The answer: nothing. He stood five feet away, keys in hand, the buzz of voices, laughter, and street traffic separating them like a wall. The damp, cold night air froze her nose. A chill reached beneath the material of her blazer and wrapped around her middle. She began to shiver.
Her car arrived. She gave the kid a small tip. His lips pressed together, but his hand snapped closed around the coins.
Witt allowed her to climb into her car unmolested. She drove off, and he disappeared behind her in the fog that had rapidly descended over the city.
She made it to the freeway before she saw his lights in the rearview mirror. Still the department car, she knew it now. Was he pretending to be on the job? God forbid, was she the job?
Exercising minimum speeds, it took longer than normal to reach home. Witt stayed the requisite six car lengths behind her, changing lanes when she did, exiting when she did, turning the streets as she did.
She took a deep calming breath as she shut off the engine in front of her house. Blowout time. She could handle anything he dished out. Climbing out, purse slung over her shoulder, she stood with her legs slightly apart for balance.
Minus the fog, the night was only marginally warmer than in the City. Max refused to pull her jacket closer around her, even for warmth. Quiet fell after the slam of his car door. Lights were still on in the houses, but the street was empty. Just her. Just Witt. She barely heard the soles of his shoes on the macadam as he crossed to her. The lines of his face remained immobile, his eyes like black holes in the absence of light.
She waited for him to start yelling.
Instead, he stepped close, ran his hands down her arms, then up, finally resting on her shoulders, body brushing hers. His head dipped and all the light disappeared. She closed her eyes as his lips touched hers, the sweet taste of butterscotch candies on his breath and in his kiss. His hands came up to frame her face, to hold her still. He kissed with lips parted, stroked his tongue lightly over hers, then retreated. She sighed.
Safe. Warm. Protected. And wanted. She could have put her arms around him and stayed like that forever. At least a piece of her could. And that wasn’t the piece that had confessed the need for power to Angela.
She pulled back. Angela. Max might have forgotten for a moment, but Witt surely hadn’t. He was saving the blowout until after he kissed her, though only God knew why.
His fingers slid down her cheeks, back to her shoulders, then her arms, like the scene in reverse. But this time his eyes were a deep blue, and his lips were still wet with her kiss.
Hands now holding hers, he spoke softly, “Watch your back, Max. I’m not always gonna be there to do it for you.”
Not turning from her, he stepped away, his grip pulling free, arms dropping back to his sides. Four backward steps, he finally turned, climbed into his car, started the engine, and drove away.
He could have meant that she’d get herself into trouble when he wasn’t around. He could have been referring to a nebulous future neither of them could see.
Or he could have been telling her that sooner or later he’d leave. Sooner was the better bet.
*
Max sat on her bed by the window with the cat on her lap. Street light made it all the way through the now sparse leaves of the elm. Bars of light fell across the cat’s black fur like a cage. She’d opened the window to dispel the sensation.
She should have told Witt about Traynor, about meeting Julia and Lance, about the plethora of new suspects. Instead she’d kissed him, then let him walk away.
“Why’d you tell Angela the truth?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Cameron was talking about power, the way she’d admitted wanting it. Max swallowed, no longer sure it had been the truth, hoping it hadn’t been. Trust her husband to go back to it without warning.
“It was the truth. We both know it. Your need for power permeated our marriage.”
“I never wanted power over you.” He was the one who’d wanted power last night, when he’d forced her to beg for that orgasm, when he’d seduced her with Witt’s voice, Witt’s hands, and Witt’s cock inside her. Now that was a power play.
“You didn’t understand the lesson, Max. It was beyond you. You’ve always needed to be on top. With me, with every man.”
“That’s not true. I let Witt be on top.” She’d damn near reveled in his weight on her.
“Metaphorically, sweetheart. You’re always on top. You always have to make him beg. And you didn’t like the taste of your own medicine last night, did you?”
She cringed. The cat wriggled in her lap with the tight grip she had on him. “Nothing wrong with wanting to be in control.”
“Your precious control, Max, will lose you everything in the end.”
Deep breath. In, out. “You’re telling me Witt’s going to leave me, aren’t you?” Witt had said as much. “You can see the future.”
“I can’t even see the past clearly. But I know how it made me feel when you played your games with me.”
“How?” she whispered.
“Utterly helpless and alone.”
She didn’t ask what he would have done eventually if he’d lived. She didn’t want to know. “I can’t change who I am, not for Witt.”