“It’s way past time for games.” Though Wendy enjoyed playing hers through Max. “She threw you out. Why?”
He took a deep breath, lines of bitterness furrowed his brow. “Because I was a low-life, no good, lousy husband whose first priority was never the wife and kids.”
Max snorted. “God, if you believe that, you’re incredibly stupid. Every woman knows when her man is screwing around.” She’d have known in an instant if Cameron had even thought about it. The scent of guilt would have clung to him like skunk on a hound. “That’s why she kicked you out.”
“Believe me, she wouldn’t have been able to keep it to herself if she even suspected.”
“Unless she was planning retribution, Nickie.”
The pulse at the side of his neck throbbed. A blue vein stood out at his temple. “She never knew about the affair.”
“Why don’t you take off those bad-ass glasses, and let me see your eyes when you feed me that line?”
The glasses sat firmly in place, and not a muscle ticked on his face.
“You know she did it, don’t you, Nickie? That’s what you’re afraid I’ll figure out.”
A muscle rippled in his jaw. “My wife didn’t kill Wendy.”
It wasn’t lost on Max that his “ex” had quickly become his “wife” when he thought Max was threatening her. Whether they’d signed the papers or not didn’t make a damn bit of difference.
“Scared the mother of your children is a murderer?” she taunted.
His tension faded. He folded his arms across his chest. She could almost see his brain work. He thought he was on to something. “There’s one problem with this theory of yours.”
“Hmm?”
“My wife’s got an airtight alibi. She had the kids with her that night.”
Max merely smiled. “Your mother-in-law’s house is only five minutes from the airport. Have you checked if your wife was home with her little darlings at 10:00 the night Wendy died?”
His air of superiority died a quick death. “You don’t know a damn thing about what happened that night.”
“Maybe you don’t either—especially since you weren’t even aware she knew about you and Wendy.”
“My wife is not capable of murder.”
Wendy welled up inside Max, and the dead woman’s words slipped out her mouth. “Thought you were divorcing her, Nickie. Thought you couldn’t stand the sight of her anymore and that touching her made you want to puke.”
He took a step back, the heel of his boot hit the curb, and he stumbled. “Who the hell are you?”
Without those shades, she would have seen panic in his eyes.
Max closed in. Wendy’s roiling emotions drove her forward. “Are you still in love with your wife?”
“That’s over.”
“Your feelings for her are far from over, aren’t they?”
He swallowed. She knew he’d looked deep inside. “There are times she can be so damn sweet.”
“What about the times she can be so damn cruel?”
His hands fisted. “None of this is her fault. I had the affair. I broke up my family.”
“I was talking about cruelty, Nick. Couldn’t she be cruel enough to kill?”
“Carla had a real bad childhood.”
“That’s no excuse. Wendy had a shitty childhood, too. But she’s the one who’s dead.”
“Wendy’s parents never committed her, never had her subjected to shock treatments, and never left her alone at the mercy of fifteen unrestrained psychotics.”
“No, Wendy’s father only beat her and terrorized her and—” She cut off the last, worst piece. Even she couldn’t say that aloud. It was only in that short silence that she finally heard what he’d said. Jesus, everyone had a story, even Carla.
Nick narrowed his gaze, brought his face down to hers. “That’s bullshit. Wendy had a perfect childhood.”
“Yeah, right. Go on telling yourself that. Didn’t you want her because she seemed defenseless and damaged and needed you to protect her? Just like your wife used to need you.”
She wanted to rip the glasses from his face, stare into his eyes, see into his soul. She wanted the truth.
“You said you didn’t know Wendy.”
“I said I’d never met her.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. A sheen of sweat showed at the open throat of his work shirt. “Who are you?”
“You’re repeating yourself, Nickie.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to know you don’t have any secrets from me.” Unfortunately, he had far too many. She’d figure them all out. Eventually.
Max took perverse pleasure in rattling him. He was far too appealing for a man involved in murder. She had the same repellent attraction for hairy spiders, though she’d never wanted to touch one. “Come on, Nick. What are you afraid of?”
He popped then, like an overstretched bungi cord. She couldn’t say which taunt had pushed him over the edge. His lip lifted in a snarl. He glared at her through his dark lenses, an attempt to regain control. “Stay away from my wife.”
“What about you, Nickie? Shall I stay away from you, too?”