He tilted his head toward the bathroom again.
“Go to hell, Rett. I’m going upstairs and soaking in a hot shower. I know that’s the opposite of what they tell you to do after an assault, but you see, my options are limited, and besides, I have no problem identifying the assailant.” My wedding rings caught my attention as I held the sandals. Pulling both rings from the fourth finger of my left hand, I tossed them onto the cleaned table.
The tendons in my husband’s neck came to life as he clenched his chiseled jaw. Retrieving the rings from the table, he handed them my way and said, “Fucking Christ, Emma. You weren’t assaulted.”
Not taking the rings, I dropped the sandals to the floor. “Call Ian, or when you let whoever that is in the outer office inside, I’m leaving.”
“You won’t make it out of this house.”
Easing each foot into its respective sandal, I shook my head. The crude comment Rett had made was now happening—with each movement, my thighs slid one over the other. However, I refused to acknowledge it, obstinately denying Rett the satisfaction.
My thoughts went to the hot shower and perhaps I’d follow that with a bath.
I stared up at him. “Leaving the house wasn’t my plan. I believe I can find my way back to my suite.”
Rett took a step back, pushing the rings into the pocket of his pants. “Fine. We’ll talk later.”
With my arms again crossed over my breasts, I stood there, waiting as Rett pulled his phone from his other pocket and appeared to send a text message. When he was done, he went to his desk and did whatever needed to be done for the bookcase to move. The man waiting to enter was the same one who was present when I arrived. Dressed in a dark gray suit, he was tall with rich dark skin. By the sparse gray in his black hair, I would assess he was older than Rett, but I couldn’t judge by how much.
As the man stepped into the office, I remembered him from the time Rett brought me here to describe my abduction.
“Mrs. Ramses,” the man said with a nod.
“Emma,” Rett said, “I don’t know if you remember Leon Trahan. He was here the first time you came to this office.”
It seemed as though my husband had the ability to be polite in the presence of others. I could do the same.
Stepping closer to Leon Trahan, I offered my hand. “Nice to see you again, Mr. Trahan.” I turned back to the man across the desk, my tone unconsciously cooling. “I assume you texted Ian. I’ll wait for him in the outer office.” As I started to walk away toward the still-open passageway, I paused and made an effort to consciously contain my disgust or at least keep it from infiltrating my words. “If that is all right with you, Everett?”
“Don’t leave without him.”
What could I reply?
The response that was on the tip of my tongue was closer tofuck youthanyes, dear. I chose the third option, a simple nod.
“Boss,” Mr. Trahan said, “this information concerns” —he turned his eyes to me— “you too, Mrs. Ramses.”
Rett gestured to the chairs before his desk, successfully thwarting my escape.
As I complied, I wished that I’d taken the time to go into the bathroom. Instead, I feigned a placid expression and took a seat, thankful that the skirt had a silk lining.
“What is it, Leon?” Rett asked.
“I told you I was going to check on a few things. Before I got far...my brother called.”
Rett sat in his throne-like chair and leaned back. “How does this concern Mrs. Ramses?”
My eyes quickly went to Rett, wondering if this was about the statement he’d mentioned I may be asked to make. Before either of us could ask anything more, Mr. Trahan went on.
“They ain’t releasing the information yet. No one’s supposed to know.”
My husband leaned forward, his interest piqued.
Mr. Trahan turned to me. “Ma’am, my brother, he’s a detective with the New Orleans Police Department.” He nodded. “Just so you know, this is coming from a reliable source. He wouldn’t tell me if it weren’t true.”
Rett’s eyes narrowed. “Or he wanted to know what you know.”
“What did your brother tell you,” I asked.