Do you follow me so far? Do you understand everything I’m saying?” His voice was reasonable, soothing, and familiar.
She opened her mouth to say yes, but the sound that came out was no more than a squeak. Staring at him, she was helpless, frozen in the bed, her vision alternating between blurry and normal. Bile burned at the back of her throat. She vomited again and the bin was there to catch it. Once more he offered her the bottle of Evian with the white bendy straw, but this time she turned her face away.
“I need you to say that you understand me, Sheila.”
“But I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. Please, James…” Her vision blurred. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again, trying to focus.
“Oops.” He sighed. “I forgot, forgive me. My name isn’t James.”
With a grin, his fingers reached into his shirt. It was a full minute before Sheila realized the screaming in the room was her own.
The man was peeling his face off.
Five minutes passed. Or five hours. She didn’t know. She had passed out, and when she woke up, the lights were off and the room was pitch-black.
From somewhere nearby, the man laughed, delighted. “Never fails to shock.”
Sheila heard panting in the room and wondered if there was a dog here. But, no, she was the one breathing hard. She couldn’t seem to get enough oxygen. A thousand questions flooded through her brain.
Who are you? Why are you doing this?
But the words wouldn’t come. All she could do was scream again in primal fear.
“You know, if I hadn’t prepared for this reaction, it’d be rather annoying,” the man said. “I turned off the lights to give you a minute to relax. Are you relaxed?”
Was he crazy? How could anyone relax in a situation like this?
“Silicone, darling. Just a little silicone. And some fake hair. You’ll see.”
She screamed again. It turned into a gag. In the darkness, she felt the water bottle touch her lips. She turned her head away, her breath coming faster. The last time she could remember breathing this hard was when she’d signed up for a spinning class at the university athletic club two months ago.
“Come on, drink,” he said, his voice gentle.
Sheila shook her head.
None of this was happening. It couldn’t be.
He sighed and she heard him place the water bottle on the nightstand. “Let me know if you want it.”
“Who are you?” she managed to croak. Her eyes were not adjusting to the absence of light and she couldn’t see anything. “What the hell is this?”
“I already explained that to you. Do you want me to go over it again?”
“Are you going to kill me?”
A momentary silence. Then she heard him walk away.
An instant later, the lights were on, sending streams of pain into Sheila’s eyes.
He smiled at her from the foot of the bed. At the sight of him, the room spun and the bile in her stomach rose.
Taking her hand in his, he sat down next to her and caressed her fingers. “Hello, Sheila.”
“Ethan.”
It was the only word Sheila managed to say before she vomited all over him.
CHAPTER 16
M orris’s first-class seat on Japan Airlines was reclined all the way back, but he still couldn’t get comfortable. No matter how he sat, he felt as if he were pinching a nerve. He was a big guy, and the only chair he really liked was his oversize Barcalounger at home.
Glum, he rubbed the hole in his sleeve where one of his lucky cuff links should have been. He still couldn’t seem to pinpoint when, exactly, he’d lost it, and it was driving him nuts. He should have known that losing it was a sign of more bad things to come, because everything had gone to shit afterward. The Okinawa deal had taken longer than normal to finalize, he hadn’t been able to make love to his fiancee, and he’d had to listen to Sheila’s painful confession about her sex addiction… which, as it turned out, wasn’t even the worst of it.
She’d had an affair with her student. She’d cheated on him. It wasn’t as if she were addicted to porn, or a compulsive masturbator. Yeah, he’d read all about those types, and he might have been able to handle something like that. But she’d had sex with another guy under his nose.
She had broken his heart.
Morris pushed the call button above his head. In an instant, a pixie-faced flight attendant appeared.
“Everything okay, sir?”
Her English was flawless and he wondered where she’d gone to school. Morris had been out of Texas for more than ten years and his damned accent was still as strong as ever.
“Suki, my back’s killin’ me. Do you have any ibuprofen?”
“Certainly. I’ll be right back.”
In a flash, she returned with a two-pack of Extra Strength Advil and a minibottle of Aquafina. Morris accepted the painkillers, but shook his head at the water.
“Bloody Caesar, please, Suki,” he said, holding out his glass, which was still red from the other Bloody Caesar he’d just downed. He’d already had two.
The flight attendant’s lovely Asian features showed concern. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to drink if you’re taking-”
Morris held up a beefy hand. “I’ll be fine, darlin’.”
Suki looked doubtful but didn’t argue. They never did in first class.
Morris leaned back and tried to get comfortable. His seatmate, a small Japanese man, was curled against the window and snoring softly. They’d chatted earlier and the man told him he’d been married for almost thirty years. Morris had shaken his head in wonder-long-lasting marriages seemed almost as impossible as finding love in the first place.
Morris had loved Lenore, his first wife, but not the way he loved Sheila. He would never have married his college girlfriend if she hadn’t gotten pregnant during their sophomore year at the University of Texas. Sure, they’d been dating for a year and it was somewhat steady, but, hell, Morris was gunning for the NFL. He was an All- American offensive lineman and had a promising career as a pro football player-the last thing he wanted was to settle down.
But he couldn’t turn his back on Lenore and the baby. They’d had a quick civil ceremony, and four months later Randall was born.
Things were all right at first. Both their parents helped with the baby, and Morris was drafted by the Green Bay Packers after his junior year. Lenore was happy to get out of Texas. There were good times in those early days.
But barely two years later, the ligaments in his right knee were torn apart by a badly timed tackle in practice. Despite a year of rehab, his knee never fully recovered. At the age of twenty-three, his career in the NFL was over.
They moved back to Texas, where Lenore encouraged him to finish his degree in finance. After graduation, his father, a VP at LoneStar Capital, hired him. Morris liked the job well enough, but the resentment of losing his football life never went away. The death of his dream ate at him constantly, gnawing in his gut like a rat stuck in a cardboard box, and some days it took all his willpower just to get out of bed. Drinking was the only thing that dulled the bitterness.
Stephen was born two years later. The marriage was already in shambles, but that didn’t stop their third son, Phillip, from arriving three years after that. By then, Morris was a full-blown alcoholic.
He managed to hide it, at least at work. He was hardworking and affable, and the bank’s clients enjoyed his
