Dale let out his breath. “Betty, we’ve been over this. You know my job isn’t nine to five. I’m a Las Vegas detective.”

“So you were at the office?”

“Yes, I was at the office.”

“Who were you with?”

Dale shook his head. He slid his shoes off and hung his jacket in the closet.

She stepped close to him, stopping him, invading his personal space with a subtle sniff of the air. He was insulted, but he knew what she was smelling for.

“Were you with her?”

“Betty, don’t. You know I wasn’t. That was a long time ago. I thought we’d moved past this?” For the first time he noticed the lines at the corner of her eyes. The exhaustion set in her expression.

She sighed. “I thought so too.” She set the dog on the floor and turned away.

The dog began sniffing at Dale’s feet, wagging his tail until Dale scooped him up.

Dale said, “Betty, wait.”

But when she turned back, Sammie’s cry erupted on the baby monitor.

“Great!” Betty said.

“I’ll get him.”

Betty put out her hand. “Stop, you’ve done enough.” She walked down the hall toward the baby’s room. “And you can sleep on the couch.”

He slumped his shoulders. He knew he should go after her, apologize, make it right, but he was too tired and she was in no mood for conversation.

Dale opened his eyes. If he’d only gone after her that night, would it have mattered? Would it have changed things? He didn’t think so or at least he told himself that.

Betty’s accusations had cut deep.

He closed his eyes again and thought about that one moment in time, that one moment of vulnerability when he had let his guard down and had given in to temptation. That one impulsive, split-second decision had ruined his marriage.

It had been a long time ago—back in his rookie year on the force. Dale and Betty had just been married, already in rocky waters, but that seemed to be the case from day one. Marriage had changed everything.

His first partner, Josie Walker. She had been Dale’s vice.

They’d been on a sting, following a load of cocaine flown into the city from Panama. They had the private airfield staked out, awaiting the cargo. But somehow the dealers had been tipped off and were waiting.

All hell broke loose. Lives were lost and more should have been.

Dale and Josie had been taken hostage inside the tiny private jet. If it hadn’t been for some quick-thinking and swift-acting SWAT members, Dale and Josie would never have made it out.

After the dust had cleared, rather than going home to his new wife, Dale had gone to the bar with his team to celebrate the arrest. A total of $50 million in cocaine had been confiscated, the largest drug bust in LVMPD history.

Dale still remembered shaking so much that he could barely hold his glass. He and Josie had come that close to death. They’d looked it in the eye and had walked away unscathed. In that moment he had felt a deep connection with his partner—more than just professional.

The sexual tension between them was palpable.

She was a beautiful woman, with all the right curves and a cocky go-get attitude. He knew it was wrong, but Dale rode the moment. He had given in and for that he would be forever regretful. Or was he really?

Josie had felt it too, because she had suggested the motel room.

As much as Dale didn’t want to admit it, in his heart he knew that it hadn’t been just a one-night stand of meaningless sex with a stranger. It was a night of passionate lovemaking. A deep, heartfelt ride shared between two people who really cared for each other.

The next day he had felt sick at what he’d done. He told Josie they had made a mistake, he could never leave Betty and that he wanted to make it right with his wife. Betty was the one he truly loved. Had that been a lie?

Josie said she could no longer be his partner. She had requested a transfer from the department, claiming mental anguish from the experience Dale and she had been through. Dale never saw Josie again.

He told Betty what had happened, not just to appease his guilty conscience but because he knew it was the right thing to do. Betty didn’t deserve that deception.

There were only three people who knew about the incident—Dale, Betty and Jo. Dale had thought that night had been dead and buried, that he and Betty had moved on, but you can’t outrun your past.

Dale sat back up and shook his head. Over the last two days, except for her original call to Sanders, Linda had only spoken to her mother and her attorney. She’d followed Sanders’ orders and not talked to him.

Dale inserted the first tape. He set the headphones over his ears, lay back on the sofa and pressed play.

He couldn’t let the past slow down his investigation.

“Do you see anything?”

Calvin was startled by Rachel’s voice coming from the doorway behind him. He turned and looked at her.

He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, looking back at the computer monitor.

“Do you think someone is really out there, hunting us like animals?”

He nodded.

Rachel moved toward him, turned his chair around and sat down on his lap.

“Why are you up?” he asked. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

“Is that your mom?” She reached for a famed photograph on his desk. “She’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“Why do you never talk about yourself, Calvin? I don’t know anything about your family or your childhood. We always talk about me.”

“There’s not much to say. I’m more interested in you.” He smiled.

“I’d like to know.”

“It’s not much of a story—just another ghetto kid from the streets who had a tough upbringing. Just another sappy story made for Oprah. I’m tired of being just a statistic, another cliché.” He smiled again. His childhood had always been a closed book and he wanted to leave it that way. Rachel didn’t need to hear about it.

Rachel smiled too. “Maybe we could make a movie.”

His grin broadened. “Yeah and Denzel could play me.”

She took him by the hand and led him into an adjoining room they were using as their bedroom. They sat down on the cot.