Wife. Daughter. Murderer?
I’m momentarily struck stupid, standing with one foot inside the car and one out, staring at him. Until he clears his throat and I lift my gaze, falling into a pair of piercing black eyes that are filled with disapproval.
“Right on time, Mrs.…”
The reason I’m here hits me suddenly, and I feel the nervous energy that I’ve been attempting to repress all day return. Stepping fully out of the car, I close the door softly and stand there beside it, twisting my hands. “I, um, would rather not give my name.”
He nods. “That’s wise. However, we’ll need to call each other something. An alias. You can call me…Cal.”
Cal. This gets me wondering what his real name is. He looks like a Cal, I guess. I bite my lip, turning over different names in my mind and finding them all too common. “Brenda,” I finally settle on because we can’t stand here all night debating over names when we have real business to discuss.
Standing under a bridge is conspicuous as hell, and I’d die a thousand deaths if we got caught. It might be a brazen move, hiring someone to commit murder, but I’m hardly a seasoned pro. This is all new territory for me. I don’t know the first thing about any of this. Only that I don’t want to get caught.
Yeah, I should have given that more consideration before contacting this guy, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And I am, by the very definition, a desperate housewife.
“Okay, Brenda,” Cal starts, his feet carrying him closer. “Did you bring the coffee?”
“Yes,” I say eagerly, reaching for the driver’s door handle. “I’ll get it.”
“No. Let’s get in the car first. If anyone happens to come knocking, it’ll be easier to explain why we’re here if we’re together.”
I pause, wondering at his meaning before a picture of the two of us tangled in each other’s arms, his hand up my shirt and mine caught up in all of that luxurious hair enters my mind. I shiver with desire but quickly shake it off. I can’t think of him that way when what we’re here for is far from any kind of romance.