Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1) by Jennifer Blake Page A

old house.
    There was not a thing in the dark of night that wasn’t there in the clear light of day. She hadn’t been particularly relaxed or able to sleep in the house next door to Granny Chauvin, but neither had she jumped at every sound. This old Benedict family home might be long empty and more isolated, but it couldn’t be that different.
    Surely, it couldn’t.
    The events of the day spooling through her mind like a roll of film didn’t help. Watching Lance work. Emerging from the safety of the house she’d been allotted as if she had good sense. The shots that had come so silently, zipped past so close that it was only blind luck none had hit her.
    Yes, and then the deputy’s hard body against hers as they tumbled to safety. The moment when she was pressed to him from chest to ankles, had cradled the heat and power of him between her thighs as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
    Mandy gave a low moan and wrenched over in the bed to lie on her side. She had no business thinking such thoughts about a man who wasn’t her husband.
    Was Bruce alive or dead? She had no idea.
    Not a single thing had been different about that last morning at home. She’d gone over and over it in her mind, as well as for the police, but could come up with nothing. She’d been out on her morning run when he got up, showered, and had his coffee in the dining room. At half past seven he picked up his briefcase and left the house. He had no visitors and spoke to no one during that time, except for the housekeeper who had outlined his movements for the police.
    He’d been grim and distant for a year or more, ever since Clare died, but that hardly counted as different. Certainly, it wasn’t something that might be useful to the police.
    Bruce had become more than distant, if the truth was known. He’d been demanding, wanting to know every place she went, what time she left, when she returned, and who she saw while she was out. He’d reduced the cash allowance he gave her, insisting she use credit cards, with the invoices sent to his office. He’d had his secretary make her regular spa and hairdresser appointments so he could keep tabs on dates and times. He’d had her followed, setting a man to trail after her even on her morning runs. Toward the last, it was he who instructed the housekeeper to do most of the shopping, cutting back on her need to leave the house.
    It was as if he was afraid she was slipping away from him, Mandy thought; that with Clare gone, he no longer had a hold on her. The sad truth was that he was right.
    She’d been thinking of leaving him. The problem was his stranglehold on her life left her nothing to live on until she could find a job, nothing of her own except the clothes in her closet. Even the jewelry he’d given her for birthdays and holidays had been kept in a wall safe in his office.
    A soft thump sounded from somewhere nearby. She sat up, tilting her head to listen.
    Nothing.
    It must have been a limb falling on the roof, or maybe a night bird flying into a wall or window pane. When it didn’t come again, she lay back down.
    She didn’t want to return to thoughts of Bruce, yet their life together was on constant rewind in her mind, had been since he failed to come home. It was such a puzzle.
    He’d been kind when she first met him. He was interested in everything she felt, thought, or dreamed. Within days, he was telling her he adored her.
    It was nice to be loved, even if she could offer little more than gratitude in return. And she had been grateful, she really had. He had taken away so much worry and fear, given her the security she’d never known before. He’d been a rock of support when she needed it, and generous in many small ways.
    The sex was little enough to allow him in return. It seldom lasted more than a couple of minutes anyway, even when he swallowed one of his pills. If she felt next to nothing while it was happening, that was okay; she hadn’t expected fireworks.