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She expected him to turn for his room, but he didn’t. He didn’t look tired anymore, either. So she picked up her pen and gestured to the empty chair beside her. “You want to help me go through these papers?”
His shoulders sagged, his relief clear. “Yes. Please. I don’t want to close my eyes right now.”
“I get it. But...” Desire had returned, making her cheeks heat. “Maybe put on a shirt first, though?”
He grinned suddenly, the effect on his face breathtaking. “Why?”
She rolled her eyes, because his chest had puffed out in pride. “Just do it, Gabe.”
He saluted crisply. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared, and she called after him, “Cut the price tag off your sleep pants.”
His laugh rolled through the house. “Yes, ma’am.”
The Garden District, New Orleans, Louisiana
TUESDAY, JULY 26, 4:45 A.M.
Lamont rarely smoked at home because Joelle didn’t like it and it was easier to simply smoke on breaks at work than to listen to her bitch. He was afraid of what he’d do to her one day. She’d bitch and he’d just be done and then he’d slap her or maybe even strangle her.
It was a nice fantasy. But one that would ruin his plans for the future if he ever acted on it.
But Joelle was sleeping off last night’s bender, so he lit up and inhaled, exhaling with a contented sigh.
Beside him in bed, Ashley still slept. She’d tuckered herself right out. She was a flexible little thing on an average night, but tonight had been exemplary because she’d been very horny. Something that Joelle wasn’t. Ever. Well, not since she’d married him. Beforehand, she’d been every bit as interested and willing as Ashley.
It was an interview, he knew. His mistresses were usually his office administrators who wanted to be his next wife. They’d throw themselves at him, usually growing sullen and disinterested when he didn’t immediately divorce his wife and marry them. The ones who hung on the longest, who showed their loyalty, were the ones he’d weigh against the bother of getting rid of his current wife.
Ashley was getting close. Were the timing right, he’d have gotten rid of Joelle a long time ago. But people were watching him, he knew. And while being married several times wasn’t a political dealbreaker, being under investigation for murder certainly was.
So he was biding his time. If Ashley stuck around long enough, he’d marry her once Joelle was history. He’d have to wait and see.
He’d never fucked Ashley here before. In his home. He knew she’d take that as a positive sign, but he couldn’t help that. It wasn’t like they were in his bed. He wasn’t stupid, after all. He kept a bed in the room adjoining his home office, for nights when he worked too late. Or that was his excuse to Joelle. Lately, he just didn’t want to share a bed with her.
He reached to his nightstand to tap his cigarette over the ashtray. It was antique decorative glassware and one of Joelle’s favorite pieces, so he used it as an ashtray whenever he could. It was petty, but he didn’t care. He brought the cigarette back to his lips and checked his cell phone, hoping for a text from either Tyson Whitley or Cornell Eckert.
There were none.
He tried not to be too anxious. Whitley lived in Dallas and even if he’d left the instant Lamont had ended their call, he’d only be arriving in Houston about now. And Eckert was a finicky motherfucker. He’d contact Lamont when he was good and ready and not before.
If Eckert failed in killing Xavier...
Well, he wasn’t going to worry about that right now. He was going to wake Ashley up, have one more round of sex, then send her on her way.
He had a breakfast meeting with the DA.
Mont Belvieu, Houston, Texas
TUESDAY, JULY 26, 7:05 A.M.
“He’s here,” Manny said with a yawn. He handed his burner phone over the seat to Xavier, who sat with Carlos in the back seat. They were parked at the H-E-B grocery store near Manny’s place, Manny not wanting Rocky’s lawyer to have his home address. Which was totally fair and very smart. They’d arrived at H-E-B an hour ago, wanting to avoid any possibility of being late.
Plus, none of them had really been sleeping anyway. They’d crashed at Manny’s apartment for a few hours, but Xavier hadn’t closed his eyes. He kept thinking about the man he’d shot. Was he alive? Dead?
Would he come back?
And what about his mother? She couldn’t go home, either. There might be a dead man in her spare bedroom. If the man was still alive, he might come after his mom.
