Cold Deception (His Agenda 4): Prequel to the His Agenda Series (9 page)

“You
are
important… to me. You’re an amazing wife and sexy as hell. You can be here and make yourself beautiful for me. What more do you want? I thought you said I was all you needed. You said that on our wedding day.”

She sighed. “And you are, baby. You filled an important part of me. But there’s this other hole in me that can only be filled by going out there and chasing my dreams. People have dreams. I know you do, too. It would make me so happy to earn a little extra money for us, to help you out. I don’t get why you’re so much against this. What are you afraid of?” Her face clouded. “You know we need the money. Don’t you want us to be able to afford more than we have? Aren’t you tired of working two jobs? If we didn’t need the money, it would be a different story. But we do.”

His arms dropped from her body and a chill fell over the room. Without a word, he walked out. She was still standing at the window when she heard the water running upstairs. He was having a shower.

After a long time, she climbed the stairs and went into their bedroom. He was already in bed, the lamp on his side of the bed switched off. Instead of holding her until she fell asleep, he kept his back to her. She sat up in bed with tears streaming down her cheeks as their marriage cracked open for the second time.

Chapter Twenty

Terence

Terence sat up in bed, sweat dripping down his face, the sheets damp against his skin. He opened his eyes to see Lacey watching him with concern in her eyes.

Without taking the time to control his breathing, he pushed back the sheets and got out of bed. In the bathroom, he cringed as he splashed cold water over his hot face. He raised his eyes and looked into the mirror above the sink. He hated the man looking back at him.

The storm in his eyes roared as he turned his head to look out the window. On the other side of the glass, rain poured. His anger intensified as he listened to Lacey shifting at the door of the bathroom, probably nervous to enter. He’d locked it, locked her out. He didn’t want to see her, didn’t want to see the hurt in her eyes as he refused to give her the one thing she wanted.

He gripped the sides of the sink and bowed his head forward, eyes shut. Finally he rubbed his face with a towel and unlocked the door.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?” Tears trickled down her cheeks and dripped from her chin onto her cream satin pajamas. In spite of his anger he reached out and ran a finger down one of her cheeks, wiping away the tears. But he couldn’t stay. He needed time to himself, time to pull himself together. He always wanted to be alone after dreaming of his mother.

“I’m going for a quick drive.” He kissed her on the forehead and turned away. He took the steps two at a time and when he reached the front door, he turned around to find her watching him from the top of the stairs. For two years all they had needed was each other, and now she was slipping out of his reach, out of his life. It terrified the hell out of him.

He opened the door. Rainwater splashed into the house and onto him. The thought of running upstairs to get a raincoat or an umbrella crossed his mind, but he would not face the pain in her eyes again.

He walked out, closed the door behind him, and ran down the front steps, stepping into puddles as he hurried down the small path to the front gate. By the time he reached the SUV, his clothes and hair were wet and clinging to his skin.

He shivered as he leaned his forehead against the steering wheel, water dripping everywhere. When he had collected himself, he started the car and drove off. He had no idea where he was going, and he didn’t give a damn. He just wanted to get away from the pain, from the memories of his mother. But those memories chased him as he drove like a maniac through town. Memories of his childhood, before she left. She had never been overly warm toward him, but she had been there. She had fed them, clothed them, and bathed them. She had been there, period. Until one day she wasn’t.

The streets were sleek with water, and the sky dark and menacing in the early hours of the morning. He drove for a full hour, listening to his heart thudding and the rain beating down on his car.

When he returned home, he didn’t go inside, not immediately. Instead he parked on the other side of the street and watched the house he grew up in. The light in the bedroom was still on, meaning Lacey hadn’t gone back to bed. He wondered what she was doing. Was she still crying? Was she waiting for him to return? She probably was. But he wasn’t ready yet.

Breathing heavily, he reached into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled out a slim silver necklace with an infinity pendant. It had belonged to his mother. He had stolen it from her belongings when she was packing her bags, when he was begging her to stay. The piece of jewelry had been one of her favorites, and now it was the only thing he had left of her, besides the memories.

He wrapped his fingers tightly around the necklace and pressed his fist to his forehead, feeling the blood seep away from the area.

Three months before his mother had left them, she too had wanted a job. She’d been a housewife and mother for years, and she wanted to sing again. That was how she had met her father while singing in a local restaurant. He had fallen in love with her voice.

His father had been furious to hear she wanted to be a singer again, and he’d punished her both physically and emotionally for wanting a life outside of their home. He had wanted the control—over her, over them, over their finances. But his mother had refused to give in. Eventually, his father allowed her to go out and sing once a week. It was the beginning of the end. Four months after she was given that freedom, she packed her bags and ran off with her new manager.

Terence’s throat tightened. What if Lacey ended up doing the same? What if she discovered that the few hours a day she spent outside of their life were better, and she left him? The last person he wanted to become was his father, but at this moment, he understood the man.

Lacey wanted a life independent of their marriage, independent of their home. She wanted to do something for herself. Wanted some kind of freedom. Earning her own money would mean needing less or none of his support.

The thought of her leaving him made him want to rip his heart out of his chest and set it on fire. He couldn’t lose her. She was all he had, his whole world. He had to make her understand that.

Finally, he stepped out of the car and walked back to the house. The rain had slowed to a drizzle.

She was in their bed, awake, gazing at the door.

He changed into dry clothes and toweled his hair dry. Then he climbed into bed next to her, drew her to him. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered into her hair.

“You never will.” She pressed her body to his.

Her promise didn’t have much value this time. But it was all she was giving him right now, and he would take it. He undressed himself and then peeled off her clothes. Then he made love to her, pouring all his anger and fear into her.

After he was done with the Holt’s repairs, he would quit his two jobs and find one that paid well enough that Lacey wouldn’t feel the need to find a job. Perhaps that way he could delay the inevitable.

Chapter Twenty-One

Terence woke before Lacey did, after only two hours of sleep. He took a quick shower, shaved, and got dressed for work.

When Lacey came downstairs thirty minutes later, at 6:30 a.m., he had made her breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, and freshly pressed orange juice.

His heart twisted when she gave him a sleepy smile, her eyes still drooping, her hair tousled. She had never looked more beautiful.

When he hugged her, he held her for a bit longer, feeling her heart beating against his chest.

He pulled back from the moment and reached into his pockets. “Turn around.” She did as she was told, too sleepy to object or ask questions. She had never been a morning person.

He lifted the slim silver chain and slid it around her neck. Lacey touched the small infinity pendant with the tips of her fingers.

“Where did you get this?” She turned around and looked at him with wide eyes. “We can’t afford something like this.”

“It used to be my mother’s,” Terence said. “And now it’s yours. You wear it so much better.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep it somewhere safe?”

“No. I want you to have it.” He kissed her forehead. “I made you breakfast. But I can’t stay to eat with you. I have to head straight to the Holt Estate. The water damage is much worse than I anticipated. Hopefully I’ll be done tomorrow.”

Lacey moved to the table and picked up a glass of orange juice, raised it to her lips. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

He kissed her, tasting the juice on her tongue.

Five minutes later he was out the door. Before he started the car, he saw her at the kitchen window, looking out, her expression unreadable.

He pulled out his phone and called Marion, but he didn’t pick up. He was probably still in Florida, working on an investigation.

Terence left a message. “I need your help with something. There’s a direction I want to go and I need your expertise. Call me when you get back.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

By 6 p.m., most of the work was done. All that was left now was the wall repair and patching up. Terence would have to do that in the morning. But at least the leak was fixed.

He packed up his tools and went downstairs to look for Deloris. She was at the dining table, eating a meal that a woman in a black and white uniform had served her.

He hadn’t seen the old woman much. When he arrived in the morning, she had said she’d be out of the house for most of the day.

Left alone in the house with the housekeeper, who spent the day on the couch watching TV, he used the time to look around. He’d found a lot of items that would have been cash cows if he wanted to rob Deloris. His journey took him to an office that looked as if it had belonged to her husband. He’d discovered a locked drawer that he just had to get into. It didn’t take him long to find the small key tucked behind a portrait of Deloris.

The drawer only had two things inside: a pair of keys and a folded piece of paper. The keys resembled the house keys and the piece of paper had a few numbers and letters on it. Could they be the digits for the alarm system?

He also found a folder that contained test results. Deloris Holt had terminal cancer. He was disgusted by the thought that when she died, her nephew would get everything.

Without thinking about what he was doing, he left the house, telling the housekeeper that he had to go buy more supplies. He called Chad Silver, a fellow ex-con, who gave him the address of a shady locksmith. The locksmith duplicated the key fast with no questions asked as soon as Terence mentioned Chad’s name.

When Terence returned to the estate, he found the housekeeper sleeping on the couch, which gave him the chance he needed to check the alarm. Deloris seemed like a nice woman. He would never rob her, but he needed the key to her home in case some unknown opportunity presented itself.

“I hate eating alone,” Deloris said now, having seen Terence hovering in the doorway. “Why don’t you join me, Terence? Katharina, please bring this gentleman some food.”

Terence considered saying no, but he didn’t. He pulled up a chair. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

Deloris was talkative as usual, even telling him about her cancer, saying she had been given six months to a year to live. She told him she had been at the hospital all day being jabbed with needles, and that her nephew never showed up to be by her side. She told him that in three days, she would be moving to the senior home, sooner than planned. The house would be put on the market immediately.

He said all the right comforting words and showed genuine sympathy. He
did
feel bad for her. After half an hour she thanked him for his company and the good work he did in her bathroom. Before they said their goodbyes, she looked at Terence for a long time. Then she leaned forward to tell him something.

“I told you I’m good with names. I know who you are, Terence Pirone.” She drank from her cup, a smile curling her lips. “Don’t worry about finishing up your job here. You can finish what you started.”

Terence never saw Deloris Holt or her cup of tea again. When he came to the estate in the morning to finish up his work, he was met by Troy, who said Deloris had fallen seriously ill and had moved out of the house. Terence finished his work.

A week later, he discovered an advertisement for the house in the local paper. It was for sale, fully furnished.

He still had an extra key.

Chapter Twenty-Three

When Terence arrived late to work on Saturday, George was waiting for him. His thick, gray hair glinted in the sunshine, his eyes spitting fire. “You left early yesterday. If I had any sense in me, I would fire your ex-con ass right now. You work here two days a week and you still leave early and show up late.”

“So why don’t you? Why don’t you fire me?” Terence knew why. He was good at his job, better than most of the other car mechanics, men who went to school for this kind of thing. He was also cheap labor. George only used the ex-con excuse to put him in his place. Not this time. Terence moved closer, until he smelled George’s stale morning breath. “Lucky for you, I have some sense in me. I’ll make it easy for you. Take your job and shove it. I quit.”

George stumbled back as if burnt by the words, confusion and surprise swirling on his face. He had clearly not expected Terence to leave of his own volition.

“The hell you’re walking out of here.” George collected himself and sneered. “You’re a liar. There’s no way you’re going to quit. You know how hard it is for an ex-con to find a job. You’re too smart.”

“You’re right.” Terence stepped back. “I
am
smart. I’m smart enough to walk away. I’m tired of busting my ass for you and getting nothing in return but insults. If I learned something in prison, it’s how to survive. I will find a job.”