The Real Mrs. Price (28 page)

“Yes.”

Plato could see the wheels turning in Parker's eyes as he decided that he didn't care much for Plato.

His expression hardened. “Can you tell me how you came to know Mrs. Price?” he asked point-blank. “How and where did the two of you meet?”

“I introduced myself to her in her front yard.”

Parker studied him. “That's it? You just walked up to Mrs. Price, a perfect stranger, and introduced yourself?”

Plato grinned. “She is perfect, and yes.”

“Were you driving by, or had you gone to her house purposefully to meet her?”

Plato shrugged. “Does it matter?”

Parker challenged Plato's gaze. “It could.”

Plate leaned back and sighed. “I was just passing through.”

“How long have you been in town, Mr. Wells?”

“Few weeks.”

“And before that? You were…”

“On the road.”

“Because school's out?” he asked sarcastically.

“Precisely.”

“So you had nothing to do with Ed Price's murder,” he said point-blank.

Plato pretended to think about it. “When was he killed?” he countered.

“Back in May. We believe between the tenth and fifteenth.”

“Ah,” Plato said as if he'd just been struck by a revelation. “Finals week.” He shook his head. “Nope. Couldn't have been me. I was doling out tests to a bunch of mostly freshmen that week.”

It was the absolute truth.

Parker leaned back. “I'm going to have to ask you not to leave town, Mr. Wells.”

“Should I call my lawyer?” Plato asked. He didn't have a damn lawyer, but he liked how threatening it sounded.

Parker's face flushed red. “No need. Not yet.”

“Then why do I need to stay in town?”

“I might need to ask you some more questions.”

“About the dead man or Marlowe?”

“Both.”

Quentin Parker was under the gun to make an arrest. Marlowe dangled in front of his hungry eyes like a helpless fish on a hook, and dammit if he wasn't looking for a way to get her off that hook and into a frying pan. Honestly, his heart sank for her. Was that sympathy snaking up his back? This dude was probably married to the sister of the prosecuting attorney, and over fried chicken and biscuits on a Sunday afternoon, they'd put their little heads together trying to figure out a way to pin this on her.

“I can't leave town, but can I least leave this room? Police stations make me itch,” he said, giving his body an exaggerated shake.

“Of course,” Parker said dryly.

On his way out, everyone in that room stopped and stared at him. Plato didn't like that kind of attention. His time was running out on this assignment.

*   *   *

He walked into Marlowe's house greeted by an assault on his senses. Incense burning. Music blaring. Marlowe pacing. Angry frustration radiated from her, so potent that it almost had color. Marlowe wore a long skirt that dragged the floor, but it was split up the middle, showing off impressive leg, and a fitted cropped T-shirt clinging to every damn thing above the navel, with the Superman
S
on the front.

“What's wrong?” he asked over the music blasting through that house. She didn't seem to notice that he was even in the room. “Marlowe!”

Suddenly, she stopped and stared back at him for a moment like she didn't recognize him.

“That bitch wants to keep the money,” she blurted out.

He had no idea what she was talking about. What bitch? What money? “Turn that down,” he said, referring to the music.

Reluctantly, she did.

“What did you say?” he asked, walking over to her.

“Lucy wants to keep that money, Plato,” she repeated. She looked like she was fighting a losing battle against some bitter tears. “I told her,” she said, clenching her jaws. “I told her that we need to turn over those account numbers and those PINs to the police. That's the only way I'm getting out of this,” she said desperately.

He took hold of her hands, led her over to the armchair near the couch, and pulled her down onto his lap.

She looked at him and shook her head in disbelief. “Can you believe that? She wants us—you, me, her, and Roman—to take that money out of those accounts, split it, and vanish,” she explained as if it was the most ridiculous notion in the world. “Who does that? What fucking criminal shows has her dumb ass been watching that would make her think that people actually do shit like that and get away with it?”

He watched the tears start to fall.

“I am so tired of this shit. I just want it to be over. I want my life back. And she wants to play fucking games.”

Marlowe broke down in his arms and sobbed into his shoulder.

“I can't keep doing this!” she cried.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the side of her face. “No, you can't, baby.”

“How can she think that doing something like that is okay? All we have to do is turn in everything, and it's over, Plato.” She raised her head and stared into his eyes. “It's so simple.”

Plato couldn't help himself. He felt compelled to kiss those beautiful lips, possibly for the last time. Too bad he was who he was and that he could never be the kind of man she needed. Too bad that Plato always thought the notion of love was a silly thing and that he'd never given it much thought. She was unique, beautiful, and magical, which he'd never believed was even a thing until he'd met her.

“I need you to stay,” she whispered, taking hold of his hand, raising his palm to her lips, and kissing it. “I need you close to me.”

To be needed by this lovely woman was an honor. To be desired by her, a privilege.

“Let's go upstairs,” he whispered, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Possibly for the very last time.

*   *   *

Marlowe spread her legs, and he pushed two fingers into her, lubricating her, getting her ready to take him, all of him.

Marlowe fucked his fingers the way he wanted her to fuck his dick. She was so caught up in the frenzy of making love that the transition between fingers and cock was almost seamless—almost. She opened her eyes at the sensation of him pushing into her, spread her thighs and raised them even higher, and cried out as Plato thrust deeper and deeper into her sweet pussy as far as her body would allow him to go. He pushed and pulled with long, deep, sweeping thrusts, filling every inch of her. Marlowe grabbed him by the waist and held on. She cried out and mouthed words that never made it past her lips. But eventually she did manage to say something.

“I'm c-coming! I'm … ohhhhhh!”

She grabbed the back of his neck, pulled his face to hers, and filled his mouth with her tongue until she finally collapsed underneath him. He let her rest, slowly eased out of her, and then carefully rolled her over on her stomach, reached around underneath her, raised her up on her knees, and pushed into her from behind. Marlowe tried to raise her upper body up on her arms, but he pressed between her shoulder blades and pushed her back down on the bed. That smooth ass butterflied in front of him, making him even harder than he already was.

He made love to her from behind, and she begged him to stop, but he knew better. Plato drove into her with a purpose, wiping clean from that pussy any memory that Ed Price or any other man had ever come inside it. Marlowe came again. Now it was his turn. Plato sat down on the side of the bed, coaxed her up and onto his lap, pulled her beautiful mouth to his, and filled it with his tongue to the same rhythm of their sex.

Their bodies were sticky with sweat. He had her come all over the front of him. She was sore, she said. But he didn't give a damn. He'd given her hers, twice. Now it was his turn. The pressure of his orgasm had been building for too long. His dick bucked inside her, determined to get its release. Marlowe's arms were wrapped around his neck as she held on, until finally … fuckin' finally!

 

Another Skin

I
T WAS AWKWARD FOR BOTH
of them, but Lucy found comfort in that. She sat across from him at a table in a local sports bar, having silently downed a couple of beers and chicken wings. Roman had confessed the most tragic part of his life to her, and Lucy hadn't the heart to resurrect that to him and talk about it any more than he already had. She could've had questions, like how's your son doing now? Does your ex-wife blame you? Will you ever be able to move past it? He was guilty and guilt-ridden, and he always would be.

“I spoke to Marlowe earlier today,” she finally volunteered. “She called me wanting to talk about turning those account numbers over to the police.”

Roman's vivid green eyes bored into hers with uncertainty and hesitation. “What'd you tell her?”

Lucy shifted in her seat. “It was harder than I thought it'd be to talk to her about it.” Lucy sighed. “She's scared, Roman, and I get it. I'd be scared, too. But it's not like she's my friend. I'm not hers. The only thing we have in common is Ed and this money.”

“No. You don't have the money,” he finally concluded. “Not yet.”

“She wants us to turn it in, and she's not giving up the PINs unless we do.”

“She doesn't have them. He does.”

Lucy was surprised to hear that, because Marlowe had made it seem as if this Plato had found the drive but implied that maybe he'd given it to her.

“He's got them?”

“Yes. And he's not big on sharing.”

“But we could talk to him, Roman,” she blurted out unexpectedly. “Lay it out for him. He's not her. He's not under the same scrutiny as she is, and maybe he can convince her that this makes sense.” Lucy thought for a moment. “Are they lovers?”

Roman shrugged. “I have no idea what they are to each other. He sticks closer to her than glue, though.”

Lucy scratched her head. “I don't know. Part of me thinks she's right. The decent part of me thinks that.” She smiled sheepishly. “I was so damned upstanding before all of this.” She felt like crying all of a sudden. “Now I don't know what I am. Greedy?”

Roman smiled. “No more than I am.”

He'd broached the subject, so Lucy followed through. “You have a much nobler reason to need it than I do.”

Roman arched a brow. “I don't know, Lucy. Is any reason noble enough to risk a woman's freedom over?”

“Your family could use that money,” she reminded him.

“Don't do that,” he said with a hint of warning.

“It's true, Roman. I can only imagine what medical bills must be like. What kind of care your child needs.”

“Don't make this all about me, Lucy.”

Lucy found herself getting defensive all of a sudden, feeling as if Roman were shining a light on her just to show off how terrible a person she was. “I'm starting to wish I'd never brought it up,” she said resentfully.

“But you did bring it up, and now we have to decide what to do about it.”

Silence hung in the air for several moments between them. “I keep telling myself that she could use that money to get out of here and start over somewhere else,” she explained. “Freedom's freedom. Right?”

“She wouldn't be free. She'd be running.”

“You don't want to do this, do you?” She asked because deep down, she was starting to change her mind about it too, sort of.

His gaze drifted around the room. “I don't know what I want. Last night I wanted to do it.” Roman's stare landed on Lucy. “Last night I wanted a whole lot of things.”

Lucy's feelings were well on their way to being disappointed. “But not anymore?”

She'd hoped that last night would be the beginning of something, anything that could begin to erase Ed from her life. Roman had done a nice job of it in the time they were together.

“I didn't say that.”

“Well, what are you saying?” she asked, challenging him.

In the short time she'd known him, Lucy had learned that still waters ran deep with Roman, and he was a master at keeping the deepest part of himself off limits. But that wasn't acceptable anymore. Not when she'd literally opened herself up to him.

“You're the first person I've allowed myself to be that close to in a very long time, Lucy,” he admitted. “And if I allowed myself the luxury, I'd be working overtime to keep you in my life.”

She felt her face flush hot. Lucy prepared herself, though, for a
but
that she saw resting in his expression.

“I've punished myself every single day since it happened, and I haven't let up. I've told myself that I don't deserve to be happy. That I don't even want to be. And then I kissed you.”

“Technically, I kissed you first.” She blushed.

He smiled. “Is that what happened?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I'm pretty sure.”

Roman sighed. “That money wouldn't be enough to ease my guilt. It would alleviate some pressures, yes. And I thought that that would be enough. Plenty. And then I could at least say that I did that for my son.”

Lucy could see in his eyes where this was going. “You don't want to take the money and run?”

“That's what we'd be doing,” he said with resolve. “Running. It's not free money. Ed knows that, which is why he's on the run. Chuck died for it and maybe even Tom Hilliard. O. P. Wells is the kind of man hired to track down the Ed Prices of the world. Even if we were to convince him to get on board, they'd send someone else for all of us.”

Disappointment set in, followed quickly by an unusual sense of relief. “So, plan A is out?” she asked sarcastically.

Roman leaned on the table. “Plan A is out if we're smart. Plan B is still a possibility, though.”

Lucy leaned her head curiously to one side. “What's plan B?”

He stared luxuriously into her eyes. “Us.”

An unexpected smile crossed her lips. “There's an us?”