Maybe I should get a dog to protect me?

Deborah rolled onto her back as she thought about Rotquel, glad she'd been mistaken about the dog. She no longer thought of her as a demon, but more as an angel, just like her owner.

Bridgette's sparkling face popped up in Deborah's head and she spread her legs apart. Her white tank top rode up until her stomach was uncovered and she circled a finger around her belly b.u.t.ton. Her lips lifted and she moaned as her fingers tickled her stomach, moving down to her navel and under the waistband of her bikini briefs.

Her once-waxed mound had become bushier since she ran away. She fingered her curls, a damp musk forming over them. Getting waxed had been more of a punishment than a pleasure, one she'd never do again since she had been the one who forced her to do it.

From now on Deborah would never think of her former wife by a name again. That silent rebellion made her slicker as she circled her p.u.s.s.y and found her c.l.i.t.

"Yes," she hissed and arched her back as her finger went in knuckle deep. She rocked her hips as she cupped her mound, moving her finger back and forth. She moved her other hand under her shirt and pulled on her nipple. Her p.u.s.s.y clenched around her finger from the tugging and she let out mewls as she rocked, wishing a tongue lapped over her to help her come.

The loud boom of thunder covered her loud cries as she pushed a second finger in to join her first. She bit down on her lip hard, almost close to the end, but still not there.

"Bridgette..." Deborah whispered in yearning, and she flexed her feet and stiffened as her come flowed down her inner thighs. With one last hard rub over her c.l.i.t, she flew high, her eyes going blind from the bright spots appearing in front of them.

Her harsh panting filled the room as she took her hand away from her c.u.n.t and played with her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. The scent of her release drifted up toward her face. She licked her bruised lip, wanting to taste a woman's musk-Bridgette's desire and come all over her face.

Shudders soon overtook Deborah's body as she pressed her face into her pillow and silently cried, wishing she had a pair of arms around her. She was so lonely and hated it. Eventually she drifted off to sleep as the rain continued to fall from the sky-only to wake up screaming and drenched in sweat to a nightmare in which a shadowy being stabbed her in her throat with a knife until her head was hacked away from her shoulders.

Chapter Twelve.

Tears kept falling from her eyes even though she continued wiping them away with a tissue. When a drop splashed on her wedding picture, Genevieve wiped her palm over the plastic covering. During the four-hour drive, she had flipped through her wedding alb.u.m and cried uncontrollably as she remembered the day she and her Deborah had been so happy and in love.

"Oh, my dearest, how I miss you so," Genevieve whispered and took out the picture of her and Deborah kissing behind their wedding cake.

It had been two weeks since she lost her Deborah. She left Las Vegas and drove back home after she received the phone call from the police saying Deborah had driven their car off a ravine. When she finally returned home, Teresa was sobbing and Gilberto held her, both dark faces pale. The two detectives were polite but distant, as if they had told family members many times before about the death of loved ones. When she declared they were mistaken, that Deborah would never do such a thing, they showed her the suicide note found near the bedside table. She grabbed the letter out of their hands and barely read the words as her eyes went blurry. She then crumbled to the floor, allowing the darkness to overtake her.

Now she sat in the car in the parking lot with the dreaded duty of telling Deborah's sick mother that her daughter had committed suicide. Genevieve pulled down the visor, wincing at her bloodshot eyes and splotchy face. She looked a mess, tired from lack of sleep. The only way she could sleep was by taking sleeping pills, since she didn't have Deborah lying next to her where she could hold her close and rub against her, whispering how much she loved her.

How would she ever go on without the only woman she loved with her entire heart and soul?

"Mrs. Murnay?" Gilberto's voice came through the speaker in front of her. "We've been sitting here for almost an hour. Visiting hours will be over soon."

Genevieve curled her lip. If she wanted to sit here all afternoon, she had the right! No servant from some underdeveloped country would tell her what to do.

Her nails cut into her palms as she inhaled deeply before she ended up yelling at Gilberto. She'd let his indiscretion pa.s.s since he too was mourning the loss of his mistress and had been unbelievably shaken by what had happened, placing the blame on himself.

"Give me three more minutes to pull myself together," she said to him, pressing her finger over the b.u.t.ton for him to hear her. He gave her a m.u.f.fled yes, then the line cut off.

Pulling back her shoulders, Genevieve closed her wedding alb.u.m and placed it on the seat next to her. She opened her bag, pulled out Deborah's suicide letter, and held it up to her face. She rubbed it against her cheek, swearing it had Deborah's scent. It didn't smell like her at all. Placing the letter on her lap, she pulled on her new gold necklace with Deborah's wedding ring attached to it. She brushed a thumb over the diamond-encrusted band and kissed it.

When the back door opened, Genevieve nodded at Gilberto and got out of the car. She put on her sungla.s.ses and tugged down the hem of her knee-length, linen sleeveless sundress, one Deborah had loved on her, and walked up the front steps and into the building.

A few patients in wheelchairs sat next to groups of people, as well as some with canes, walking down the hall with the aid of the nurses. Genevieve gave them no mind as she walked up to the front desk. Two women sat, one on the phone while the other typed swiftly over a computer keyboard. When Genevieve cleared her throat loudly, the older, stocky-looking woman with salt-and-pepper hair glanced up from the monitor.

Genevieve nodded and smiled the best she could, even though her lips trembled. "Good day, I'm here to see a patient. Her name is Cora Whilby."

The nurse's brow wrinkled and she shared a look with the younger, black-haired nurse who hung up the phone. "And you are?" the nurse asked.

"Mrs. Whilby is my mother-in-law. I'm here to tell her news regarding her daughter." She swiped a finger under her right eye to stop the flow of tears.

The older nurse with the name tag Fiona gave her a melancholy look. "Um...please wait right here while I get the doctor."

She turned and walked away before Genevieve could speak and her temper grew. She was footing the bill here and there was no excuse for her to be left alone the way she was. She glanced down at the other nurse and tapped her fingers on the desk. "I've traveled all this way to talk to Mrs. Whilby in person about her daughter's death. I don't understand why I can't just go straight to her room."

"Did you say her da-daughter's death?" The young nurse stammered in surprise.

"Ye-yes. Didn't you hear what I ju-just said?" Genevieve mocked the little nurse, her anger growing further by the moment.

"Ohhh...this is an unfortunate coincidence. It's probably best if you wait for Dr. Vernon to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Genevieve snapped and took off her sungla.s.ses.

"Mrs. Murnay?"

Genevieve turned toward the familiar voice. Dr. Shane Vernon held out a hand toward her, which she took. The first time she met the fifty-something doctor with the amazing bedroom eyes and fetching smile, Genevieve felt a tug low in her stomach. She thought for a brief second about having a fling with the doctor, but since she was faithful to Deborah, she'd never do such a thing. The benefit after her interactions with Vernon was that she went home to her wife, who helped ease her frustrations with her wonderful mouth and hands.

"h.e.l.lo, Dr. Vernon. I wish I could say it's a pleasure seeing you again, but I have unfortunate news to tell Cora about Deborah." Genevieve covered her mouth and turned her face to the side. "My-my wife pa.s.sed away a few days ago. I'm here to tell her mother about it."

When Vernon took both her hands in his, she dropped her head, hoping he would hold her close in his brawny arms. He didn't, but simply squeezed her hands, finally releasing her. "If you follow me, I'll take you to Mrs. Whilby's room. We can talk there."

Genevieve found it odd the way Vernon recommended they go to her room rather than say they'd speak with Cora. She followed by his side as he held out an arm behind her back.

"I hate to tell you even more bad news, since you look like you've barely recovered from what has happen to you wife. I'm so sorry for your loss." Vernon patted her back and Genevieve nodded, weeping silently as he gave her his handkerchief. She wiped her eyes, and as they took the elevator up to the fifth floor, she almost pulled him in close, but didn't since they were joined by another doctor and nurse.

"Dr. Vernon, I have the strange feeling you have something more to tell me regarding Cora," Genevieve said as she finished her crying fit.

When the elevator doors opened this time, Vernon took her arm. "I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but since I was Mrs. Whilby's main doctor, it's my responsibility to tell you she pa.s.sed away late last night. We were in the process of calling you when you suddenly arrived."

They stopped in front of the doorway of the room where Cora had stayed. A chunky black nurse was making the bed. Nothing of Cora's remained in the room.

"This is a shock," Genevieve said wearily and leaned against the doorway.

Vernon folded his hands in front of him. "I thought perhaps someone here called you, and that was why you came. Such a shame that mother and daughter died within days of one another. Was she ill?"

Genevieve shook her head and hugged an arm around her waist. "She had an accident. She drowned."

"Oh my dear, Mrs. Murnay, my deepest condolences," he said and rested his hand on her shoulder. Genevieve gave him a shy smile.

"At least we know they're both in a better place. It's...I miss my beautiful wife so much," Genevieve said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper and wrapped her arms around the man.

"Right now it's painful, but it will pa.s.s," Vernon a.s.sured above her head and patted her back.

Genevieve held him tightly, wanting to forget her pain and lose herself in a warm body. Vernon's manly scent, with a slight smell of mint, rose over her face and her nipples grew hard. It had been so long since she had a reaction to a man. She should feel horrible, debasing Deborah's memory, but needed the comfort.

"You're such a kind man," Genevieve whispered and pulled away, wiping her face. She caught the large nurse rolling her eyes, and Genevieve bit her lip, restraining herself from putting the ugly woman in her place.

When Vernon's face grew flush, Genevieve smiled up at him and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

"You'll be happy to know before Miss Cora's death, her son came to see her," the nurse revealed as she walked over to them. "I'd never seen the woman so happy and energetic. That son of hers was such a nice young man. So polite and considerate to his mother's needs."

The room seemed to spin before Genevieve's eyes. Son? What the f.u.c.k?

"Excuse me, you must be mistaken. Cora didn't have a son, only a daughter, Deborah, my wife."

"I know who I saw and heard. I even talked to the man." The nurse placed her hands on her broad hips and tapped her foot. "His name is Wade and he comes from Woodberry Creek, Georgia, a place I know very well since my family is from there. He spent a few hours with Cora and she even introduced him as her son."

"Mrs. Murnay, are you well?" Vernon asked as he rubbed her arm.

Black spots appeared in front of her eyes. "Why wasn't I told this Wade had come for a visit?" she asked quietly.

"I believe your wife called to give the okay for her brother to be on the visitor's list."

Something is very wrong here. Deborah would've told me if- A loud ringing reverberated in her ear and she glanced between the two standing before her. "Can you tell me what Wade looked like?"

The nurse scratched under her chin. "He was a skinny thing, wearing blue jeans, a gray T-shirt, and a blue baseball cap. I also found it strange he wore a jean jacket in this heat. His hair was black and short." The nurse snapped her fingers. "He had a nice smile and even with his scruff on his face, he had the cutest little mole near the corner of his mouth." She pointed to her mouth where the mole would be.

Genevieve grabbed hold of the doctor's arm and squeezed. The mole Wade had was in the same area as Deborah's.

"Do-do you remember what Cora and Wade talked about?" Genevieve asked the woman, her chest heaving as she put two and two together.

"Well, other than him mentioning returning to his home, he told Cora a Sharon Wade would be waiting for him. Funny how the boy has a sweetheart with the same last name as his first."

Genevieve gritted her teeth and shook her head as the ringing grew to a sharp whistle. When Vernon spoke to her, she couldn't hear a word he said.

Deborah didn't have a brother. She had lied...lied...she LIED.

Did that mean she wasn't really dead? Her body still hadn't been found- "Mrs. Murnay!"

Genevieve snapped out of her thoughts and looked at the doctor, who held both her arms.

"What?" she asked, dumbfounded.

"Your face has become very red and your pulse is racing. Do you want to sit down? Mich.e.l.le can get you a gla.s.s of water."

Genevieve moved away and fisted her hands together, her body seething in rage. She had been made a fool of by her lying, cunning wife.

"I need to leave. I just remembered something important."

Both the doctor and nurse called out her name, but Genevieve didn't stop and ran toward the elevator. The doors opened immediately and she got in alone. Once the doors closed, she banged her fist against the wall.

That deceitful c.u.n.t had tricked her!

By the time the elevator doors opened, Genevieve had composed herself as she walked down the hall. When her cell phone went off, she almost didn't answer, but when the number popped up from one of the detectives on Deborah's case, she answered.

"h.e.l.lo, Detective Penning," she replied smoothly, hoping he told her they found Deborah's body. If they didn't, she would know then that Deborah was still alive.

"h.e.l.lo, Mrs. Murnay. We have news about your wife's possible drowning. The car has been located. I'd rather we talk in person-"

"I'm not near my home. I've gone to tell my wife's mother she's dead. I'm four hours away," she said as she walked out the building and toward her car.

"Perhaps it's better if you hurry back soon. When we pulled out the car, we found something of interest."

"What is it?" she asked in a hurried voice and barely acknowledged Gilberto when he held open the door for her to get in.

"A long gold necklace with a diamond attached. We were expecting to find the body, but it seems to have vanished. Your wife's body could have been pulled out from the force of the water since the windows were broken."

Gilberto's voice came through the speaker, asking her if they should drive. She turned off the speaker as she listened to the detective talk. When the conversation ended with her promising to see him as soon as she returned home, Genevieve opened the wedding alb.u.m and proceeded to tear the pictures into little pieces until only one remained-of her and Deborah staring at one another with love in their eyes.

The next thing she planned to destroy was Deborah-when she found her. She would punish her for leaving her the way she did.

Chapter Thirteen.

The honk from a car horn made Deborah walk over to her bedroom window as she fingered gel into her damp hair. Standing in only her bra and underwear, she watched as Bridgette, wearing a cute white sundress with her bright red curls wrapped in a white scarf, got into a police car. She hugged the driver, which had to be her brother Bryan, who had the almost same color shade of hair. The car drove away as Rotquel barked loudly from the front window. Bridgette's next-door neighbor, who gardened in the front of her house, shook her fist in the direction of the barking. Deborah laughed, and with one last tug on her hair, went over to her dresser to choose what she'd wear for the day.

She hadn't spoken to Bridgette since that time in her kitchen, although the redheaded pixie was constantly on her mind. In part, Deborah kept her distance because of the nightly erotic dreams about the woman that left her bed soaked from her sweat. Deborah flexed her hand, her wrist somewhat achy, most likely due to the amount of times she'd m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.ed over the past few days. At least her s.e.x dreams didn't wake her, shivering in fear from the last nightmare she had about being decapitated by some unknown figure.

Since she'd been so busy cleaning the house and going back and forth on foot in town with even more cleaning supplies and things she needed, she didn't have any time to check for more information online about her death or even call her mother to see how she was doing or if she had any visitors. Today she'd go back to the cafe and hop on a computer, then roam around Main Street and check out the street fair Bridgette had mentioned. Maybe she would purchase a few more nice outfits, other than her typical T-shirts and mundane capris and shorts she'd been wearing.

Pulling out a yellow T-shirt, the color she had to wear because Sat.u.r.day was yellow day, she lifted up her arms to draw the shirt over her head. But Deborah stopped midway and dropped her arms, eyeing the T-shirt. She sent it flying, and it landed on the bedside lamp. She pulled out a dark red tank top instead.

When she was fully clothed and her hair and makeup was to her liking, she grabbed an oversized bag she bought yesterday. With the sky clear and the humidity and heat not as intense as it had been over the past week, Deborah had a feeling it would be a wonderful day.

"I can't get enough of Oscar's pancakes," Bryan said as he took one last bite off his plate.

"You're ignoring my question," Bridgette pointed out as she took a sip of her coffee. "Your divorce is final after you and Angie sign the papers next week?"

Bryan rubbed the back of his neck and tapped his fork on the side of his plate. Bridgette reached across and placed her hand on his. His pinkie came over hers and he glanced back at her face, sadness lurking in his eyes.

"Yes. My selfish actions ruined my marriage of seven years."

"Oh, Bry, stop beating yourself up about it. You couldn't-"

"Couldn't what? Stop from cheating on my wife, my college sweetheart who made a home for us? I've betrayed her trust and destroyed everything we had together. She can't bear to be around me knowing I was unfaithful and, to rub salt in her wound even more, with another man." Bryan wiped his palm over his mouth. "I've lied to her the moment we first met by not being up front about my s.e.xuality."