The Real Mrs. Price (33 page)

Lucy had refused to fly home after learning that Roman was going to help Wells find Ed.

“If he's alive, then I have to see it for myself, Roman,” she'd told him. “I have to see this thing through to the end.”

Wells had asked Roman to sit and wait near that motel in Nelson and to call him when he spotted Ed. She and Roman followed him first to Marlowe's and then to Marlowe's aunt's house. Seeing him again after so much time had passed was like seeing a ghost. But deep down, she'd never believed that he was dead. When Wells had him in his grasp, she knew that she'd never see her husband alive again. It was a frightening thought. Wells was indeed a killer, and Ed's life was in that man's hands that night. As he was being dragged away, Ed pleaded with her to help him. He begged her, but Lucy didn't budge. Even if she could've saved him, she wouldn't have. Ed Price was also a murderer. He'd killed Chuck, and he'd likely killed Tom Hilliard. Lucy wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if, later on, authorities determined that the man in that car was Hilliard.

The press still followed Marlowe around, bombarding her with questions about the discovery of Ed's body and asking if she felt that this discovery exonerated her. Marlowe had learned to handle the press like a pro, though. She kept her head down, moved quickly through the sea of reporters, and never uttered one word. Lucy admired her courage, her resolve. She admired the size of her boobs, too, and definitely made it a point to set up an appointment for a consultation and a quote.

*   *   *

“What are you doing up so early?” Roman asked groggily, coming from upstairs.

Lucy sat on the sofa with her legs underneath her and her hands cupped around a hot mug of tea. “What are
you
doing up so early?” she turned the question back to him. “I came down here so that I wouldn't wake you.”

He leaned over her, kissed her, and then sat down beside her. “The bed got cold. That's what woke me up.”

They'd been home for three days. Roman had intended on just dropping her off and leaving, but he'd never made it to the “leaving” part. She liked having him here. He was comforting and comfortable, and he had seen her at her worst. The temptation of that money had turned Lucy into a creature she'd have never believed could come out of her, but it reared its ugly head, and he still found her attractive.

“I should probably get home today,” he said hesitantly. “I need a new gig.”

Even after three days of Roman, she didn't like the idea of him not being here. He'd worked so hard to shine a light on his demons and to turn her off, and for a minute, it had worked. He was a drug addict, and drug addicts were unpredictable and volatile and always in danger of falling off the wagon. But he was dreamy handsome, too. He'd made mistakes that he'd likely pay for throughout the rest of his life, but that didn't mean he couldn't be happy on some level. He liked being with her, making love to her. Lucy loved his patience and his consideration. Roman was passionate but worked hard to hide it. Lucy wondered what it would be like if he didn't.

“You want breakfast before you leave?” she asked.

He looked up at her and smiled. “Breakfast would be nice. And then maybe later, I can take you out to dinner.”

“Dinner would be nice.”

“Has Marlowe made any statements?” he asked, watching the news with her.

She shook her head. “No. I doubt she will. I wouldn't.”

Lucy was suddenly startled by her phone ringing. She looked at him. “Who could that be at this time of the morning?”

She answered it. “Hello? Yes. This is Lucy Price.”

And just like that, she hung up the phone.

“Reporter?” he asked.

She stared wide-eyed back at him and nodded. “Since Marlowe's not giving them anything to report about anymore, and she's not spilling any beans on Ed, I guess I'm their new pinup girl.”

 

One Month Later …

 

Let Me Give You My Life

Q
UENTIN STOPPED BY
M
ARLOWE
'
S HOUSE
a few days after they'd found Ed's body.

“We found a credit card and driver's license on him belonging to Thomas Hilliard, who's been missing for months,” he explained, standing there with his hands shoved into his pockets. “That's probably who was in that car.”

If he expected her to jump up and down for joy, he was going to have to settle on being disappointed.

“Of course, we'll be dropping the charges against you,” he said apologetically. Quentin stared at her and then asked another question. “Whatever happened to your friend Mr. Wells?” he broached cautiously.

“I have no idea,” she reluctantly said.

“I find it a bit odd that he should disappear right around the time that Price's body shows up.”

He waited for Marlowe to respond. She didn't.

*   *   *

Shou Shou had let Plato into the house that night. The next morning, she'd admitted it.

“I bound him before he came in,” she'd explained. “Bound him good and tight so that he couldn't do nothing in here.” Shou Shou smiled proudly. “What he did on the other side of my door was none of my business.”

“Why'd you do it, Shou? Why'd you let him in?”

“Look what woulda happened if I hadn't,” she'd said. “That husband would've come up in here, and who knows what he woulda done. He told me that Eddie was on his way. He told me he needed to come inside and wait for him.” She'd shrugged. “So I let him. And then I went to bed. Slept good, too.”

*   *   *

The early sun was the best sun. Marlowe had gotten out into her garden before the heat of the day set in, pulling weeds and watering. Abby had come in with some of the guys she worked with and painted Marlowe's house for next to nothing, and Marlowe thought she'd have to petition to have her marriage to Ed annulled but Lucy's brother, Lawrence, told her that since the marriage was never legal, she didn't need to waste her time. Was she truly at peace? No. And she probably wouldn't be for a long time. But she wasn't under siege anymore. Reporters stopped coming around, and Marlowe was back to living her life again, or at least trying to.

It was a hollow shell of what it once was. Before Eddie, before Plato and Lucy, Marlowe was a part of this community. She had become comfortable in her role here in Blink, but now, even though she'd been cleared of killing Eddie, it still felt like a line had been drawn, and there was her on one side and everybody else on the other.

“Marlowe.”

She'd never expected to see him again, at least not in this life. Plato stared at her from across the yard, wearing a white T-shirt and jeans, his dark skin glistening like magic in the sun. As beautiful as he was to look at, Marlowe felt nothing for him inside, which surprised her. He'd evoked such extreme emotion from her when she first saw him, but to see him now and feel nothing caught her off guard.

He had killed Eddie. She hadn't seen him do it, but she knew. That's the kind of man O. P. Wells was and had been from the very beginning. It's the reason she'd seen him as that black, frightening figure in her dreams and the reason the bones showed him to her as the devil. He was as bad as the devil, as evil, and so very capable of devilish things.

“I thought your business here was finished,” she said unemotionally, but guarded.

“I thought so too, but here you are,” he said in that lighthearted way of his. “I tried to stay away.” His expression turned serious all of a sudden. “I couldn't.”

Marlowe didn't know what to make of this moment, of him, of her reaction or the lack thereof. All that good-looking on him was still there. The charm was as evident as ever, but it was passion—her passion for him, her fear, neither of those things were there anymore. It was as if she was through with him now that he'd done what he'd come here to do.

“You should've stayed away,” she told him, and without apology, too. “Our business is done.”

He stood there at first, probably unaccustomed to having a woman turn him away. Men like him didn't know rejection. Even with her and all the ways she'd tried to avoid him, he'd always had an air about him that reeked of cockiness. He'd always known that it was only a matter of time before she caved and gave in to him.

He slowly approached her, and that's when the air between them started to press against her and threaten to awaken something inside her. She stepped back.

He stopped and smiled, and she saw it in his eyes, that confidence, that assuredness that he could slither back into her life. “I've missed you.”

Plato was a heartbreaker. A player. Too damn charming and handsome and tempting. Marlowe had to be strong, though.

“I haven't missed you.”

It felt good to say it. Marlowe felt empowered for the first time, leading with her head and not her heart. She'd made too many mistakes and errors in judgment based on how she felt, and it was long past time to change up and be more careful with herself than she had been in the past. Not everyone deserved her, and she'd wasted the best parts of herself on undeserving men.

He came toward her again. “If I thought you meant that, I never would've come back.”

“I do mean it.” She did. She wanted to. Needed to.

He turned his head slightly to one side and stared intensely at her, then smiled. “Nah, you don't.” His dark eyes twinkled.

Marlowe was starting to feel unsettled.

“Quentin thinks you killed Eddie,” she told him.

Knowing that, she figured that it would be enough to make him reconsider even being back here in Blink.

“I don't give a damn what Quentin thinks,” he said, coming closer.

Marlowe dropped the hose, went over to the house to turn off the water, and escaped to the sanctity of her back deck, which put her almost at eye level with him.

“I came here for you.”

“You came here for exactly what you got,” she challenged him. “So now you need to go.”

“I did go, and I couldn't stop thinking about you. I couldn't cut you loose, and that bothered me.”

“That's not my problem,” she said defensively, willing him to keep his distance.

“No, it's mine. Which is why I'm here.”

Marlowe shook her head in disbelief and then chuckled. “Because you love me?” she asked sarcastically. “You decided all of a sudden that you can't live without me? I don't think either one of us believes that.”

Plato walked to the edge of her deck, stopped in front of her, and stared into her eyes. “Because the least of what I feel for you is love.”

Marlowe frowned. “What the hell does that mean? Why can't you talk normal?”

“Like you?” He smiled seductively.

Her heart pounded being this close to him again, resurrecting feelings it had no business bringing to the surface. She'd dismissed him from her mind, body, and soul, and he'd turned into nothing more than a somewhat pleasant nightmare.

“I'm through with you.” Marlowe was angry, and she let him see it. “I don't want you anymore. Maybe I never did.”

The warmth emanating from him wafted over to her, caressed her.

“There's no place for you in my life,” he said. “There's a part of me that I can never share with you, that I never want you to see, Marlowe.”

“Too late. I've seen it already.”

He shook his head. “No, you haven't,” he said patiently. “You won't. Not if I can help it.”

“And what do you think I'm supposed to do with the part of you that's left?”

“You can let me in, Marlowe.”

The devil was asking for permission to come in?

She eyed him suspiciously. Why did he say it like that? Why was he looking at her like that? His voice resonated through her in ways that weren't natural, warming her, arousing her.

“I am not always a monster. You showed me that. I don't have to be. I can be the man that I was when it was just us, me and you.” Emotion—not sarcasm or deceit, but real emotion filled his eyes, genuine, inviting, pleading. “I've resolved myself to the fact that my life will never be what you need, baby, but I do love the idea of us. And I'd like to wallow in it a while longer.”

He was saying all the right things, putting out the right vibe, and Marlowe could feel herself begin to melt. She wanted him—them together.
Your head, Marlowe. Not your heart. Use your head.

Tears filled her eyes. “But what does that mean for me? I get half of you? A third?”

He thought before answering. “It means that when I'm here, I'm all the way here. When I'm here, I'll offer you all that I have, and I'll be exactly who you need me to be.”

He was so convincing, so compelling, and she desperately wanted to buy into the beauty of his promise. He seemed to have needed to say it as much as she'd needed to hear it. But a question remained.

“And when you're not here, Plato,” she asked shakily, “then what am I supposed to do?” Wait to see him being arrested on the news? Wait to find out that he's dead?

“You're supposed to know that I want to be here, that I'm rushing to get back to you, and that I'm lonely without you. I crave you. I ache for you, and all I want to do is to put my arms around you and hold you close.”

“That's supposed to be enough?”

“God! I hope so.”

Did he really expect that she was supposed to be satisfied with only a part of him?

“I can't,” she said, letting the tears fall. “I can't love part-time. I can't be loved part-time. I deserve better than that.”

He nodded. “I agree. I agree wholeheartedly, baby girl. You most certainly do and you are more than I deserve.”

Without saying another word, Plato leaned in close, pressed his warm lips against hers, wrapped one strong arm around her waist, and pulled her to him. Marlowe's body betrayed her, dissolved into his, hungrily mated her tongue with his.