“You’d expect that from her. To cheat.”
She tries to smile, but the set of her jaw is too firm to allow it. “I’d all butguaranteeit from her, Sergeant. Lauren? Lauren always looked out for number one. I could see that from a mile away. If Conrad could have gotten past her beauty, he would’ve seen it, too.”
“We’re still looking at a number of things, Ms. Barclay. Do you have any information about Lauren seeing another man?”
“I wouldn’t have the slightest idea about Lauren’s life. Conrad would never discuss her with me, nor would I want him to. I base my question on just knowing the kind of person she is.”
Interesting. But is this just the opinion of a bitter ex-wife? Or is Cassandra getting Lauren right?
“I have no doubt that Lauren would be moving on to her next man,” says Cassandra. “And a man with money, of course. A million dollars was not gonna cut it for her. You mark my words: Lauren Lemoyne was looking for her next sugardaddy.”
BEFORE HALLOWEEN
September
34
Christian
With a flourish—her jaw clenched, a small expulsion of air, a shiver—Vicky collapses on me. I wrap my arms around her sweaty body, propping her on my lap. She prefers being on top, I’ve noticed, and likes to keep her heels on, though that’s probably for me. And yeah, the heels are a thing for me. I’m not that original in my kinks. The biggest turn-on for me, by far, is that ring on her finger.
After a moment of catching our breath, she climbs off me and heads for the bathroom, leaving me tired and satisfied on the couch in my apartment.
This is the fourth time we’ve hooked up. After the first time at my office, we’ve come here to my apartment. I’ve come to learn this much about Vicky, my Number 7: She isn’t quiet during sex, far from it, but she’s quiet at the end, when she gets off. She retreats to another place, focuses, concentrates. A lesser man would think she’s thinking of someone else. But I doubt that. I’m what Vicky wants. I can tell.
Which is good, because otherwise, I’d wonder. Vicky doesn’t hand out compliments. She doesn’t moan with satisfaction afterward and tell me how wonderful I was, or how much better it is with me than with her husband.
“What isthis?” she calls out from the bathroom.
Uh-oh. What did I do? Did I leave something out for her to see that she shouldn’t—
I rush into the bathroom without acting like I was rushing. She’s holding my toothbrush.
“Oh,” I say.
“What is this? This is, like, some fancy metal—”
“Titanium,” I say.
“You have a titanium toothbrush? And...” She looks through my medicine cabinet. “And nail clippers and... some trimmer and... What is this?”
“It holds dental floss,” I say sheepishly, as if I’m a little bit embarrassed to have a toothbrush made of pure titanium, matte black with a protective, antibacterial coating in the socket, and matching titanium nail clippers, electric razor, nose-hair trimmer, and dental-floss holder.
“How much did thiscost, Christian?”
Market value was more than $8,500, or so I discovered after looking it up. It was a gift, actually, from one of my targets—Number 4, in Santa Fe—before she knew she was a target.
At first, I was going to hide it, but Vicky needs to see a thing or two, small things, to show that some massively expensive, over-the-top item is merely chump change to me.
“Seriously,” she says. “This must have cost thousands.”
“Good return on investment,” I say. “They’re built well and last a long time. Amortize it over their life and the per-unit price—well, it’s expensive but much more reasonable.”
“I didn’t know people amortized toothbrushes.” She puts down the toothbrush and puts her hands on my bare chest. “Must be nice to be so rich and smart.”
She puts her lips against mine. I can feel her smile.
She wants more of me. This time, we’ll use the bed.