“Yes, you did. You-you tried to rape me.” She shook her head and wiped the tears away from her face. She was cold and scared of what Bridgette wanted to do to her. She’d touch her like Genevieve did, invading that part of her body with her fingers, mouth, and some sort of instrument that always made her feel dirty afterward.
Bridgette’s face went pale, and she looked stunned. “I-I would never—”
“Yes, you would. She did! Gen never cared what I wanted and when I told her no, she’d laugh and tie me up and used—” She covered her mouth, shook her head, and turned, grabbing her bag and dashing to the front door and out the house as Bridgette yelled out her name.
She never looked back, and with shaking hands, she unlocked the door to her house. Once she was safely inside, she engaged the locks and ran upstairs. She hit the upper landing and went right into the bathroom, slamming the door.
Turning on the shower full blast, she fell to the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees and sobbing loudly. The dark room lit up as the fireworks went off and, when they ended, she shook and cried until the water ran cold. Only then did she turn off the shower and, soaking wet, climbed into bed and dragged the covers over her, regardless of the night’s heat.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The aria from Tosca played softly as Genevieve sat behind her desk, rolling the gold belly chain through her fingers. She stared at the well-dressed, detached man sitting across from her while he drank his coffee. He returned her penetrating look. She had to respect him for that alone. Not many dared to look her right in the eye, not even her faithless, rebellious wife—whom she’d soon have again.
Her hand tightened around the chain, Deborah’s wedding band digging in her palm. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Berlinoz. May I call you Hector?”
“If you’d like, Mrs. Murnay.” He tipped his head and placed his cup on the desk in front of him.
“I can’t place your last name. What are your people?” She sat forward.
“French.” He folded his hands on his crossed knee.
She arched an eyebrow. He cleared his throat, clearly waiting for her to continue. She found the man fascinating, one who wouldn’t crack under pressure from the predatory aura surrounding him.
She smiled widely and slid over a folder stuffed with various documents. “You come highly recommended from a colleague of mine. I’ve heard your success rate is amazing at retrieving stolen property.”
He took the file and opened it. “What property would you like me to find for you?”
“My wife. You may have heard she died. That’s incorrect. She ran away, and I want you to find her and bring her back to me,” she said in a deadly calm voice, much the opposite of what she felt.
He raised an eyebrow. “When I retrieve your missing wife, then what? What are your plans for her?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I want Deborah back. I need to know she’s safe and find out why she left me.” She twisted the chain tighter while keeping a congenial smile on her lips.
“Do you have any idea where your wife might have gone?” He held up a picture of Deborah from their wedding day.
She swallowed the annoying lump forming in her throat. “I believe she has gone to a town called Woodberry Creek. There are only two of these towns in the United States. One in Georgia, the other in Pennsylvania. She’s most likely hiding out in the one in Pennsylvania. Her mother grew up there, and she may be going by the name Sharon Wade or Wade Sharon, perhaps even her maiden name, Whilby. Deborah looks very different from when that picture was taken. She has cut her hair, darkening it to black and wearing facial makeup and living as a man or an unkempt woman. She has a brown beauty mark in the upper right-hand corner of her mouth.” She pointed to the spot on her face. “She’s destroyed everything I made her become,” she muttered, thoroughly disgusted Deborah would cut the long, beautiful hair she loved feeling on her face or in between her thighs when Deborah went down on her.
He flipped through the papers in front of him, skimming as he nodded. “I expect half my payment before I leave here today and the rest when I locate your wife.”
“I anticipated that.” She opened her desk drawer and set a bulky envelope on the desk.
He tapped it lightly on his palm. “Is there anything else I should be aware of?”
“Such as? Why Deborah ran away from me?” She curled her lip.
He held up his palms. “I’m not a couples’ therapist or a psychiatrist. Whatever issues you have in your married life are none of my business. I just want to make certain I’m not walking into something where I have to be forceful when it comes to your wife. It can get messy that way.”
“All I want for now is for you to find out where Deborah is and how she’s faring. I just want her to return to me as soon as possible.” She sat back in her chair and tapped her mouth. “When you tell me what you know, I’ll see her and try to reason with her.”
“Only talk, Mrs. Murnay?” He slid the envelope into his suit coat pocket. “In my experience, most people don’t just want to talk with those who have…shall we say, screwed them over in some way. They tend to act without thinking. Then the consequences can turn deadly.”
“Mr. Berlinoz.” She pressed her palms on top of her desk as she leaned over. He viewed her cleavage for a beat then looked at her face. She gave him a relaxed smile. “Your past clients may have overreacted in ways that may have concerned you, but I can promise you I’m very levelheaded and don’t want to harm one hair on Deborah’s head. My ultimate goal is to work things out with her. My wife has run away before. She tends to be flighty and unstable at times. She’s the type who needs a strong hand to keep her in line. Plus, I want to help her get through her mother’s death.”
“Strong hand? Oh yes, Mrs. Murnay, I know exactly what you mean. My father had the same opinion when it came to disciplining me and my brothers.” He tugged on the hem of his suit jacket as he got up from his chair. “I’ll be in touch. Don’t be surprised if you hear good news from me in less than a week.” He exited her office without a backward glance.
What an odd man. She cracked her head from side to side and rolled her shoulders where all the tension over the past few weeks had built up. She could barely sleep or eat, and Deborah was to blame for all of it.
Soon she would see Deborah again, and when she got through with her, her disobedient wife would wish she’d drowned in the river after.
* * * *
Rotquel glanced up from her spot on the patio as Bridgette tapped her pencil loudly on her paper. She’d been strung tight the last week and thought drawing the shed in the backyard would relax her. She couldn’t concentrate, which had become the norm since Sharon ran out of her house in tears.
“I really screwed up and I don’t know how.” She threw a ball in the yard. Rotquel jumped up and went after it, returning with the ball in her mouth and dropping it at Bridgette’s feet.