What Lies Beneath: Romantic Suspense (10 page)

19

I curled my hair then pinned it up. Tom always liked it when I wore my hair this way. When he took me out on dates I’d go out of my way to fix it perfectly. It took forever, but he loved it. I put on a full face of makeup and stared at myself in the mirror. I was met with the image of a woman I hadn’t seen in a long time. Deep red lips and smoky eyes, wild curls and a tight black dress; I hardly recognized myself. I looked ten years younger as long you ignored my eyes. My eyes were those of a woman twice my age. I’d experienced too much in too short amount of time. The grief in my green eyes startled me. Did other people see the pain in them? I hoped not.

I narrowed my eyes and tried to force a smile on my face. I watched myself in the mirror. The specter of a new woman emerged. I looked harder, devious and a bit seductive. Good. Mr. Devereaux would like that.

My doorbell rang. He was early. I took my crutches and went to the door. When I opened it, his mouth fell open. Whatever he’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. His eyes drifted down to my cleavage, then over my legs, then back up to my cleavage. He wasn’t subtle at all. I liked that. It would be easier to get what I wanted from him.

“Mr. Devereaux,” I said sweetly. “You’re early.”

“Please, call me James.”

“James,” I said with fake shyness.

A big smile spread across his face. It was good that he thought I was a shy, weak girl. He’d be easier to manipulate.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

“Yeah. Let me get my purse.”

I hobbled to my purse with exaggerated feebleness.

“Let me help you.”

Mr. Devereaux ran ahead of me. He returned with my handbag. He rested his hand on my hip as he slid my purse over my shoulder. His hand lingered, strong and firm. It took every fiber of my being not to slap it away.

I forced a smile on my face and tilted my head to the side while examining his face. He had deep lines around his eyes, his skin was splotchy with sun damage and I could see the gray roots where he’d dyed his hair. I once thought he was a handsome man, but up close he looked rough, not to mention older than his years.

The image of Theo’s face an inch away from mine as we made love flashed through my mind. A wave of warmth stirred inside me. I tried to suppress the shudder that threatened to rack my body. Only a few short hours ago, we’d been naked and in each other’s arms. My skin still tingled with the memory of his touch.

A sudden desperate desire for Theo washed over me. I didn’t trust him, but I missed him. This date with Mr. Devereaux felt like a betrayal. It was silly to feel guilty; Theo and I barely knew one another. And I was only going out with Mr. Devereaux to find out what he knew. Still, if there was a future for us, this was not the best way to start off our relationship.

I stepped back, sliding away from Mr. Devereaux’s touch.

“Where are you taking me?” I asked.

The shark grin returned to his face. “Real nice place in the city. You’re going to love it.” He looked around nervously. “Where’s your kid at?”

“He’s staying with a friend.”

“Is he staying for the night?”

I started to say no, but stopped. If Mr. Devereaux thought sex was on the table, he’d probably be easier to deal with. On the other hand, he might become suspicious. Our earlier phone call wasn’t friendly. If I acted too nice he might put up his guard.

I looked at him over my shoulder and shrugged.

“You’re full of mysteries tonight,” he said with a laugh.

I wanted to punch him in the face. Instead I raised an eyebrow and bit my lip. Mr. Devereaux helped me out to his car and we took off. He turned onto Main Street then took the exit towards the highway.

“I’ve got the perfect place picked out special for you. You’re going to love it,” he said.

“We’ll see,” I said, sounding more skeptical than I should have, given the circumstances. If Mr. Devereaux picked up on my doubt, he gave no indication.

He accelerated, driving past the access road that led to the freeway. I twisted the hem of my dress around my fingers as I turned to see our exit fade into the distance. We drove for a ways; the road narrowed as the woods closed in around us. We hadn’t passed another car in at least ten minutes. I cleared my throat.

“I thought we were going to the city?” I asked, trying to keep the growing anxiety out of my voice.

“We are. I know a shortcut.”

There was no shortcut through the woods that led to the city. The woods stretched on for a hundred miles. The few side-roads led to small towns or farms. Mr. Devereaux was lying, but I tried to keep my cool. I needed him to turn around and take me back to the safety of town.

“You know what would be nice, James?”

I lowered my voice so it was deep and throaty. His name rolled off my tongue with a slight purr. Mr. Devereaux sat up straighter.

“What’s that, baby?”

I cringed at being called ‘baby’ by him.

“Maybe we could go back to my place? It will be quiet and private. I can make you dinner and then… well, we can see where things go.”

Mr. Devereaux turned to consider me as if he was quietly debating my proposal. His face turned serious.

“No,” he said. “We’ve come this far. We have to see it through to the end.”

I didn’t like the way that sounded. I readjusted my seatbelt. It suddenly felt very tight across my chest. My eyes frantically scanned the car for a potential weapon. I didn’t own a gun, but I wished I had one now.

I didn’t see anything in the car I could use in self-defense. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. Maybe I was being paranoid? What if Mr. Devereaux was only interested in sleeping with me and nothing more? Maybe there was a shortcut through the woods I didn’t know about.

I stared out the window. The sun had set and the woods created a wall of darkness around us.

No. My instincts were right. Mr. Devereaux was not to be trusted. He knew something about my husband’s death. He may have played a part in it.

“What do you know about my husband?” I blurted out.

He turned to me with a gleam in his eye.

“I was wondering when you’d cut the bullshit and get to it.”

Mr. Devereaux turned down a side road. We drove for a short while then turned again onto a dirt road. After a mile or two we came to a small lake. Mr. Devereaux stopped the car and put it into park. My chest felt tight; I struggled to take a breath. The idea of Mr. Devereaux killing me didn’t bother me as much as the idea of Aiden being an orphan. Who would take care of him? Tom’s parents had passed away years ago and mine were too old to take care of a five year old. He’d wind up in foster care. I couldn’t let that happen.

After Tom’s death, I thought life couldn’t get any worse. As I sat beside Mr. Devereaux, I realized I’d been wrong. Life can get much worse. If I died, my suffering would end, but it would only be the beginning for Aiden. What if they never found my body? Aiden could grow up thinking his mother abandoned him.

Something inside me hardened. I wasn’t going to let my son become a victim. I took a deep breath.

“Tell me about my husband,” I said calmly.

Mr. Devereaux seemed thrown by my icy demeanor. If he’d expected me to cry and beg for my life, he was in for disappointment. I was too emotionally drained for tears and I had no intention of giving him what he wanted.

“Your husband stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. The two of you have that in common I’m afraid.”

“He was fucking your wife.”

Mr. Devereaux’s head snapped around; rage filled his eyes.

“That’s why you killed him,” I said. “You were jealous because she found someone else. I hate to break it to you, but my husband wasn’t the first- or the last. Your wife fucks everything that walks- everything except you that is.”

Mr. Devereaux jumped out of the car and ran around to the passenger’s-side. I screamed as he threw open my door and dragged me out.

“Go ahead and scream, bitch. We’re miles away from anyone who can hear you.”

My bad leg twisted, hitting the ground hard as he pulled me from his car. I gritted my teeth against the pain. Mr. Devereaux let me go and walked around to his trunk. I sat on the damp grass trembling. It was cold out and I hadn’t brought a jacket.

My fingers sank into the mud. I balled it up in my fists. I was quick to discover how weak I was before him. I thought I could manipulate him into getting answers. Little did I know, he planned on hurting me. I’d been naïve to assume I could handle him.

Mr. Devereaux tossed objects around his trunk before pulling out a shovel, plastic sheets and a bucket. He lifted the bucket with difficulty as if it was extremely heavy. He dropped it before me with a grunt.

Inside was dry cement. I turned towards the lake. The car’s headlights glinted off its placid, mirror-like surface. The dots started to connect in my mind like circuits on a board lighting up. He was planning on killing me, then dumping my body in the lake. The cement was to weight down my body. He didn’t need my lifeless body floating to the surface and starting a police investigation. He was covering his tracks. The area we were in was so isolated that putting me on the bottom of the lake felt like overkill. Mr. Devereaux wasn’t taking any chances. He wanted me gone forever- vanished, as if I’d disappeared off the face of the earth.

I had to think fast.

“What made Tom so different?” I asked. “You had to have known your wife cheated on you before. So why kill him? He was one of many men.”

I didn’t want to anger him further, but if I could keep him talking then maybe I could escape. Mr. Devereaux slammed the trunk shut.

“You need to stop talking,” he said.

He rubbed his forearm across his face. He was covered in sweat even though it was cold out. His eyes looked wild as if he was having trouble focusing. Mr. Devereaux picked up the shovel then tossed it aside. He spent an unnecessary amount of time laying the plastic sheets across the ground. He smoothed his hands over the surface of it making sure it was perfectly flat.

“Just tell me why,” I pleaded. “You’re going to kill me anyway. Before I die, I need to know… why him? Why was Tom different?”

My voice was choked; it came out in a strangled rasp. Apparently, I still had some emotion left in me. I wasn’t as exhausted as I thought. Mr. Devereaux muttered something under his breath. I couldn’t understand him.

“What?”

“I said, I didn’t kill him,” he shouted.

He kicked the shovel and turned his back on me, walking off into the dark. Mr. Devereaux was crazy, but I believed him. So who killed Tom? There was only one option left: Mrs. Devereaux.

“You’re covering up for her…” I whispered.

Mr. Devereaux appeared in front of me, taking me by surprise. I hadn’t heard him approach. He stood at the edge of the headlights. His hands were balled into fists at his side.

“I have to do this,” he said pathetically. “I don’t want to. Do you understand? It was her. She said they’d take everything away from us. I had to clean up her mess after she…” He swallowed hard and looked away. He had tears in his eyes. “We thought it would all go away- the cops, the reporters, everything. Then you started sticking your nose where it didn’t belong. You just couldn’t drop it, could you? You had to go and talk to that old bitch and start asking questions. Now you’ve forced me to do this.”

He waved his hands at the shovel, plastic and cement.

“This is really all your fault,” he said with little conviction.

Mr. Devereaux didn’t want to kill me, I believed that much. It explained why he was taking so much time getting everything out of the trunk.

I felt oddly relieved to hear him confess the truth. Now I knew: Mrs. Devereaux killed Tom. I still didn’t know why, but at least I knew for sure it wasn’t suicide. It was at that moment I realized a part of me was worried I was responsible. What if in one of my blackouts I’d caught him with his mistress and killed him? No. Now I knew that was not what happened. A huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders, but it was too late.

Mr. Devereaux picked up the shovel. He lifted it up as if he meant to swing at me. I cowered before him, placing my hands up. My hands wouldn’t prevent him from knocking me out, but what else could I do?

My eyes darted around for anything I could use as a weapon. One of my crutches had fallen from the car. It sank deep into the mud beside me. I grabbed it. It came up heavy with a wet sucking sound as the mud tried to reclaim it. Pathetically, I held it out before me. Mr. Devereaux turned his head to the side and laughed.

“Do you really think that’s going to-”

A loud bang echoed through the clearing. I jumped back against the car. Mr. Devereaux stumbled forward and looked down. A red blossom of color lit up the front of his shirt, growing and spreading across his chest.

Mr. Devereaux stared at it strangely. He placed his hand over his heart, then looked up at me. He fell to his knees before me. It was then I realized the red on his shirt was blood. He fell face down in the mud at my feet. His eyes were locked on mine, wide open, but not seeing.