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“A sniper shot would be a hell of a lot simpler for him to pull off than a bomb.”
“May
be he wants the drama of an explosion, though.”
Tom nodded, but the buzz of his phone in his pocket cut off his next words. His thoughts immediately flashed on Isabelle, her smile teasing and her clothes advertising that she hadn’t bothered going home last night. Not to her place, anyway. She’d slept somewhere else.
But when he drew his phone from his pocket, there was no incoming call from the mysterious Isabelle West. It was only his sister. He winced and put it away.
“What is it?” Mary asked.
“My sister.”
He thought that was the end of it, but it wasn’t. Mary had been invited to dinner at his sister’s place too many times.
“Why are you avoiding Wendy?”
“I’m not avoiding her,” he answered. “I’m busy.”
“Maybe she needs something.”
He glanced up to find Mary leaning against the wall, arms crossed in that stubborn way that said she wasn’t going anywhere. “Aren’t you always telling me not to worry about my family? If she needs something, she’ll call back.”
“I’m also always telling you that one dinner a month is not enough time with your family.”
Tom rolled his shoulders. “I need to send a few emails,” he muttered.
She didn’t move.
“Okay, I’ll text her,” he grumbled, getting his phone back out to let Wendy know he’d call her in a couple of days.
Once he’d hit Send, Mary gave up her stance and sat down at her own computer. He felt bad shutting her out, but he didn’t want to talk about it.
It was his brother’s birthday, and Wendy always called. He always avoided the call. His sister was like his parents. She considered Michael’s death a sad accident. Tom considered it a tragedy that could’ve been averted if anyone had done anything to try to stop it. If they’d even acknowledged his addiction just once, maybe his brother would be alive.
He couldn’t talk to Wendy about how sad it all was, because he wasn’t sad. He was pissed. At Michael. At his parents. Even at Wendy when she wanted to call and reminisce. And he loved his family too much to tell them how angry it still made him.
His parents had done the best they knew how. Tom understood that. He’d even told them that. But he couldn’t say it on Michael’s birthday. Not on this day. So he’d call Wendy tomorrow, and today he’d think about something else.
He meant to turn his mind to Saul Stevenson, retreating into his work as he always did, but for once it was no escape. Isabelle West kept intruding, her ass swaying as she glanced over her shoulder.
Tom smiled at the memory and figured that was as good an escape as any.
CHAPTER SIX
ISABELLE SLIPPED ON FLIP-FLOPS, tugged on her gloves and glared menacingly at her messy kitchen. “It is on,” she growled, trying to pump herself up as she held the yellow latex gloves high in the air like a surgeon prepping for an operation.
She paused and frowned. “Music,” she muttered, looking around. She needed music first. Slipping off the gloves, she went in search of her phone and the stereo connector.
Thirty minutes later, she’d finally gotten the music hooked up, tracked down the gloves she’d set down somewhere during the search for the auxiliary cable, and she was poised in front of her kitchen again. “Let’s do this.”
Lauren had called with the news that afternoon. Sophie had just ridden into town and girls’ night in was a go for the next day. It was time to catch up and get drunk, not necessarily in that order. But drinking or not, no one wanted to look at the week-old macaroni noodles stuck to her stove burner. Isabelle didn’t want to look at them, either, which was why she’d been ignoring them this whole week.
But the loud music got her dancing and singing and sipping beer as she worked, and before long the kitchen was gleaming.
She moved on to the living room, tossing out magazines she’d been hoarding for months and scaring Bear out of the corner, making him hiss in fury before he disappeared into a back room. “You’re the one leaving fur everywhere!” she yelled after him. He didn’t deign to reply.
It was a good thing he’d taken off, though. She had to vacuum the rug, and if she dared to do that near him, he’d disappear for a week. They were too much alike, she and Bear.
