back to him.
Meaning it too, with all her heart, or at least all of that segment of her heart that was not devoted to her career.
She knew she’d never find anyone like André again.
Knew they truly were a perfect match.
SEVENTEEN
W hen Martinez had found his neat little foreclosure one-storey house on Alton Road near 47th about eight months back, he’d had some qualms about taking on a piece of serious freehold property as a confirmed bachelor, not to mention as a police detective with few hopes, or even ambitions, of serious promotion. The odd lonely moment aside, he’d always liked his life pretty much the way it was, so in the midst of negotiations he’d wondered exactly why he was taking such a step at forty-five. A roof to maintain, his own windows to hurricane-proof; most of all, a mortgage which, even though he could afford it, having spent a lot less in his life to date than most guys he knew, was still going to be a stretch.
Within a week of meeting Jessica Kowalski, the house had suddenly begun making sense. Everything had begun making greater sense.
Coming home tonight, he thought he could even begin to understand what Jessie had meant about going back to her place alone to let it all sink in.
His house looked different to him tonight.
His whole life felt different.
She’d said she was crazy about him.
Those words felt fat inside him, were filling him with warmth and goodness.
Because Jess was exactly those two things to him.
He considered phoning Sam, but like his fiancée – and that was a word he’d been known to mock in the past, but never again – he thought he’d just be quiet with it for a while, maybe grab himself a beer and do what Jessie was doing, go to bed by himself and think about her and their future . . .
Together.
EIGHTEEN
T he road where Elizabeth lived, a gated cul-de-sac where every vehicle entering or leaving was recorded, was quiet.
It was usually quiet here, with a sense of tranquillity and understated affluence.
Elizabeth had felt safe ever since she’d moved into her town house.
This evening no exception.
She passed under the raised security barrier, vaguely aware of another vehicle passing through behind her, its lights disappearing before she touched her remote to open her garage door and automatically switch on the lights, and then she slowly drove the Honda inside, closed the up-and-over door behind her and turned off her engine.
The garage light went out.
‘Shit,’ she said, though she was too sleepy to care, and there was enough light coming through the high glass panel in the door for her to be able to see to pick up her purse and attaché case.
She got out of the car, dropped the keys on the floor and stooped, feeling abruptly woozy, fumbled to find the keys, then straightened up and turned to the door that connected the garage to the rest of the house, barely managing to fit the right key in the lock.
‘What is wrong with you, girl?’ she murmured.
Unwashed laundry flitted back into her mind, but she knew she was too damned out of it now to contemplate washing anything, and she could have stayed over at André’s . . .
She got the door open – but suddenly she felt a weird, alarming sense that someone else was in the garage with her, and she started to turn, but her reflexes were off-kilter, and there was someone . . .
‘Hey,’ she said, fear rising.
Something landed on her mouth, a hand , and instinctively she tried to scream and bite it, tasted and smelled latex, but another hand was pushing at her back, propelling her inside, into her house, and she wanted to fight, but she didn’t have any strength . . .
‘That’s it, Elizabeth,’ a voice said right against her ear. ‘No more talking now. You just sleep tight.’
NINETEEN
S am climbed carefully into bed, trying not to wake Grace, but she rolled over toward him, slid one arm under his shoulders, the other over his chest, and wrapped her legs around his.
Full body
Meaning it too, with all her heart, or at least all of that segment of her heart that was not devoted to her career.
She knew she’d never find anyone like André again.
Knew they truly were a perfect match.
SEVENTEEN
W hen Martinez had found his neat little foreclosure one-storey house on Alton Road near 47th about eight months back, he’d had some qualms about taking on a piece of serious freehold property as a confirmed bachelor, not to mention as a police detective with few hopes, or even ambitions, of serious promotion. The odd lonely moment aside, he’d always liked his life pretty much the way it was, so in the midst of negotiations he’d wondered exactly why he was taking such a step at forty-five. A roof to maintain, his own windows to hurricane-proof; most of all, a mortgage which, even though he could afford it, having spent a lot less in his life to date than most guys he knew, was still going to be a stretch.
Within a week of meeting Jessica Kowalski, the house had suddenly begun making sense. Everything had begun making greater sense.
Coming home tonight, he thought he could even begin to understand what Jessie had meant about going back to her place alone to let it all sink in.
His house looked different to him tonight.
His whole life felt different.
She’d said she was crazy about him.
Those words felt fat inside him, were filling him with warmth and goodness.
Because Jess was exactly those two things to him.
He considered phoning Sam, but like his fiancée – and that was a word he’d been known to mock in the past, but never again – he thought he’d just be quiet with it for a while, maybe grab himself a beer and do what Jessie was doing, go to bed by himself and think about her and their future . . .
Together.
EIGHTEEN
T he road where Elizabeth lived, a gated cul-de-sac where every vehicle entering or leaving was recorded, was quiet.
It was usually quiet here, with a sense of tranquillity and understated affluence.
Elizabeth had felt safe ever since she’d moved into her town house.
This evening no exception.
She passed under the raised security barrier, vaguely aware of another vehicle passing through behind her, its lights disappearing before she touched her remote to open her garage door and automatically switch on the lights, and then she slowly drove the Honda inside, closed the up-and-over door behind her and turned off her engine.
The garage light went out.
‘Shit,’ she said, though she was too sleepy to care, and there was enough light coming through the high glass panel in the door for her to be able to see to pick up her purse and attaché case.
She got out of the car, dropped the keys on the floor and stooped, feeling abruptly woozy, fumbled to find the keys, then straightened up and turned to the door that connected the garage to the rest of the house, barely managing to fit the right key in the lock.
‘What is wrong with you, girl?’ she murmured.
Unwashed laundry flitted back into her mind, but she knew she was too damned out of it now to contemplate washing anything, and she could have stayed over at André’s . . .
She got the door open – but suddenly she felt a weird, alarming sense that someone else was in the garage with her, and she started to turn, but her reflexes were off-kilter, and there was someone . . .
‘Hey,’ she said, fear rising.
Something landed on her mouth, a hand , and instinctively she tried to scream and bite it, tasted and smelled latex, but another hand was pushing at her back, propelling her inside, into her house, and she wanted to fight, but she didn’t have any strength . . .
‘That’s it, Elizabeth,’ a voice said right against her ear. ‘No more talking now. You just sleep tight.’
NINETEEN
S am climbed carefully into bed, trying not to wake Grace, but she rolled over toward him, slid one arm under his shoulders, the other over his chest, and wrapped her legs around his.
Full body
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