Treacherous (The Wolf Pack Series) (7 page)

“Hey, baby,” he greeted her.

She said nothing, watching sullenly as he crossed to the dresser to remove his shoulder holster, weapon, and badge. He wore dark trousers and a white broadcloth shirt with the sleeves rolled to his muscled forearms.

“What a long day,” he muttered, unbuttoning his shirt. “Seems like all hell broke loose as soon as I stepped foot in the police station this morning. I definitely wouldn’t have minded spending another week in Sav—” He broke off, catching Celeste’s reflection in the mirror.

Frowning, he turned around. “What’s wrong?”

Wordlessly she held out the crumpled overdraft notice.

Sterling hesitated, then walked over and took the paper from her. She watched his face as he scanned the contents. He didn’t look surprised as he calmly handed the notice back to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me that my check had bounced?” Celeste demanded.

“I didn’t know,” he said grimly. “I was hoping it wouldn’t.”

“You were
hoping?
”

He winced at her sharp tone. “Look, I tried to work your application fee into our budget, but other bills were a priority.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“By the time I remembered to, you’d already sent off the check. So I just crossed my fingers and hoped that the payment wouldn’t be processed before our next pay day.”

“Well, it was,” Celeste snapped. “And since the check bounced, I have to wait until the spring semester to apply again!” Sterling ran a weary hand down his face and blew out a ragged breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Like hell you are,” she spat bitterly, ripping the bank notice in half and tossing the pieces to the floor.

Sterling scowled at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She glared accusingly at him. “You knew how important this was to me. All I’ve wanted for the past five years is to get my master’s degree so that I can move into another area of nursing and earn more money. But you’ve never supported that goal. So forgive me if I have a hard time believing that you’re genuinely sorry about this latest setback.”

He eyed her incredulously. “Are you suggesting that I let the check bounce on purpose?”

“
You
tell me!” she flung back.

Clenching his jaw, Sterling strode across the room and closed the door so that their sons wouldn’t overhear them arguing. At that moment, Celeste was beyond caring.

Angrily folding her arms across her chest, she glowered at him as he walked back to the bed and sat down beside her. “Look, baby, I know how much you want to go back to school. And contrary to what you may believe, I
do
support that goal. But the reality is that graduate school is expensive, even if you qualify for financial aid. Hell, we’re still paying off the loans we took out for your bachelor’s degree. And there’re other things to consider as well. Like how many hours you’d have to cut back at work in order to accommodate your class schedule, or how often you’d be available to pick up the boys from their different activities.” He shook his head regretfully. “I’m sorry, Cel, but this just isn’t a good time for grad school.”

“It’s
never
going to be a good time!” she cried shrilly, jumping up from the bed.

Sterling frowned at her. “That’s not true.”

“No?” she challenged, hands thrust on her hips. “So tell me, then. When
will
it be a good time? When Michael goes to Morehouse in two years? Or when it’s Marcus’s turn?
How about when they’ve
both
graduated from college and are established in their own careers? Is
that
when it’ll be a good time for me to go back to school, Sterling?”

“Of course not. I’m just asking you to be patient a little longer—”

“I’ve been patient long enough!” Celeste screeched.

Sterling scowled. “Damn it, woman, keep your voice down before—” Something snapped inside Celeste, and she burst out hysterically, “I can’t do this anymore, Sterling!”

He went very still, staring at her. “What are you saying?” She gestured around their cramped bedroom, at the threadbare carpet and secondhand furniture and the cheap comforter draped across their bed. “This isn’t the life I planned!”

“What do you want from me?” Sterling exploded, lunging to his feet so suddenly that Celeste jumped. “Do you want me to apologize for not giving you the life you always dreamed of? Fine, here goes.
I’m sorry
that we don’t live in a mansion in Buckhead and drive expensive cars.
I’m sorry
that I can’t whisk you around the world in a private jet, and keep you decked out in diamonds and furs and designer clothes.
I’m sorry
that I didn’t finish college, and I make less than the doctors you fawn over at the hospital.”

Celeste’s face heated with guilt, even as she sputtered protestingly, “Don’t you dare—”

“You think I like living paycheck to paycheck?” Sterling demanded, his dark eyes flashing with fury. “You think I enjoy holding you back from pursuing your professional goals? You think I
want
to raise our children in a neighborhood that’s going to hell in a damn hand basket?”

“I don’t know, Sterling!” Celeste shouted. “Sometimes you seem so accepting and complacent about our situation—”

“
Complacent
?” he thundered incredulously. “You think I’m complacent just because I don’t wallow in self-pity and regret the way
you
do? Damn it, woman, I’m doing the best I can to take care of this family, but if that’s not good enough for you, you can just go to hell.”

Choking on tears of pain and outrage, Celeste shrieked, “
You
go to hell!” Sterling regarded her stonily, a muscle throbbing in his rigid jaw.

And Celeste knew, right then and there, that they’d crossed a line from which there would be no turning back.

As if he’d made the same unsettling revelation, Sterling’s expression softened.

“Look, I don’t want to—”

Suddenly his pager went off.

Swearing under his breath, he grabbed the device clipped to his waist and glared at the small screen. Without a word, he turned toward the nightstand and picked up the phone to make a call.

“This is Detective Wolf,” he announced brusquely.

Trembling with nerves and raw emotion, Celeste walked over to the bed and gingerly perched on the edge, not facing Sterling.

After a brief conversation, he hung up the phone. “There’s been a double homicide. I have to go.”

Celeste nodded mutely, keeping her back to him.

He hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know what time I’ll be back, so—”

“I know the drill.”

Sterling was silent. She could feel him watching her, willing her to turn around and face him, to assure him that the chasm between them could be bridged. But she didn’t turn around. And she offered no such assurances.

Because she couldn’t.

After an agonizing eternity, he stalked to the dresser and grabbed his weapon and badge. It was only when she heard the door close behind him that she lowered herself to the bed, curled into a fetal position, and unleashed the torrent of tears she’d kept dammed up for far too long.

***

It was after midnight by the time Sterling returned home.

Pausing in the foyer, he shrugged out of his sport coat and shoulder holster, then trudged into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Out wafted the fragrant aroma of Michael’s spaghetti, reminding him that he’d missed dinner. He smiled slightly, eyeing the foil-covered plate his son had left for him. Normally he would have heated up the food and inhaled it while standing, regardless of the late hour. But tonight he didn’t have an appetite, and it had nothing to do with the particularly gruesome crime scene he’d just left.

That evening, as he’d worked his way around the bedroom of a young couple who’d been brutally murdered as they slept, all Sterling could hear were the words Celeste had hurled at him earlier.

I can’t do this anymore!

She’d stopped him cold in his tracks with that statement. Though they’d argued many times over the years—especially in recent months—tonight’s confrontation had been different. Because tonight was the closest Celeste had ever come to asking Sterling for a divorce.

He was still reeling with shock.

Grabbing a cold beer from the refrigerator, he popped open the can and took a healthy swig as he left the kitchen. Instead of heading to his bedroom on the second floor, he made his way down a creaky flight of stairs to reach the basement.

Not surprisingly, both of his sons were still up watching television, the glow from the screen providing the room’s only illumination. Michael was sprawled across the worn leather sofa, while Marcus lay on his stomach on the floor with his chin propped in his hands. They were watching
The
Chinese Connection
, an old martial arts action film starring Bruce Lee. They’d seen it so many times they could recite nearly every line of dialogue, and sometimes when they were feeling playful after watching the movie, they’d test their karate moves on each other, arguing over who was the better fighter.

But there would be none of that tonight, Sterling concluded. One look at his sons’ gloomy countenances, and he knew that they’d overheard the argument between him and Celeste.

Suppressing a heavy sigh of frustration, he advanced into the shadowy room.

“Hey, fellas.”

They glanced over at him. “Hey, Dad.”

Michael sat up, swinging his long legs over the edge of the sofa to make room for his father as Marcus rolled over and leaned back on his elbows to regard Sterling.

He smiled, nodding toward the television. “I see you’re watching one of your old favorites.”

“Yeah,” Michael grunted.

“ ‘This time you are eating paper,’ ” Sterling said in his best imitation of Bruce Lee’s accented voice. “ ‘Next time it will be glass.’ ” The familiar joke fell flat, coaxing only halfhearted smiles out of Michael and Marcus.

Sterling grimaced. “Tough crowd,” he muttered, taking a sip of his beer.

“Sorry, Dad,” they mumbled dispiritedly.

He chuckled. “No need to apologize. I probably need to come up with new material anyway.”

Michael and Marcus exchanged troubled glances that undoubtedly had nothing to do with their father’s lame voice impersonations.

Knowing he could no longer ignore the elephant in the room, Sterling blew out a deep, weary breath. “What’s on your mind, boys?” They shared another uneasy glance.

“Are you and Ma getting a divorce?” Marcus blurted.

When Sterling winced, Michael scowled at his brother. “Nice going, Little Man.
Real
subtle.”

“What?” Marcus protested, taking umbrage. “Isn’t that what we wanted to ask him?”

“Not like that,” Michael growled.

“It’s okay,” Sterling intervened before an argument erupted. “You didn’t say anything wrong, Marcus. You both have a right to know what’s going on between me and your mother.”

“We heard you fighting,” Marcus whispered. “So did Quentin.”

“I know,” Sterling said grimly, “and I’m real sorry about that. We should have kept our voices down.”

“You tried to, but Ma made you mad.” Marcus frowned, nervously chewing on his thumbnail. “Why’s she so sad all the time?”

“Because she thinks we’re poor,” Michael said bitterly. “She wants things we can’t afford.”

“Now hold on,” Sterling interjected, putting a hand on Michael’s rigid forearm. “I don’t want this to turn into a gripe session about your mama. No matter what you may have heard tonight, or how upset you may be, she’s still your mother. She loves you both, and she deserves your respect. Are we clear on that?”

“Yes, sir,” they mumbled obediently.

“Good.” Sterling paused, carefully choosing his next words. “There are things about me and your mother…things about our relationship that you boys are too young to understand. But just because we argue, that doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. We just see certain things differently, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

When Michael and Marcus traded dubious looks, Sterling heaved a resigned sigh. His sons were too smart, too intuitive, to swallow the sugarcoated explanation he was trying to feed them.

Staring down at his can of beer, he decided to level with them. “Your mother and I are having problems. Serious problems. We’re going to do everything we can to work through them because we love each other, and we love both of you, and we want to keep our family together. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make everything instantly better, but I can’t. What I
can
tell you is that no matter what happens, we’re all going to be okay because we’re family, and nothing will ever change that.”

When he’d finished speaking, his throat was tight, and the boys’ eyes were bright with unshed tears. As if they sensed that life as they knew it was about to come to an end.

“I wish we could go back to Mama Wolf’s house,” Marcus said glumly.

“Me too, Dad,” Michael agreed. “You and Ma were happier there.” Remembering Celeste’s entreaty for them to move to Savannah, Sterling smiled at his sons and said quietly, “As your wise great-grandmother used to tell me and your uncle, ‘Happiness doesn’t come from where you lay your head. It comes from where you lay your heart.’ ”

Celeste paused outside the open doorway at the end of the darkened hospital corridor. Her heart was drumming erratically, and her hands were damp with perspiration as she stared at the brass nameplate on the door.

DR. GRANT J. RUTHERFORD, M.D., NEUROSURGERY.

After not seeing him for over a week, she’d been secretly pleased to find herself on call with Grant that evening when the nurse regularly assigned to neurosurgery was unable to come in. Celeste had assisted Grant as he performed emergency surgery on a car accident victim who’d suffered massive head injuries. After the successful operation, he’d discreetly pulled Celeste aside and asked her to stop by his office before she went home. She hadn’t asked him what he wanted. She didn’t care.