“Are you sure they’re not involved in the case?”

“Neither one of them even knew Aleesha.”

Angie nodded, letting him know that she had heard him. She was too shocked to talk. Whatever Baby G knew about Michael Ormewood would be taken to his grave.

Will said, “You look bad.”

“Thanks.”

“I mean it,” he said. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I had a really hard day,” she told him, suddenly feeling everything catch up with her. “I had to go to the hospital.”

He sat up, took her hand. “Are you okay?”

“Not for me.” She lied because it was easier than dealing with his anger if he found out she’d gone to Piedmont this morning to put the fear of Jesus into Ormewood’s wife. “I took one of the girls in. It wasn’t anything bad. Women stuff.”

Will nodded, and she knew he wouldn’t press her.

Christ, what a mess. She had things to tell him but didn’t know where to begin. What could she say? That the night of Ken’s party, Michael was rough with her? That Michael was the kind of guy you couldn’t change your mind with? That with him, once things got started, there was no such thing as stopping?

She could still remember how much it hurt the next day, the bruises on her thighs, the feeling that something deep inside her had been torn. Shit, she’d been drunk out of her mind, but the marks on her skin were clear enough to tell the story.

“You okay?” Will tucked her hair behind her ear. The gentle gesture was something new. He never touched her like that, or maybe she never let him.

She said, “It was hard being there,” not telling him exactly where “there” was. “I kept thinking about my mom.”

Will stroked her hair and she wanted to close her eyes, put her head on his shoulder. Angie had taken him to see her mother a couple of times. Going to her mother’s grave would have been easier for Angie than seeing Deidre lying in that hospital bed, not knowing if somewhere behind those closed eyes she was screaming for help. Why did Angie love the one person she should hate the most?

“Come here,” Will said, pulling her close, putting his arms around her. He leaned back on the couch, taking her with him. “Just stay like this for a while.”

Angie wanted to cry, but she couldn’t let herself break down in front of Will. She pressed her face to his shoulder, smelling the detergent he used and the soy sauce that had dripped onto his tie. If she could stay like this, if she could just let him hold her, then maybe things would get better. Maybe they could make each other whole.

She turned her face toward him and kissed his neck. His skin reacted, and she kissed his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

He said, “We don’t have to…”

She cupped her hand around his neck and put her lips to his. Will was reluctant, but she teased the passion out of him, using her teeth and tongue until he started kissing her in earnest. His arms tensed as he gently lifted her up and laid her back on the couch. He kept his weight on his left elbow, his hand brushing her face as he kissed her neck.

The cuff of his shirt had slipped back, and Angie saw the angry pink scar on the inside of his wrist. She had taken him to the hospital that night, stayed by his bed as she waited for him to wake up and realize that it hadn’t worked, that he was still alive.

Tentatively, she touched his wrist, tracing her ringer along the same path the razor blade had taken as it had flayed open his skin.

Will jerked away, staring at her in shock.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized.

He tried to sit up, but she grabbed his vest in her fists, pulling him back. “I said I’m sorry.”

“Angie-” He tried to pull away again, but she wouldn’t let him. They struggled but Will would never use his full strength against her. She managed to pull him down, pressing her lips firmly to his. She arced up into him and he stopped resisting. Angie kissed him deeper, rougher than usual, and to her surprise he returned it with the same intensity.

She felt her breath quicken, her mind blur. The weight of him on top of her was enough to bring tears to her eyes, and she slid her hand down into the waist of his pants, needing for this to go quickly before she lost herself.

“Christ,” she mumbled, pulling open his vest, tugging his shirt out of his pants, then his undershirt, so that there was room enough for her hand.

He had pushed up her shirt, his mouth finding her bare breast. When she wrapped her hand around him, he lost his rhythm. She took over, using her free hand to slide down her panties. Angie guided him inside her before he could stop her.

His breath caught as she thrust up to him, tightening herself around him, trying to make him come.

“No,” he whispered, struggling to slow down. His eyes were squeezed shut and he shook from the effort of restraining himself. She licked her tongue in his ear, bit the lobe, did everything in her power to force his release. He groaned loudly as he gave in, shuddering in climax.

“Oh, God,” he breathed. “Angie…”

She let him kiss her some more, stopping him when his mouth started to move down on her. “No,” she told him, pulling him back up to her face. “I need to go.”

He was sweating, his breathing hard as he kissed her breasts. “Let me taste you.”

The raw growl of his voice sent a tingle through her body. She bit her bottom lip, trying not to think about how good his mouth would feel down lower as his lips grazed her stomach.

“No,” she managed, gently pulling him back up. “I need to go.”

“Stay with me.”

Somehow, the begging quality to his voice made it easier for her to leave. “I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“So do I.”

She pushed him away more firmly this time. “Will.”

He rolled off her and fell against the back of the couch with another groan, but this one was far from an expression of pleasure.

She pulled her underwear back on as she stood. Her shirt was still crooked and she leaned over as she adjusted it.

He wrapped his hand around her leg. “Why do you do this?”

She stepped out of his reach, finding her purse on the table by the front door. “Why do you let me?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Martha Lam had apparently made not one but several phone calls. John had gotten a full refund on the rent he had paid at the flophouse and the room at Mr. Applebaum’s was almost thirty dollars cheaper a month. Combined with the fifty bucks John had gotten for crawling through the vacuum tank, he might actually be able to eat this month.

“Damn,” Ray-Ray said. He was looking at a woman who had just pulled up with a Toyota Camry full of screaming kids. “She cain’t help that she ugly, but the least she could do is stay at home.”

John gave him a sideways glance. “When’d you learn to speak in complete sentences?”

“They’s a lot more to a brother than what you see,” Ray-Ray told him.

He left John at the dryer and went to help wipe down one of the cars. John’s uneasy peace with Ray-Ray had settled into some kind of friendliness on the other man’s part since he’d taken him to the hospital. John wasn’t sure what had brought about this transformation, but he wasn’t about to complain. He had enough people after him right now. Anything that got Ray-Ray off his back was all right with him.

The hospital visit had been a good thing for John, too. He still felt his heart skip in his chest when he thought about seeing Robin in the waiting room. She’d been wearing her work attire, but he couldn’t help seeing past that to her soft skin, her full lips. The way she stood with her weight shifted to one leg, her hip jutting out. What would it be like to run his hand along that hip, pull her close to him? These were the kinds of thoughts that kept a man awake at night.