The Sinner (Notorious 1)

I thought of my father in that prison visiting room, holding court, like it was the high stakes room at the Bellagio. Just thinking about it was a gut punch. Seven years for a crime he hadn’t committed alone.

Other people needed to be punished.

Unbidden, I remembered the girlfriend’s graveyard eyes. The splotches of blood like ugly rust-colored flowers on her sequined gown.

The way she screamed and screamed and screamed when the ambulance took her boyfriend’s body away.

I was here for justice.

And justice didn’t care who got hurt.

With a cool head, I decided to look around. See if they kept their secrets in plain sight behind the walls of this house.

The old wood floors creaked, soft spots like rotten bruises on a peach under the rugs in the hallways. With every creak I winced and waited for the sound of Savannah’s footsteps thundering down the stairs. They never came. Either she was sound asleep or the creaks weren’t that loud.

In the living room, where the cops had been that morning, I checked the walls. Running my hands under the paintings, I found nothing but plaster and spiderwebs.

I took a step into the center of the room, glancing around for other places a safe might be concealed only to realize that all the paintings were of Margot at various ages and various stages of undress.

One, illuminated by a shaft of moonlight like a searchlight, was a young Margot, staring over her shoulder. She looked so much like Savannah it was eerie.

Forcing myself to turn away, to keep my mind on what I was here to do, I left the room.

Savannah’s office only revealed a landslide of papers and enough computer equipment to launch a spaceship.

Research, I remembered from my investigator’s reports, Savannah was a well-paid researcher.

Where does her money go? Certainly not into the house. Savannah drove a nothing special car, wore nothing special clothes. No jewels, very little makeup.

Granted, Margot looked like a woman who demanded a certain amount of money for upkeep.

And, I thought, taxes on a house like this might be a pretty big chunk of change.

But still, it didn’t seem to add up.

The drawers to her desk were open and filled with receipts and pens and about a hundred little Halloween packages of M&M’s.

She has a sweet tooth, I thought, and knowing that felt more intimate than her hand against my stomach.

I left the office, shutting the door quietly behind me. At the end of the hallway were two closed doors, Margot’s room and what I thought was the library. Both rooms had slices of light shining out under the doors.

The floor creaked behind me and I turned only to come face-to-face with a steely-eyed Savannah.

My stomach fell into my shoes.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I thought I heard something.” It was a lie I’d planned and rehearsed. Some of the steel leached from her eyes and she licked her lips. I forced myself to be cold, to be numb to her. It was much harder than expected. She’d been avoiding me and I could pretend my desire for her was under control but now she was close enough I could reach out and touch her, the pound of her heartbeat against the fragile fine skin of her throat.

I wanted, all of a sudden to open my mouth over that skin, to taste it. Suck it.

“What?” she asked. “What did you hear?”

“Just some creaking. Old houses,” I said with a shrug, trying hard not to look lower than her eyes—she was wearing that purple robe and its gleam in the moonlight was magnetic.

“Okay,” she whispered, clearly torn, hesitant to leave me where I stood.

“You wanted me here,” I reminded her. “To check things out at night, right?”

“Right,” she agreed, and then repeated it. Stronger. “Of course. Thank you.”

“What are you doing up?” I asked.

“Hungry.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. “It’s because you didn’t come down for dinner.”

“I’ve been busy. Work.” She was lying and we both knew it.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

She turned slightly like she might leave, but she didn’t. She stayed in the shadows with me.

“You asked me what I want,” she said and I nodded. Unable to speak in fear of shattering this moment.

“It’s been…” she stopped, shook her head. “Never mind, I’m-“

I touched her elbow, I didn’t grab her, I just touched her and she stopped and the way she pulled in a breath it was like she hadn’t had air in days. Years.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Please let you go?”

She shook her head.

“Say it.”

“It’s been so…long.”

“What has?”

“Since I’ve been touched.”

Yeah. I didn’t need more that that. I slipped my hand from her elbow to her wrist and down under the sleeve of that robe. Her skin was silk and I wanted to be gentle but when I pulled her to me but I was rough.

She collided against my chest and her breath gasped out of her and tasted so sweet I bent for more of it. More of her. All of her, if she’d give it to me.