lot of it, after all. Maybe the little minx should be rewarded…
By the time the sun started setting, Terri’s familiar white Ford would back down the drive and head in the direction of the club. Randy had spent each of those days and nights tracking her every move, learning the paths she took. She never deviated.
Tonight, he stayed behind. It was time to step up his game.
There was a low deck tacked onto the back of the house, a sliding glass door the only thing that separated outside from in. Pulling out his pocket knife, Randy slipped the blade between the doors and set to work prying the lock.
There was only one thing that stuck in his craw about the whole deal. Of all the nights he had tailed her, at the end of every one of them an expensive black car would slide up behind hers, wait until she got out of the car, waved goodbye and the garage door shut securely, before shooting down the street and out of sight. No one ever got out, but Randy had seen that same car in the parking lot of Sunset Black and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that behind all that sleek muscle was another man.
The little bitch was stepping out on him.
Instantly enraged by the very thought, Randy wrenched the knife sideways, breaking the blade off in the door. He cursed blackly, kicked the bottom of the door, and strode in circles, digging his fingers into his hair as his mind worked overtime to both calm down and come up with a new plan.
He had to get inside. It was essential that he know everything, the routes she took, her schedule, and the lay of the land.
The silver moon glowed overhead, mocking him. Somewhere in the trees and owl hooted its laughter at his failure. “Best laid plans,” he muttered to himself, pacing the deck, his brows drawn low as he thought hard.
“Fuck it,” he growled. Storming back to the glass doors, Randy gripped the recessed handles and put everything he had into them. Using his bodyweight, he shoved repeatedly, rocking the doors on their tracks, until, finally, the flimsy metal lock inside gave way and the panel glided open.
Satisfaction rolling through him, he stepped inside and gave himself a tour of his new home.
It was neat as a pin. The floors polished, the countertops gleaming. The smell of lemons hung in the air. As he moved into the living room he got an eyeful of the expensive furniture they had purchased early in their marriage, right down to the woven rug lying beneath the glass top coffee table.
The bathroom was out of date, linoleum covered floors, brass light fixtures over a frameless mirror. Nothing noteworthy. Opening the door to what must have been a guest bedroom; he saw more of the same. Too much furniture crammed into too tight a space. Closing the door behind him, he turned and stepped immediately into Terri’s room. She had kept their bedroom outfit, too, he noted smugly.
Sliding the bifold closet doors open, he scanned the clothes hanging on the bar, everything evenly spaced and organized according to color and season. Two pairs of tennis shoes rested on the floor beside a pair of black pumps and bright red heels that screamed trash. Shaking his head in disgust, Randy closed the closet and moved to the dresser.
The first drawer was reserved for socks. The second and third for pair after pair of lacy underwear and bras, all part of a set he noted with curiosity. Terri had never been one for fashion or one to worry whether her undergarments complemented each other. Either she had developed an addiction to lingerie, or his suspicions about another guy were true.
The evidence was pretty damning.
Reaching inside, Randy sifted through the silky scraps of material, searching for something, anything that might shed some light on this new side of Terri he had discovered, but he came up empty handed.
It was obvious to him that she was up to something, though.
Headlights whipped across the room, casting slashes of bright light across the walls and ceiling. His eyes cut
By the time the sun started setting, Terri’s familiar white Ford would back down the drive and head in the direction of the club. Randy had spent each of those days and nights tracking her every move, learning the paths she took. She never deviated.
Tonight, he stayed behind. It was time to step up his game.
There was a low deck tacked onto the back of the house, a sliding glass door the only thing that separated outside from in. Pulling out his pocket knife, Randy slipped the blade between the doors and set to work prying the lock.
There was only one thing that stuck in his craw about the whole deal. Of all the nights he had tailed her, at the end of every one of them an expensive black car would slide up behind hers, wait until she got out of the car, waved goodbye and the garage door shut securely, before shooting down the street and out of sight. No one ever got out, but Randy had seen that same car in the parking lot of Sunset Black and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that behind all that sleek muscle was another man.
The little bitch was stepping out on him.
Instantly enraged by the very thought, Randy wrenched the knife sideways, breaking the blade off in the door. He cursed blackly, kicked the bottom of the door, and strode in circles, digging his fingers into his hair as his mind worked overtime to both calm down and come up with a new plan.
He had to get inside. It was essential that he know everything, the routes she took, her schedule, and the lay of the land.
The silver moon glowed overhead, mocking him. Somewhere in the trees and owl hooted its laughter at his failure. “Best laid plans,” he muttered to himself, pacing the deck, his brows drawn low as he thought hard.
“Fuck it,” he growled. Storming back to the glass doors, Randy gripped the recessed handles and put everything he had into them. Using his bodyweight, he shoved repeatedly, rocking the doors on their tracks, until, finally, the flimsy metal lock inside gave way and the panel glided open.
Satisfaction rolling through him, he stepped inside and gave himself a tour of his new home.
It was neat as a pin. The floors polished, the countertops gleaming. The smell of lemons hung in the air. As he moved into the living room he got an eyeful of the expensive furniture they had purchased early in their marriage, right down to the woven rug lying beneath the glass top coffee table.
The bathroom was out of date, linoleum covered floors, brass light fixtures over a frameless mirror. Nothing noteworthy. Opening the door to what must have been a guest bedroom; he saw more of the same. Too much furniture crammed into too tight a space. Closing the door behind him, he turned and stepped immediately into Terri’s room. She had kept their bedroom outfit, too, he noted smugly.
Sliding the bifold closet doors open, he scanned the clothes hanging on the bar, everything evenly spaced and organized according to color and season. Two pairs of tennis shoes rested on the floor beside a pair of black pumps and bright red heels that screamed trash. Shaking his head in disgust, Randy closed the closet and moved to the dresser.
The first drawer was reserved for socks. The second and third for pair after pair of lacy underwear and bras, all part of a set he noted with curiosity. Terri had never been one for fashion or one to worry whether her undergarments complemented each other. Either she had developed an addiction to lingerie, or his suspicions about another guy were true.
The evidence was pretty damning.
Reaching inside, Randy sifted through the silky scraps of material, searching for something, anything that might shed some light on this new side of Terri he had discovered, but he came up empty handed.
It was obvious to him that she was up to something, though.
Headlights whipped across the room, casting slashes of bright light across the walls and ceiling. His eyes cut
Similar Books
