Deceit

on. He stood and ran a hand through his hair.

“We’re going to be tired tomorrow.”

She smiled. “You saying it wasn’t worth it?”

“I—”

A knock hit the door.

They froze. Melissa stared at Baxter in horror.

“Quick,” she whispered, “get in the closet.”

He came to life. With long, quiet strides he scurried toward the walk-in, edged inside, and pulled the door closed.

Another knock. Louder this time. The handle turned back and forth.

Melissa cast a frantic look around the floor, searching for anything Baxter may have left behind. The rug was empty.

She clamped down inside, calming herself. “Yeah?” Her voice came out sleepy and thick.

“Unlock the door, Melissa.”

Heart beating in her throat, Melissa padded across the room. She turned the lock and opened her door to a lit hallway, her eyes squinting against the light. Linda stood in her pajamas, hair mussed and circles beneath her eyes.

Melissa frowned. “What’s going on?”

“Have you seen Baxter?”

“Baxter. No. What do you mean?”

“He’s gone.” Linda’s voice edged. “I can’t find him.”

“Did you look downstairs? Maybe he can’t sleep.”

“I’ve looked everywhere.” Linda leaned forward, peering past Melissa into the room. Suspicion etched her forehead.

“Is his car here?”

“Yes, I checked.”

Melissa ran a hand across her eyes. “Well, I don’t…do you want me to help you 1—?”

“Is he in here, Melissa?” The question came hard, brittle.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why would he be in here?”

Linda shot her a twisted look of grief and fury. “When I came back up the stairs I thought I heard voices.”

“In here? No way, I was sleeping.”

Linda pulled herself up straight. Her bleary eyes looked deep into Melissa’s. “Open the door all the way. I want to see inside the room.”

“What? What’s wrong with you?”

“Open the door!”

Melissa lifted her hand in an annoyed gesture and stood back. Linda swept past her into the bedroom. The woman strode to the middle of the carpet, turning her head right and left, shooting penetrating looks in the dim illumination from the hallway. She thrust a hand in her hair, then stumbled over to check on the other side of the desk, the dressers.

“Linda, what are you looking for?”

A moan escaped from Linda’s throat. For a moment she drew up, disoriented, as if waking from a surreal dream. Then she hurried around the foot of the bed and to the other side, checking the floor between it and the wall.

Not a sound from the closet, a mere eight feet away from where Linda stood. Melissa pictured Baxter inside, taut-necked and holding his breath.

“Come on, Linda.” Melissa gestured toward the hall, her tone low and patient, as if cajoling a child. “We need to go through the house. What if Baxter’s hurt somewhere? We have to go look.”

“If he’s hurt, let him lie there.” Linda’s words flattened. “I hope he is hurt.”

Melissa swallowed. Just what had Baxter drugged Linda with—truth serum? “I hear you. I felt that way about my mom lots of times.”

Linda raised her chin and fixed a sickened and weary look upon Melissa. “You have no idea how I feel.” She swayed.

“Okay, that’s it.” Melissa hurried toward her. “I’m getting you back to bed before you fall over. I’ll look for Baxter.”

Linda’s gaze cut left and glued itself on the closet door. Melissa saw the horrifying thought ripple across her face. Melissa reached for her arm, but Linda yanked away from her and veered drunkenly for the closet.

“What are you doing?” Melissa leapt after her, grabbed the back of her pajamas.

Linda whirled around. “Let go of me!”

“You were about to walk into the wall.”

“Let go!” She slapped both hands on Melissa’s chest and pushed. Melissa staggered backward. Linda jumped toward the closet, hand outstretched toward the knob. Melissa fought for her footing, one arm smacking the wall. She cursed and threw herself forward. “Stop!”

Too late. Linda flung the door open. The walk-in gaped black, vague shapes of clothes hanging from long rods on both sides. Her fingers scrabbled around the inside wall, searching for the light switch.

In that split second everything Melissa had built in the last two months, everything she’d fought for blazed before her eyes. Her muscles gathered to spring toward Linda, to stop her—and just like that the flame died out. Melissa’s limbs slackened. She straightened, hands on her hips, mouth twisting. So Linda wanted to know, did she?

Fine.

Linda’s finger found the switch. Light flooded the closet.

FIFTY-TWO

FEBRUARY 2010

A ringing yanked Baxter from toss-driven sleep. He registered the sound of his special cell phone—and his veins flooded with dread. No light shone through the windows. He checked the nightstand clock.

Five-thirty-two a.m.

His hand reached across the mattress, pulled the phone close. “What is it?”

“I got Joanne Weeks in my sights.”

He blinked a few times. “Right now?”

“Been watching her house. She just got home in her car. I can do her now. That still what you want?”

Baxter thought a minute. “You can break into her house and get to her before she hears anything?” The last thing he needed was for his man to get caught now, before he could kill Melissa.

“I got in there Saturday night, didn’t I?”

Baxter sat up on the side of his bed. “So do it.”

“I get my money for killing her, right?”

“Sure—after you take care of Melissa.”

“The other half for both of them. Ten thousand dollars total.”

“After you take care of Melissa.”

“How we going to meet up?”

“We’ll talk about that after you take care of Melissa. You lose her, the deal’s off.”

“I won’t lose her.”

“Call me when it’s done.”

“You got it.”

Baxter clicked off the line.