“The first day he came here, the day after Wendy was found.”
Damn Witt. He’d known about Nick all along.
Well, of course, he has, Max. Isn’t that why Nickie’s been hiding out? Cameron piped up out of nowhere.
“Oh, shut up.”
Theresa sniffed. “I was just being friendly.”
Oops, almost lost her. “Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, kid.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“Sorry, my mistake.” Max opened the bottom drawer of her desk and put her feet on the rim. “All right, talk. I know you won’t leave until I listen.”
“You don’t fool me. You want to listen.”
Max looked heavenward. “Oh, the arrogance of youth.”
“I’m not the stupid one.”
“Just who are you referring to as stupid? You certainly couldn’t mean me.” Max put a hand to her chest with an incredulous rise to her eyebrows. “And I didn’t get the impression Carla Drake was stupid.” More like viciously jealous.
“I was talking about Wendy.”
“Wendy?” Ah, the interesting part.
“Yeah, Wendy. The paragon of virtue. She and Nick used to get here at five in the morning to screw their brains out before everyone else got to work.”
Max’s feet flopped to the floor, landing hard on the heels of her shoes. “Sure beats Wheaties for breakfast.” Her mind raced. Remy had commented on how dedicated Wendy had been, sometimes getting in as early as five in the morning. “So I suppose you want to tell me how you knew about it?”
“Some of the warehouse guys. Just because they don’t speak good English doesn’t mean they can’t see.”
“I find this pretty hard to believe, Theresa.” God, but she didn’t. A flash of Wendy’s desperation and despair washed over her, stole her breath.
“Everybody knew about it.”
Everybody didn’t know that Wendy had been slowly dying, and that Nick had seemed like her only way out. Max took a gulp of air, concentrated on Theresa’s avid features. “I doubt that. Remy would have fired them if he had.”
He’d said so, too. Or had he merely turned it into a question, thereby avoiding the lie?
“Oh, you’d be surprised. I think Remy sort of liked the fact that Nick put one over on Carla.”
“You’re making this up, Theresa.” Yet that was exactly the same accusation Carla had hurled at Remy not fifteen minutes ago.
Apparently the rule Remy missed was the one about the warehouse manager not screwing the office help.
He’d sure as hell have made Wendy pay for keeping the secret. The question was how high the price?
Why hadn’t Wendy left? Quit her job? Run away from her husband?
Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
A fist seemed to wrench her lungs. Cameron was right. Wendy had been paralyzed by the men in her life.
Maybe one of them had killed her the day she found the courage to paint her nails with Cajun Spice. The day she found the courage to leave Hal.
Then again, there was always the jealous wife.
*
Max left the grocery store with a flea collar, a pint of milk, six cans of cat food, and the smallest bag of dry mix she could find. Living with Buzzard was only temporary, just until the cat was fattened up and ready to catch mice for its dinner. In the meantime, she wasn’t about to be eaten alive by parasites.
Nicholas Drake lounged against the lightpost next to the driver’s side of her car, his boot resting on the front fender. A pair of aviator shades hid his eyes and the sleeves of his blue work shirt were rolled up to reveal a nice set of biceps. An extremely nice set.
God, he was delicious enough to drive a black Ram. Red lettering. Three-quarter ton. Max almost drooled. Damn Cameron for having given her that Ram fantasy in the first place.
She stepped off the sidewalk, pulled her keys from her purse, and held them in a defensive posture as if that would stop the frantic beat of her heart. The man made her downright squishy inside—Wendy’s emotions again—and she hated it. “Get your boot off my car, Mister.”
Her voice carried. Several yards away, three female teenage heads swiveled their way. A man walking by, drugstore bag in his left hand, missed a beat in his stride, looked, then moved on. A minivan stopped behind her, but when she made no move to get in her car, the engine gunned, then drifted off down the stretch of parking lot.
Nick straightened away from the pole, a slight curve to his lips which could have been amusement or derision.
The car top was down. Max leaned over, set the bag on the passenger seat, her black slacks stretched across her backside. “Your wife already brought the COBRA check in. Late. What more do you want?”