She ran her long nails lightly down his stomach, making him quiver.
‘ I love Ben,’ she said. ‘He’s a good man. I don’t want to do anything to harm him or hurt him, okay?’
Kruger caught her hand. He pushed himself up onto one elbow and gazed into her eyes, aware that in the periphery of his vision he could see her breasts and nipples pressed into his ribs and beyond that her legs wrapped around his.
Her eyes were serious. Kruger was suddenly aware he was looking at a vulnerable individual who had just taken a big step in her life. Gone was the facade of the sassy, cheeky woman.
‘ No one will ever know about this,’ he reassured her. ‘No one. This is between me and you alone. What happened here happened for a reason and for a brief moment in time we needed each other. And that’s the end of it. When you walk out of this house, we’re back to square one, okay? End of story.’
He knew it was a lie. Even if they never jumped into bed again, their relationship would never be the same in the future. But he did not feel bad telling her what she wanted to hear.
She nodded, also knowing it was a lie.
Their eyes stayed in contact, holding onto the moment.
Kruger fought it, so did Myrna, but suddenly they both knew they needed each other again.
Kruger pulled her up towards him. Their lips mashed together, parted and tongues darted together. Kruger became short of breath as his manhood sprang back to life again. At the same moment, Myrna curled her long fingers around it.
She broke away from the kiss, her breathing heavy. She pushed herself down the bed, taking him into her hot mouth.
Kruger groaned and flopped back onto the bed luxuriating in the pleasure. When the bedside phone rang he nearly leapt out of his skin.
Myrna was not phased by the interruption. Her head rose and fell.
Kruger fumbled for the phone, answering it with a little squeak which came as the result of a flutter of Myrna’s tongue. ‘Yep?’ he managed to say.
He listened for a few moments, ‘Jeez, no… That can’t be right.’ He tapped Myrna on the shoulder and indicated for her to stop. Reluctantly she did. ‘This has got to be some kinda joke,’ he said, sat up, his mind nowhere near sex now.
‘ Okay… okay. I’ll be there soon… yeah, no problems. Thanks for phoning.’
Slowly he replaced the receiver and looked at Myrna with an expression of deep shock.
‘ What is it?’ she asked worriedly.
Kruger rubbed a hand down his face. It was many seconds before he found the words to tell her.
Danny reached home within the space of a few minutes. The Mercedes jarred to a springy halt in her driveway. She darted quickly, like a fugitive, to the front door of her house and wasted no time getting inside, slamming the door shut with such force that the frame rattled. She slid the security chain on, drew the bolt and fell against the back of the door. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to get hold of herself. She was shaking uncontrollably, but she fought it. In the end she lost, seemed to burst out of herself and dashed down the short hallway, ripping her outer jacket off and leaving it discarded in her wake, splayed on the carpet. She veered into the lounge and headed directly for the drinks cabinet in the sideboard.
With trembling fingers she unfastened a bottle of vodka, poured a large measure with a spit of tonic and drank it very quickly. It was the only drink capable of calming her shattered nerves.
She lit a ciggie and sank down into an armchair, gratefully feeling herself take control again. The drinks cabinet was now at her eye-level and she could see its contents. There were several bottles of whisky, a drink she detested. She snorted with contemptuous derision when she recalled the reason for its presence.
For Jack.
His favourite tipple. After about ten pints of Boddington’s Bitter, that is.
Anger washed over her.
She grabbed the bottles, stormed into the kitchen and emptied them down the sink. Four half-full bottles of good quality single malt guggled away. She wasn’t sorry to see it go, even though her money had purchased it. She tossed the empty bottles into the swing bin.
The bastard, she thought. The cheeky bastard.
She then descended on the house like a hurricane, whooshing through all the rooms, collecting every piece of anything Jack Sands had left behind. Twenty minutes later she placed a black plastic bin-liner in the middle of the kitchen floor and wiped her hands with satisfaction. Everything had gone into it. She had been surprised at how much the adulterous sod had accumulated in a house that wasn’t his home.
That sorted, she was still perplexed about what to do about Jack himself. It did not make a great deal of difference that she was a police officer with all that experience behind her. She was still a woman — a lone woman — with a problem, experiencing all the anxieties that lone women suffer.
She had to weigh up the odds.
By taking it further, and possibly getting nowhere due to lack of evidence (Jack would never be stupid enough to let anyone find the Mercedes star on him), all that would happen is that Jack would be further incensed.
She decided to leave it. Let it ride. Accept what had happened and hope Jack would see sense. He’d had his last laugh, made his point. Maybe that would be enough for him.
Maybe.
A long sigh cleared her lungs. She felt happier now.
From the fridge she took a swig of fresh orange to take away the lingering flavour of the vodka and poured herself a very cold glass of Chablis. The fresh, icy-sharp taste revitalised her senses. She came alive again.
In the hallway she picked up her jacket, turned to go upstairs for a shower. On the first step the phone rang.
‘ Yep, Danny Furness.’
There was a hollow silence on the line.
Danny went as ice-old as the glass of wine in her hand. ‘Jack, I know it’s you. Stop messing around.’
Silence. Possibly some breathing.
‘ Jack, just fuck off.’
‘ Bitch.’ One word only. Growled. Frightening.
She slammed the phone down, immediately picked it up again and dialled 1471.
The electronic voice said, ‘You were called today at 2017. We do not have the caller’s number to return the call. Please hang up. Please hang up. Please hang…’
Mark Tapperman raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise when he saw Kruger and Myrna arrive together in the same car — her Lexus. Kruger ignored the reaction. ‘What’ve you got for us, Mark?’
‘ Come on, I’ll show you, but I’m not sure Myrna will want to see.’
‘ She wants,’ Kruger said with a tone that brooked no argument. ‘She used to be a Fed. She’s seen some shit in her time.’
Kruger and she had discussed it on the way over. He had not wanted her to come, let alone visit the actual crime scene. She insisted; he didn’t argue.
‘ It ain’t nice,’ Tapperman warned her.
She sighed and looked at him like the dumb chauvinistic cop she imagined him to be. He got the message and acquiesced. ‘Your decision, lady.’
They walked across the sidewalk from the car towards what was the front of a four-storey apartment building in Greenwood Heights, north-west of central Miami. A police crime-scene cordon tape was stretched across the front doors, supervised by a uniformed cop with clipboard. Tapperman approached the uniform and gave him a few details which he entered on the log which recorded persons in and out.
Tapperman lifted the tape with a forefinger, Kruger and Myrna ducked under, followed by the cop.
‘ The whole building’s been sealed for the moment. When we’re satisfied we’ll draw the cordon in,’ Tapperman explained. ‘We’ll use the stairs,’ he said. A forensic team of three were crouched down in the elevator, dusting for prints and traces of anything.
‘ Try not to touch too much,’ Tapperman said. ‘We ain’t had a chance to do the stairs yet.’
