Page 33 of Our Little Secret
Before she could say another word, he walked out of the coffee shop.
Two days later she received a package in the mail with no return address. Inside was the very bracelet she’d been fingering at the market just before she’d run into Gideon Ross.
As she’d plucked it from the tiny tissue-lined box, she’d seen the bloodred beads glitter in the sunlight from the lowering sun. And there was more. A tiny charm attached to it, a sailboat engraved with a date, the very date she and Gideon had literally run into each other at Pike Place Market.
That was the start of something that should never have begun.
Now, shoving the memory aside, she turned off the water, toweled off, and swiped away the condensation that had collected on the mirror’s surface. Standing naked, she saw one bruise forming on her arm and another over her ribs, and then there was her face. The scrape on her cheek would heal, but the cut on her chin might scar.
Physical reminders of her fight with Gideon.
Great.
Her ankle was a little sore, but she’d survive.
She eyed her breasts and remembered how he’d loved touching them, but she wasn’t about to go there, so she slipped on her robe and cinched it around her waist. She had to stop thinking about him.
Walking into the bedroom, she tried to concentrate on other things in her life. Her husband and the way they’d grown apart. Her daughter trying to grow up too fast and pull away from her. And two missing girls. Then there was her nonexistent job, her wrecked Explorer, and now her sister coming to visit.
“Perfect,” she said, wincing a bit as she sat on the bed and turned on the TV. This time, after the local baseball and football scores, there was a report on Allison Carelli, a picture of the girl coming onto the screen along with the number for the police on a banner running across the bottom. The reporter, a thin man wearing a jacket with the logo of the station and a grim expression, stood in front of Allsworth High School. He recounted what Brooke already knew and asked anyone with information to call the police at the number in the chyron.
She clicked off the set and moved a little too quickly, the pain in her leg reminding her again of the fight. She’d never been in a physical fight, unless you counted the few times she and Leah got into spats as kids.
She made her way to the bureau, found her nightshirt and tossed it on, then opened her underwear drawer and stopped short.
She stared at the rows of panties inside.
Something was wrong.
She kept her panties rolled up neatly, which they were, but they weren’t stuffed in as tightly as usual. The drawer wasn’t nearly as full. Odd, she thought, touching the bits of lace and silk. Hadn’t she done the laundry two days earlier? Shouldn’t there be more pairs?
A feeling of apprehension, like the whisper of spider legs crawling up her spine, swept through her.
Slowly, she took stock. Several pairs were missing: the lavender lace and the pink silk and the pale yellow pair with lacy inserts . . . Oh. God.
Her stomach turned over as she opened her bra drawer and discovered that the matching pieces were missing, all lingerie she’d worn when she was with Gideon. Her sports bras were untouched, the plain panties neatly rolled where she’d placed them. Only the sexy items were missing, the scraps of lace and silk she’d worn with him.
No, no, no! She grabbed the edge of the bureau for support.
Telling herself that she was mistaken, she searched again, riffling through the other drawers. She slipped on a pair of cotton panties and hobbled down the stairs and through the kitchen to the laundry room.
She tore through the laundry basket, frantically tossing aside Marilee’s leotards and shorts, Neal’s T-shirts, and her own sweatshirts and jeans.
Her stomach dropped like a stone.
She threw open the lid to the washer, thinking maybe she’d forgotten that she’d put them in the tub.
Nope.
Of course not!
The old Maytag was empty.
She crouched to look through the glass door of the dryer, where she saw a tangle of towels, wrinkled from being left unattended.
“Shit!” Rocking back on her heels, she held her head in her hands and felt totally violated.
Somehow, some way, he’d stolen her lingerie.
