Читать книгу: «In Hot Water»
“Fancy us meeting like this,” he said, his tone sarcastic. “I see it as one of those meant-to-be things.”
Maci glared at him. She’d be damned if she was going to let him stroll down memory lane. Their past was off-limits.
“Yes, fancy that.” She heard the defiant note in her tone as their eyes met.
The effect was galvanizing.
Maci sucked in her breath, and he cursed. Later she didn’t know who turned away first. At the time, she didn’t care. For her own self-preservation, she couldn’t have looked at him another second. “Look, I know this…us…is awkward, but—”
“I thought about trying to find you.”
Her heart skipped several beats and she tried to avert her gaze, but found that she couldn’t. “Holt—”
“Holt, what?” His tone thickened. “Don’t say what’s been on my mind for two years.”
“Stop it,” she muttered tersely, leaning closer as though fearing someone would hear their conversation. “I told myself I wouldn’t let you dredge up the past.”
“Too late, honey. The past has slam-dunked us both.”
In Hot Water
Mary Lynn Baxter
www.mirabooks.co.uk
To Warren and Wayne Elledge
for all their invaluable help.
Thanks, guys!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Epilogue
Prologue
She knew she shouldn’t be dancing so intimately with a complete stranger.
And she shouldn’t be enjoying it, especially when there was no music. But she was. His strong arms and callused hands were like nothing she’d ever experienced.
Still, this was crazy behavior. She’d come on a mission to this Jamaican paradise, but it wasn’t to get involved with a man.
“You feel so right in my arms,” he whispered against her ear.
Each touch, each caress made her burn inside.
He chuckled. “Cat got your tongue?
“Yes.” Her breathing quickened. “I mean no.”
He laughed even as he pulled her closer, their bodies swaying in the light breeze. In the distance, she could hear the ocean raising as much havoc as her heart.
She had seen him the first day she and her three friends had arrived on the island. He had intrigued her immediately. He wasn’t classically handsome. His shoulders were broader and his arms more muscular than those of any man she knew. His abs were cut to perfection. Rugged was an apt description. She figured that was what had aroused such a wild streak in her.
Character lines had been etched into his tanned face by the sun and wind, and coupled with his blond hair and blue-green eyes, his looks were captivating.
When their eyes first met, she felt an electrified attraction between them. Whenever their paths crossed afterwards, that intensity made her stomach quiver.
Earlier in the evening at a cabana party he’d asked her to dance to a slow, erotic tune. She’d gone into his arms without hesitation. After remaining there through several songs, he’d grabbed her hand and said in a low voice, “Let’s walk.”
They had strolled barefoot along the water’s edge until he’d stopped and pulled her again into his arms. Now, as they continued to dance to imaginary music she was powerless to stop him.
“You’re not supposed to be thinking,” he whispered into her ear.
The warmth of his breath sent chills down her spine. “I’m not.”
“No,” he whispered again, stopping in the middle of the make-believe dance and pushing her to arm’s length.
She looked at him, held his gaze, and felt her heart beat loudly in her chest. “Why is that?”
“Because only feelings are allowed.” He grabbed her hand and pulled her in step with him. “It’s a night of magic.”
The raspy tone of his voice affected her as much as the touch of his hand clasping hers tightly.
“I don’t know you,” she said, her gaze resting on his profile.
“That’s okay.”
“Is it?” Her voice wavered.
He stopped, turned her to face him, then tipped her chin up. “Forget about the world. Just think about the moment and how you feel.”
“I don’t even know your name.”
“If a name is what you want, call me Stan.”
“I’m Mildred.” She couldn’t believe she had outright lied, but then she didn’t believe his name was Stan either.
“Mildred it is,” he said in a low voice.
She shivered, though the ocean breeze was warm against her skin. “This…is crazy.”
“I’m crazy about you,” he countered.
In the moonlight she could see his chiseled features and his deep-set eyes, eyes that seemed to penetrate right through to her thoughts.
She licked her dry lips. “That’s not possible.”
“Anything’s possible tonight,” he rasped. “Don’t fight yourself. Don’t fight me.”
She closed her eyes, struggling to get control of her wayward emotions. If only she hadn’t had that last drink. Perhaps, then, she wouldn’t have left her friends partying at the cabana and taken a midnight stroll on the beach with a perfect stranger.
“Hey,” he said, “you’re thinking again.”
She felt his finger trace the line of her jaw before running it along the inside of her lower lip.
Her breathing became erratic. His touch left her feeling hotter than she’d ever been.
“I want to kiss you,” he whispered, his hand now trailing down her neck and onto her collarbone.
Her head lolled back like a flower on a weak stem as his hand found its way to a breast. “Please.”
“Please what? Kiss you? Touch you?”
“Yes to both.” Her words came out in a gasp.
His hand slipped under her halter top and rubbed her breasts. She couldn’t breathe or talk.
“Perfect,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers.
His lips gently cajoled hers, but then she whimpered; his kiss belied such raw, aching hunger that she nearly collapsed against him.
As his mouth continued to cover hers, he sank to his knees and took her with him down onto the wet sand.
“I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.” His voice was so hoarse she could barely understand him.
His words didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the feel of his hands removing her top, his mouth suckling her breasts and his teeth gently nibbling at her nipples. Locking her hands on his head, she held him close, reveling in every sensation he aroused.
“I want to see all of you,” he said, pulling her upright.
He removed her shorts and panties and cast them onto a dry, sandy part of the beach.
Standing like a dazed nude statue drenched in the moonlight, she watched as he peeled off his own clothes. She gazed upon his flat, muscled stomach only a moment before looking downward.
He was big and hard.
Desire spread throughout her body. She must have made a satisfactory sound in her throat because he made a strange sound of his own before grabbing her and kissing her again.
“Do you want me as much as I want you?”
She could only moan.
And anticipate.
And soak up the frantic need escalating between them.
“Answer me,” he demanded in a guttural tone.
“Yes” was all she could manage, especially after his hand cupped her hot mound and two of his fingers pressed and probed her insides, making her wet.
Again she felt like collapsing, and again they sank to their knees. Using the wet sand as a bed and the water lapping around them as cover, he lowered himself over her, then spread her legs.
Unable to utter even the smallest of sounds, she reached for his throbbing erection and guided it into her. With a deep groan, he penetrated her.
Her eyes widened as she realized how large he was inside her.
He paused long enough to whisper, “Are you okay?”
“Yes, oh yes,” she said through gritted teeth, clutching at his back, beckoning him to come more fully inside her, to invade her, to fill her, to give her all to him.
Now.
As if he could read her mind, he ground into her and began pounding her with a force akin to the surf pounding against the beach. She wrapped her legs around his buttocks and felt the silent screams of pleasure bounce around her head as her heart begged for more. She wanted more.
He didn’t know when he’d been this tired. But then he’d worked hard at beating up on his body this morning.
First, he’d run five miles on the beach, which was like running in a straitjacket, then he’d lifted heavier weights than usual in the compact but ample sized gym onboard his sailboat.
Now as he made his way into the outdoor café at the luxury hotel, he realized that his stomach gnawed from lack of food. His overzealous workout had used up what energy he’d had stored.
Still, he shouldn’t be here. He should have already set sail. He hadn’t planned on hanging around the island another day, because he had other places to go, other fish to fry, and because a buddy of his had agreed to meet him in a couple of days for some deep-sea fishing. Yet here he was pulling out a chair in a crowded corner of a café.
So why was he lollygagging?
Her.
He was hoping that he would run into Mildred. He smirked at the thought of her name. It was no more Mildred than his was Stan. But he wasn’t complaining.
He’d take her any way he could get her and under any name, too.
She was a little hottie.
“May I take your order, sir?”
He’d ordered and the waitress hurried off. Holt perused his surroundings. Instantly, his stomach clenched and he sat up straighter. He couldn’t believe his luck. There she was, though not alone. She was with the same three women who had accompanied her to the party. His stomach tightened as he realized his luck had just ended.
What had he expected? A woman with her assets wouldn’t be alone. If she hadn’t been with other women, she would’ve been with a man. No matter. Who she was with or what she was doing was certainly none of his business.
He told himself that last night had been a one-time fling.
She had been lovely in every way imaginable with striking black hair, blue eyes and alabaster skin that was enhanced by a dusting of natural color on her cheeks. Of course, he’d been in the company of more beautiful women than he cared to name. Yet none had affected him like she had.
One look at her and he’d been down for the count.
Had it been her lush, tantalizing lips or her huge eyes that had danced with secrecy when she’d looked at him that had completely unsettled him? Or had it been the whiff of perfume he’d breathed when she’d first passed him? Or her traffic-stopping smile? He decided it had been her entire body, the way all her curves connected in just the right places.
“Can I get you anything else?”
The sound of the waitress’s voice brought him back to reality and after answering no he gazed back at the woman, leaving his breakfast untouched.
He’d never been married to anyone or anything except his work, but he’d slept with his share of women. He’d never quite had as cursory a one-nighter like last evening. But that woman had turned him on faster and more furiously than anyone he’d ever known.
She still did. Just looking at her made his insides burn. He shifted his position for fear someone might see his obvious hard-on.
Fearing, too, that she might spot him staring at her, he forced himself to eat a few bites of the omelet he’d craved moments ago. Now his craving lay elsewhere. His appetite for food gone, he again stared at her.
This morning she was dressed in another pair of shorts and a different halter top that exposed the lightly tanned cleavage between her well-endowed breasts. Remembering how it felt to touch and taste her, he could hardly remain in his seat.
So he stood up. Telling himself he had nothing to lose he took two steps toward her when his cell rang. Cursing, he reached for it at the same time she turned and spotted him. Their eyes locked and he sucked in his breath and held it, waiting for a sign of acknowledgement.
Nothing.
She looked straight through him as if she’d never laid eyes on him. His blood turned to ice. He had figured she was too good to be true. Now he knew it. His cell rang again and, turning away, he barked into the receiver.
One
Two years later
The disinfectant smell of the O.R. seemed more tainted than usual with the metallic odor of blood. Added to the normal tension surrounding a difficult surgical procedure was an almost tangible panic among the assistants to Seymour Ramsey, the tall, silver-haired doctor who alone appeared unaware of the frantic beeping of various monitoring devices. The only visible sign that he might be concerned was the profuse amount of perspiration that saturated his surgical cap and face.
“Doctor, are you all right?” A nurse’s voice broke the tense silence.
Seymour swore under his breath and turned a glassy-eyed look at her. “Yes, dammit. And don’t ask me that again.”
The nurse muttered, “Yes, sir.” But the rigid set of her jaw and the sudden flush in her cheeks revealed her desire to say much more, especially when she stole a glance at the other members of the surgical team.
No one responded to her silent plea. They all continued with their assigned jobs.
A few minutes passed before the anesthesiologist announced, “His blood pressure is dropping, Doctor. He can’t afford to lose much more blood.”
The assisting surgeon glared at Seymour, “What the hell—”
“Just shut up, Chastain.” Seymour’s tone was as harsh as his words. “I know what the fuck I’m doing.”
Silence once again reigned over the room as the nurse mopped Seymour’s wet brow. She jumped slightly when he growled, “I just need one more minute.”
“Better make it a fast minute,” the anesthesiologist countered as he watched the rapidly falling blood pressure of the man on the table. “I’m doing all I can here,” he added with a horrified look on his face.
Moments later, Seymour stepped back and jerked off his mask. “There. It’s done.” He cast a glance toward his fellow surgeon. “Sew him up.”
Seymour stalked out of the O.R. into the doctor’s lounge where he immediately leaned over the sink, turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face. He sensed rather than heard someone approach from behind him. He looked up and saw Chastain’s face in the mirror. Seymour whipped around, slinging droplets of water on the other doctor. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re supposed to be closing my patient.”
“He’s in no hurry, Seymour.” Chastain’s tone matched the cold fury in the older surgeon’s eyes. “He died right after you walked out of the room. He lost too much blood.”
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Seymour pounded his fist on the edge of the sink.
“The family’s in the waiting room,” Chastain said in an accusatory tone. “You’d best go talk to them. They’ve already waited a long time.”
Minutes later, Seymour shuffled toward the waiting area where the three members of the Dodson family sat, their hearts registering in their eyes.
“Doctor Ramsey?” Michael Dodson rose, fear in his voice. “How’s Dad? Is he—”
Seymour forced himself to face the younger man. “There’s no easy way to say this, son. Your father didn’t make it. I’m sorry—”
“But what happened?” Michael asked in a screeching voice as his mother and sister broke into hysterical sobs and moans. Michael advanced until he was within touching distance of Seymour, his stance threatening. “You said he’d be all right.”
Seymour stepped back, then began trying to explain, but words failed him. He mumbled something about blood pressure.
“Sir,” Michael interrupted, “you’re not making any sense at all. In fact, you’re slurring your words. What’s wrong with you? You’re acting crazy.” he said incredulously. “Don’t tell me you operated on my father in this condition.”
Seymour rubbed his forehead. “I did no such—”
The sentence was never completed. Seymour’s eyes rolled back in his head and he hit the floor.
Two
The heat was sweltering.
Maci had taken that into consideration earlier when she’d slipped into a peach-colored sundress and a pair of strappy sandals.
Summer in south Louisiana was notorious for its combined heat and humidity, but this year both were setting records daily. She couldn’t seem to get cool no matter where she was.
Despite the cold air pouring out of the air-conditioning vents, Maci found herself perspiring. Maybe that was because she was upset. Since she and Seymour married a little over two years ago they had rarely disagreed.
That had changed after she had learned of her husband’s secret dependence on prescription drugs. Lately she’d been at her wits’ end as to what to do about it, especially after he’d lost a patient and friend on the operating table.
Only after that tragedy did Seymour admit he’d blacked out while talking to the family and that both he and the incident were under investigation.
Once she had gotten past her stunned horror, Maci hadn’t wanted to know the dirty details associated with his vile habit. Instead, she had pleaded with her husband to seek help immediately. She feared for his well-being as well as that of his patients.
During the past three weeks, Maci had thought he’d kept his promise, but then last night, for the first time ever, Seymour had come home on a drug-induced high. He’d previously hidden the effects of the drugs from her and the rest of the world, but now his habit was known, he no longer seemed to care about covering it up.
That fact alone caused her to confront him. “How dare you come home in this condition?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, my dear.”
“You damn sure do,” she lashed back. “Now that I know what you’re up to, it’s obvious you’re high.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Don’t insult me, Seymour. I may have been gullible in the past, but no longer.”
He smiled a cherubic smile. “You’re getting yourself all worked up for nothing, my dear.” He paused, his grin still in place. “I don’t know about you, but I’m calling it a night.”
Maci’s insides shook with anger, but she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Once her husband dug his heels in, there was no way she could penetrate his steel facade.
She was now at a loss as to how to reach Seymour. Their personal relationship and home life would soon suffer. Maci feared that if Seymour continued down this destructive path, the man she’d married would be lost to her forever.
Again she knew he needed professional help.
Maci paused in her thoughts and peered at her watch. Seymour was due home from the hospital any time now to join her for a late breakfast. She hated to admit it, but she wasn’t looking forward to seeing him.
“Mrs. Ramsey, Jonah’s about to go down for his nap.”
A smile transformed Maci’s strained features when she glanced at Liz Byford, her son’s nanny. “I’m right behind you.”
When Maci walked into the nursery, her baby, almost entering into the terrible twos phase, was bouncing up and down in his bed and grinning.
“Hey, big boy, what are you doing?”
“Down, Mommy,” he cried, reaching out his arms.
Maci gave him a bear hug, then a kiss on the cheek. “It’s time for your nap.”
He shook his head. “No, Mommy, no.”
“Yes, Jonah, yes.” She grinned. “How about I hold you and read you a story?” This was a tried and proven trick to get him to sleep.
His grin widened and his bouncing increased.
“Whoa, there, tiger. Mommy can’t lift you unless you settle down.”
“I’ll eat my lunch while you’re with him,” Liz said, blowing the child a kiss before closing the door behind her.
Maci lifted Jonah out of his bed, nuzzling him on the neck. He smelled so good, felt so good, she wanted to squeeze him into her. And she did for a second. Then he started squirming.
“Book.”
“That’s right,” she said, sitting in the rocker and grabbing his favorite nursery rhymes. “We’ll read this together, squirt.”
Five minutes later, Jonah was sound asleep, but Maci continued to rock him, loving the feel of him in her arms.
Her gaze rested on his perfect little features and tears misted her eyes. He looked so much like her it was uncanny. Yet he had the Ramsey build. When he grew up—she smiled inwardly at that coined phrase—Jonah would be tall and thin.
In her mind her son would make a statement in this world. She would see to that. He was the love of her life. And the purpose for her life.
She was blessed that Seymour felt the same way. He, too, doted on Jonah. Thinking of her husband removed the smile and tossed her thoughts back into chaos. How could she reach him? Holding her eyes steady on this precious child for whom they were both responsible made her grief and fear more potent.
Seymour had to get help. He had to beat his problem. It was imperative that he set an example for his son who would soon look to him for guidance and trust. A chill darted through Maci and she shivered. As though Jonah sensed her unrest, he jerked.
“Shh,” she said in a soothing tone, pushing a soft strand of wispy hair off his forehead. “It’s okay.”
Once he was sleeping soundly again, Maci wondered how she could have been so stupid or so incredibly naive. Both apparently applied.
Could his downfall partially be her fault? She admitted she hadn’t been Seymour’s mate in the true sense of the word.
She didn’t believe in trust, especially when it came to trusting men. Despite her warm, sunny personality and her love for people, Maci harbored a bitterness for the opposite sex fostered by her father and her ex-fiancé.
When Will Grayson had learned literally hours before their wedding that Maci’s father had lost his millions on bad investments, liquor and women, he walked out on her without a backward glance.
To this day, she saw no reason to forgive the man who had left her at the altar. Her father, however, was a different matter. She had tried to forgive him for his betrayal, especially now that he was dead. But she’d never been able to totally put that pain aside. Some days the hurt was as strong as the day it had happened during the summer of her sophomore year in college.
At the time, however, she had patched her broken heart as best she could and gone on with her life. She’d worked her way through school as an interior designer while taking care of her mother who had been stricken with Alzheimer’s.
During those years of hardship, her social life had been nonexistent. Only once had she agreed to attend a charity ball given by a client. There she had met Dr. Seymour Ramsey, a man twenty years her senior. He had been instantly smitten with her and wouldn’t leave her alone. Finally, he had worn her down after promising to love, honor and cherish her while at the same time resurrecting her previous life of wealth and luxury.
That had been a deal she couldn’t pass up. While she hadn’t loved him with passion, she had loved him.
She’d certainly been bowled over by his attention. Seymour had turned on the same charm that had helped catapult him, a young man from the wrong side of the tracks, to the top of his profession. Maci had sensed he was a decent man who wanted to make a home with her.
Being “in love” was no longer high on Maci’s priority list. Seymour understood, having told her he’d take her any way he could get her.
Two weeks after taking a Jamaican holiday, Maci had married Seymour despite the teasing from her friends that she would be joining the “trophy wife’s club.” Maci had known better. In their own way, she and Seymour had formed a bond based on mutual respect and admiration.
She had signed a contract that entitled her to a certain amount of money for every year she remained married to him. Once that fact hit the gossip mill, her friends had upped the ante on their teasing.
She had taken it all in stride since that contract had been so important to Seymour, which she understood. She’d had no quarrel with him wanting to protect his investment and his pride. What no one knew was that she’d had no intention of touching the money for her own use. Instead, she’d put it in trust to care for her Alzheimer-stricken mother as long as she lived.
The fact that shortly after they had exchanged vows Maci had found out she was pregnant had served to strengthen her and Seymour’s marriage. They had both been delighted. Her life then settled into a normal routine. She had thrived on her role as expectant mother and wife of Doctor Seymour Ramsey, convinced she had everything she’d always wanted.
And while she’d concede their marriage was far from perfect and probably unconventional by most standards, it had worked for them.
Until now. Until his abhorrent habit had come to light.
Maci’s heart faltered as she leaned down and kissed her baby on the forehead, holding him a bit tighter, careful not to disturb his sleep.
The consequences of what Seymour had done could be forever life-changing. They had already been life-altering.
If her husband failed to get control of his problem, then she… Maci refused to think about that. Seymour would mend his broken life and emerge a stronger, healthier individual. She had to hold on to that thought. Anything else was too painful to pursue.
Jonah stirred again prompting her to place him in his crib. That done, Maci glanced at the Waterford clock on the table and realized that Seymour should have already been home. She knew Annie, the housekeeper, had their brunch ready. And so did Seymour. Maci frowned, trying not to panic. Most of the time her mind was her own worst enemy.
Still, she couldn’t settle the disquiet that accompanied her downstairs. After passing Liz who was on her way back to Jonah, Maci made her way into the breakfast room. She was startled to find her husband.
No one would ever guess Seymour’s secret by looking at him.
His charming demeanor and handsome features persuaded many to believe in him.
He was tall and lean with silver hair that showed no signs of thinning. His deep-set green eyes seemed to smile when he did. But his pride and joy was his body. He kept it in tip-top condition by working in their gym at home as well as one at an exclusive country club.
“You’re just in time, my dear.” Seymour smiled and pulled out her chair. “Annie’s just about to serve us.”
“I didn’t know you were home,” Maci said inanely, feeling herself staring at him, looking for signs that he was using again. She couldn’t believe such horrible terminology popped into her mind much less applied to any part of her life. The idea seemed to sully everything around her.
If Seymour noticed her reaction, he didn’t let on. Instead, he smiled and asked, “How’s my son?”
Clearly he wanted to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened, even though they had had the sharpest disagreement of their marriage. Momentarily her temper flared, but she held it under wraps. Maybe his way was the best way. Holding a grudge definitely wasn’t the answer.
Maci released a sigh. “He’s great, as always.”
“I started to come up, but Liz told me you were rocking him.” Seymour shrugged. “I figured he’d be asleep.”
Maci sat down and the buxom housekeeper served their food. After taking a sip of almond-flavored tea, she glanced at Seymour. “How was your morning?” she forced herself to ask, still having difficulty pretending everything was normal.
Seymour touched his mouth with the white linen napkin, then smiled. “Fine. Another normal surgery day. One stacked on top of the other. How ’bout you?”
“Same here. I called on a new client who I think will turn into a gold mine. Shortly, I’m headed to Bobbi’s.”
“How’s that project coming?”
Maci played with her chicken salad. “Down to the wire, actually.”
Bobbi Trent was her best friend turned client. As a divorcée, she was trying to adopt a baby. Maci felt driven to get Bobbi’s house refurbished before the agency called her to say that they had located a child for her.
“I just wish you wouldn’t work so hard.”
“I know,” she said softly but with determination. “You also know how important it is for me to keep my independence.” Especially now, in light of the circumstances, she was tempted to add, but didn’t. There was no point in fueling an already simmering fire.
“You’re right, and I’m sorry, my dear. There’s no point in my belaboring the point. Besides, I just want you to be happy.”
“I am, Seymour. Or at least I—”
The chiming of the doorbell aborted her sentence.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Seymour asked.
“No. Are you?”
He shook his head just as Annie appeared in the doorway, a perplexed frown on her face. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” her eyes turned to Seymour, “but there are two gentlemen here who insist on speaking to you.”
Putting down his napkin, Seymour stood. “Tell them I’ll be right there.”
“Don’t bother, Doctor, we decided to come to you.”
The taller of the two men had made that declaration and now strode over to Seymour. He had a stern look on his face.
“And who are you?” Maci demanded, furious with their blatant intrusion and total lack of manners.
“I’m Detective Greg Johnson,” the short, stout one said. “And this is my partner, Detective Oscar Ford.” They both flipped open their badges.
Maci was glad she was seated as every muscle in her body weakened.
Johnson’s gaze whipped to Ramsey. “Doctor, we have a warrant for your arrest. The charge is criminally negligent homicide in the death of your patient, Grant Dodson. Cuff him, Ford.”
Maci gasped in shocked horror at the same time Seymour’s tanned skin turned deathly white.
Three
Keefe Ryan looked like what he was—a socially inept attorney. He was short, bald, wore black-rimmed glasses and there was nothing attractive about him or his personality. Maci had always considered him to be the most boring man she’d ever met.
Yet when he walked into the police station, she had never been so glad to see anyone. She would never think ill of Keefe again.
In the process of being led out of the house by the two officers, Seymour had barked an order for her to call his attorney. She had waited until she was on her way to the station to do so. By then her mind had cleared somewhat, and she could punch in Keefe’s number on her cell phone.
He appeared now as composed as ever, dressed as impeccably as ever, though she knew he wasn’t. Maci had observed a little tick in Keefe’s right cheek when he was under stress and that tick was present as he made his way toward her.
Maci had been told to take a seat in the outer lobby and that the chief would be with her shortly. So far, shortly had not come, giving her plenty of time to observe the police station. This afternoon there was a lot of activity. Phones rang while officers and other personnel scurried about. Although she had received several curious glances, no one had bothered to speak to her or ask if she wanted or needed anything.
She couldn’t believe she was here. The horrendous circumstances made the situation even more demoralizing.
When the press learned of this…
“Maci, what the hell is going on?”
She turned her attention back to Keefe. She had never heard him say anything that resembled a curse word. But then she’d never seen him this flustered. His features were pinched and he was out of breath.
Despite the fact that Seymour could be overbearing at times, he and Keefe seemed to have a genuine friendship. While Keefe handled mostly taxes, he had at one time practiced some family and criminal law. So he wasn’t completely out of the loop when it came to helping Seymour. Maci never doubted Keefe had Seymour’s best interest at heart. If he wasn’t the one for the job, he would find someone who was.
“Seymour’s been arrested,” Maci said, hearing the tremor in her voice. She hadn’t bothered to tell Keefe what was going on beforehand. She had simply told him that Seymour needed him and to meet them at the police station. She’d hung up with Keefe still asking questions.
Keefe’s face now drained of its remaining color. “That’s preposterous.”
“It’s a fact,” she countered flatly.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Keefe cleared his throat, then peered down at her, concern mirrored in his eyes. “Of course, you’re not. Forget I asked that.”
“I’m fine,” she said, which was a lie. She was anything but fine. She was sick all over. She clutched at her stomach.
Homicide?
Her wealthy, charismatic husband accused of such an abominable deed was not possible. Only it was possible, or she wouldn’t be sitting in an obscure corner of this godforsaken place.
“You just stay put while I get this mattered straightened out,” Keefe said without further ado. “Then we’ll all be on our way home.”
“Thanks, Keefe,” Maci said, fighting back tears. How could this be happening to her well-ordered world?
Hopefully Keefe could indeed make this nightmare go away.
Moments later Keefe returned, his face as grim as hers. Her heart faltered. Perhaps gaining her husband’s immediate release wasn’t going to be as easy as Keefe had thought.
“The chief wants to see us both.”
Maci stood on unsteady legs, yet when she walked into the rather austere room, she held her head high and her shoulders back. She intended to conduct herself with dignity, and she expected the same from the tall, thin-faced man who was looking at her through narrowed eyes.
Chief Ted Satterwhite introduced himself, then beckoned for both of them to sit in the leather chairs in front of his desk. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked in a deep, hoarse voice indicative of bad sinus drainage.
Both Maci and Keefe politely declined, then Maci asked, “Where is my husband?”
Satterwhite pulled out a big handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped it across his nose before answering, “Waiting to be questioned by the detectives. He’s been read his rights, and has requested that his lawyer be present.”
“Is that necessary?” Maci asked, thankful he didn’t outright blow his nose. She tried to keep her disgust from showing.
“That’s procedure, ma’am.” He pushed back from his desk and crossed a leg over his knee. “That’s how we do things in this department. By the book.”
“I’d like him to go before the judge this afternoon,” Keefe said in a huffy tone as though he resented being talked down to.
“All in good time, Mr. Ryan.”
“Chief—”
“The judge will hear the doctor’s case in the morning.”
“That’s unacceptable,” Keefe declared with a flare of his hand.
Maci groaned, especially when she saw the chief’s features tighten.
“Acceptable or not, that’s the way it is.” Satterwhite’s tone had gone from cool to cold.
His face suffused with unnatural color, Keefe opened his mouth as if to argue, but ultimately ground his jaws together. Maci felt him look at her.
Ignoring Keefe, she faced the chief. “May I please see my husband?”
Satterwhite took his time unfurling his gangly frame to full height. Bastard, Maci thought. He was in his element, lording his control over them. Maci fought the urge to lash out at him, to ask him if he knew who he was toying with.
After all, everyone knew the Ramsey name carried weight in this town. While that hadn’t always been the case, it was now. Her husband was no longer thought of as the downtrodden boy who had defied the odds and made good, but rather as a renowned surgeon. He’d built a stellar reputation in the medical community throughout the entire state of Louisiana. And here in his hometown of Dayton he’d used his wealth and power to the greater good.
Seymour wouldn’t tolerate this method of treatment. But that was before he’d been accused of causing his patient’s death, Maci reminded herself. A negligent homicide charge could relegate him to the bottom of the scum barrel in a heartbeat.
“That can be arranged,” Satterwhite said at last, coming from behind his desk. “Follow me.”
When they walked into the room where Seymour was held, Detective Johnson acknowledged their presence, then left. The chief followed shortly, leaving Maci and Keefe alone with Seymour.
For a moment, a thick, heavy silence prevailed.
“Are you all right?” Maci asked in an unsteady voice.
“I will be, when I get the hell out of here.” Seymour’s eyes darted to Keefe. “I’m assuming you can do that.”
Keefe blew out a long breath. “I can’t until morning.”
Seymour swore.
“Keefe’s doing all he can, Seymour,” Maci pointed out in a calm, soothing tone, hoping to defuse the volatile situation.
“Then it’s not good enough,” Seymour shot back.
Another awkward silence fell over the room. Maci bit down on her lower lip and looked at Seymour. He appeared tired and drawn, yet restless and hyper. Control was what fed him, what made him the man he was, and now that he wasn’t in control, Maci knew he’d be jittery.
Or was he simply acting like a common street junkie who was in the throes of coming off a drug high?
Maci’s stomach hated the path her mind had taken, but she couldn’t avoid the hard cold facts, not when they were being rubbed in her face.
Her husband was a drug addict, and according to the law he was accused of homicide.
“Satterwhite is not someone we…you want to tangle with right now,” Keefe said. “You have to know that.”
“I refuse to stay in this stinking hole overnight.”
Maci crossed to her husband and touched him on the arm. “Don’t do this to yourself. Spending one night—”
He shook off her hand. “I’m not some common criminal, and I resent the hell out of being treated like one.”
“They are accusing you of homicide, Seymour,” Keefe said in a low, even tone. “What do you have to say about that?”
“Dodson’s death was not my fault.”
Maci eyes widened.
Seymour’s smile was humorless. “See, my own wife doesn’t believe me.”
“That’s not true,” Maci snapped, feeling her face flush. “If you tell me you’re not responsible—” Her voice faltered, and she cleared her throat.
Seymour stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he focused on Keefe. “What are the exact charges against me?”
“I haven’t had time to read the report,” the attorney responded. “I only know what Maci told me.”
Seymour hit the palm of his hand on the tabletop. “Go talk to that prick Satterwhite then read the report. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. That redneck’s got it in for me, and he doesn’t care who knows it.”
“I sensed the same thing, Keefe,” Maci said, easing down into a straight-backed chair at the table.
“I’ll be right back.” Keefe’s tone was clipped.
Once he had left the room, Maci stared at her husband, noticing the strain weighing heavily on him. “I’m so sorry about this.” Her thoughts jumped to Jonah and she ached to hold him tightly right now.
“Tell me you believe me.”
“I want to, Seymour,” she said, feeling her eyes mist with tears, “but remember I’ve seen you high and it’s not a pretty sight.”
“Okay, so I was using when I operated on Grant, but I had full control of my faculties, for god’s sake. I would never do anything that asinine. You have to know that.”
“I do, but—”
Keefe interrupted her when he reentered the room.
“The charges stand as Maci described them,” Keefe said, tossing the folder down on the table, then sitting down. His gaze settled on Seymour. “Suppose you sit down and tell me your side.”
Seymour didn’t sit. He just began talking. “There’s really no side. The man bled to death through no fault of mine.”
“So you’re taking no blame at all?” Keefe’s tone was incredulous.
Seymour’s hard gaze didn’t waver. “None whatsoever.”
“Are you denying you were on drugs at the time?”
“No. Like I was telling Maci, I admit I had taken some pills, but I knew exactly what I was doing with that knife.”
“Passing out and slurring your words in front of the family doesn’t support that, Seymour,” Keefe said with low-key honesty, “especially since they know exactly the level of drugs ingested.”
“I agree with Keefe,” Maci said, her gaze also un-flinching on her husband, watching closely for some glimmer of remorse or something that would indicate he was the least bit sorry.
Nothing.
She flinched. When had Seymour become so calloused to the loss of human life? Had she been so caught up in her own life and that of Jonah that she’d failed to notice yet another dark side of her husband?
Maci couldn’t believe this was the same man she had married, who seemed to adore both her and Jonah, who lavished them with time and attention. Something was terribly wrong somewhere.
“How long have you had this nasty little habit?” Keefe asked.
“Since I had the accident that tore up my back.”
Maci sucked in her breath. That accident, which had been a car wreck, had happened several years before she married him. Surely, he’d hadn’t been addicted for that long.
“You mean you were hooked before you married me?” Maci barely choked the nasty words out of her mouth.
“Hooked is hardly the right word, my dear,” Seymour said with disdain. “Was I using drugs to help my back? Yes, and I still am. But I’m in control of the situation, not the other way around.”
Maci didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t say anything. She felt like she’d been hit in the stomach with a brick. Apparently so did Keefe as his face seemed to have taken on a greenish tint.
“Make no mistake, Keefe,” Seymour said with conviction, “I’m not going down for this.”
“If that’s the case, then I’m certainly not your man. I suggest you find the best criminal attorney possible and hire him.”
“I agree.”
Keefe’s gaze didn’t waver. “Do you have someone in mind?”
“Yep.”
“Tell me who to call,” Keefe responded, “and it’s a done deal.”
“My oldest son.”
Maci stared at Seymour in shocked silence.
“Holt?” Keefe asked, clearly taken aback.
“That’s right,” Seymour said. “You told me I needed the best, and he’s the best.”
“But, Seymour, that doesn’t make any sense,” Maci pointed out, her mind reeling. “You haven’t seen your son in years.”
And she had never seen him. Not before she married Seymour or after. In fact, it was hard to remember that Jonah wasn’t Seymour’s only child. She had no idea what Holt Ramsey looked like. No pictures of him appeared anywhere in the house.
She knew very little about what had caused the estrangement between father and elder son, but she suspected a lot. Seymour had refused to discuss the issue with her, which she could understand. Suicide was a tragic and touchy subject.
What she did know was that Holt was a single attorney who rarely practiced his profession, choosing rather to spend his time on his sailboat. She had gleaned this information from the housekeeper who had been in the family when Seymour was married to his first wife. Annie had also told her that Holt blamed his father for his mother’s suicide. Since the housekeeper doted on the elder son, she still bemoaned the breach between her favorite men.
“Maci’s got a point,” Keefe said in a strained voice. “With all the bad blood between you and Holt, what makes you think he’ll help you out now?”
“He’ll come, all right.” A strange glint appeared in Seymour’s eyes. “If nothing else, he’ll use it as an opportunity to exact his pound of flesh.”
Four
He had no one to blame but himself. In the future, he would check his caller ID before he answered. Damn Marianne for giving out his number. He’d have to remember to speak to her about that.
Swallowing a frustrated sigh, Holt Ramsey stared at the sky and counted to ten while Keefe droned on, trying to make his case. The second after he had said hello, Keefe had rushed into the reason for the call and he hadn’t stopped yet. He hadn’t so much as taken a breath.
“Keefe, give it a rest,” Holt interrupted, his patience having long evaporated.
“Trust me, I’m aware of the situation between you and your father,” Keefe continued as though Holt hadn’t spoken.
“Hey, hold it,” Holt said, no longer willing to let Keefe steamroll over him. “Time out. Look you’re wasting your time. You’ve done your job. You’ve related Seymour’s tale of woe to me. All you have to do is tell him I’m not interested. Voilà! You’re off the hook.”
“Holt, please, hear me out,” Keefe pleaded. “Since you have a reputation for being one of the best criminal lawyers around, you’re the logical choice. More than that, your father needs you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I know—”
“You don’t know jack, Keefe.”
Holt heard Keefe’s gasp, but he didn’t care. “I’ve heard all I need to hear, and I don’t know how to say it any plainer. I don’t care what Seymour needs or doesn’t need.”
“How can you say that?”
“Easy.”
“He’s your father, for god’s sake,” Keefe stressed. “Have you no shame?”
Holt gritted his teeth and swore silently. “It’s only because I respect you that I’m even still on the line. But I’d advise you not to push your luck.”
“Under the circumstances,” Keefe hammered on, “I don’t see how you can take such a hard-nosed attitude.”
Holt heard the pleading note in Keefe’s voice, but he ignored it.
“There’s nothing else I can say to make you change your mind?” Keefe’s harsh sigh filtered through the line.
“Is that a question, Keefe?”
“Yes.”
“Not a thing. Tell my father he made his own bed and that I’m going to take delight in watching him wallow in it.”
Keefe slammed down the receiver.
Holt in turn flipped the lid shut on his cell. Frustration and anger churned inside him and he knew it was time to make use of his gym. His favorite stress reliever was his punching bag. Hitting it repeatedly would definitely do the trick.
A smirk altered Holt’s tight features. It would certainly be better than heading for the jail, jerking up his old man and punching the crap out of him.
He despised his father so much that he knew he could do it.
But he wouldn’t. Holt walked to the bow of his boat and felt the warm breeze on his hot skin. Any time he thought about Seymour, his entire body reacted violently. He knew that for his own good he should let that hate go, that carrying it around would eventually eat him up.
It was starting to now. He grasped the railing and swore. If he never saw his father again, he’d be happy. He’d been certain Seymour felt the same way. So what had made him change and ask his son for a favor?
Fear.
The gut-wrenching, twisting kind. That would be unacceptable in Seymour’s world where everyone lived according to his rules and regulations. The thought of spending a day in prison, much less years, must be driving him insane.
Holt’s smile twisted into a sneer. Good. If Seymour was convicted, he’d get what he deserved. What goes around comes around. In his father’s case, this philosophy was proving to be true, and in a way Holt had never thought possible. Hooked on prescription drugs. He just couldn’t believe it. His father and drugs just didn’t mix. Seymour’s modus operandi was that he controlled everything; nothing controlled him.
It had always been that way. Even when Holt was a young child Seymour had wanted to control every part of his son’s life, just as he’d controlled Holt’s mother.
Only Holt had rebelled and oftentimes bested his father, especially when he shot down Seymour’s dream of his son following in his footsteps and becoming a surgeon. Instead, Holt had opted to become a criminal defense attorney. He had gone to work for a famous firm and done far better than even his wildest expectations until his mother’s death and a severe case of career burnout sent him off into uncharted waters on his sailboat.
And he hadn’t regretted a day he’d turned his back on his career and his father.
Holt wondered what had made Seymour slip into the gutter. Perhaps his young trophy wife was giving him trouble. Perhaps she’d decided to ditch him for a man her own age. Just the thought had probably sent his old man into a frenzy. Or perhaps his trip down Drug Lane had nothing to do with the second Mrs. Doctor Seymour Ramsey. Perhaps she’d turned out to be the wife of his dreams.
Holt couldn’t care less.
He’d never even seen the woman much less met her. Since Holt maintained an office in Dayton where he took on clients from time to time, news of his father always reached him.
Anything that pertained to the Ramsey family was big news. Unfortunately, that included him whenever he was in town. He’d been told by his friends that pictures of Seymour’s second wedding and the subsequent events had been splashed all over the pages of the daily paper.
Holt had counted his blessings that he’d been nowhere around, that he’d been on one of his long jaunts in and around Canada. If he’d been in the vicinity, he might have done something he’d regret, and Seymour hadn’t been worth that.
Seymour had ceased to mean anything to Holt when he’d divorced his mother years ago simply because she no longer pleased him physically or mentally. Six months later Lucille Ramsey had taken her own life by shooting herself in the stomach. A day before her death, she had told Holt she still loved his father, that she would always love him.
That declaration had devastated Holt.
After the funeral, he had severed all contact with Seymour. That had been years ago. How many years? He had no clue. He didn’t care. All he knew was he hadn’t forgotten or forgiven his father and that he could no longer bear the sight of him.
Holt shook his head trying to clear it. He squinted his eyes against the sun’s harsh glare and peered at the magnificent sail that billowed in the breeze. A sense of peace momentarily replaced the anger that had raged inside him.
Still, he strode down into his gym and battled it out with his punching bag. Later, after showering and swigging down a beer, he sprawled on the sofa and closed his eyes.
Only he couldn’t sleep. Images of his mother’s face swam before his eyes. He squeezed them tighter, willing his mother away. It was as if he could hear her whispering softly to him, telling him what she wanted him to do.
“No, I can’t,” he muttered out loud in an agonized voice. “I won’t.”
Everything appeared normal. Maci actually pretended her life was back to the way it was before Seymour’s arrest. But when she walked out the door and into the media scrum, Maci got a severe reality check.
Moments like that made her fear her life would never be the same, especially if her husband went to prison. Disregarding that unwelcome thought, she looked up from the set of house plans in front of her and wiggled her shoulders. She’d been working for several hours on a kitchen for a new client, and she was tired.
But her fatigue went much deeper than a sore neck and shoulders. Since Seymour had been hauled off in handcuffs, she hadn’t slept a wink. The fact that he’d been released on his own recognizance two days ago hadn’t helped.
Seymour, however, didn’t seem to have the same problem. Earlier at breakfast he’d eaten his omelet with his usual healthy appetite which prompted her to ask, “You really aren’t worried, are you?”
He put his fork down and looked at her. “Not in the least.”
“Well, I am,” she countered.
“I know you are, and I’m sorry, sorry for the pain I’ve caused you and Jonah.”
“What about yourself, Seymour? Even if you get out of this mess, your arrest is bound to have an impact on your practice.” Her voice rose an octave. “A man is dead.”
Seymour’s cup stalled halfway to his mouth, and his eyes narrowed. “I’d rather not have a replay of the past few days, Maci. I’m trying to get on with my life and my practice.”
Frustration surged through her. “And just how is that possible when every time we walk outside, bulbs flash in our faces and hurtful questions are thrown at us?”
“I’m sorry about that, too, but this will pass. In a few days, someone else’s life will be under the microscope.”
“Meanwhile, you’re going to go on with yours as usual.”
“Absolutely. And I suggest you do likewise.”
“It’s not that easy for me, Seymour.” She paused with a deep sigh. “The thought of you—”
“That’s not going to happen,” he said in a stern, harsh tone.
“Maybe not, if you’d consider looking for another criminal attorney.” She refused to back down and play the feebleminded mate without a thought of her own.
“That’s not necessary. I’m certain Holt will be here.”
“How can you be so sure, especially when he gave Keefe an emphatic no? Shouldn’t you at least have a contingency plan?”
“You worry too much, my dear.” Seymour wiped his mouth and then stood. “I’m going to the office. Give Jonah a hug for me. I’ll see you this evening.”
He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. “Oh, I’ve invited Keefe for dinner. Please inform Annie.”
Maci didn’t move once he was gone. Anger and shocking disbelief threatened to engulf her. When had Seymour gotten so arrogant? Were the drugs responsible for this haughty and unrepentant attitude? For all their sakes, she prayed Seymour was right and that his son would show up and clear his father’s name. If Holt was the crackerjack attorney Seymour and Keefe said he was, then he would be their savior on earth.
Suddenly, Maci felt the urge to see her son. Jonah seemed to be the only thing that grounded her. When she walked into his room, Liz rose and smiled at her before glancing at the child who was sound asleep on a pallet. “He just conked out.”
Maci squatted, then leaned over and grazed Jonah’s apple-red cheek with her lips before standing to full height. “That’s good. We played long and hard last night.”
“Ah, so you let him stay up late?”
Maci gave her a sheepish grin. “Actually, I’m guilty of two infractions. I let him sleep with me.”
“I bet he loved that.”
“We both did,” Maci responded, settling her gaze back on her baby. “I just don’t want the little bugger to think it’s going to be an every night thing.”
Liz’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t say anything.
“I’ll check in with you later on today. I’m off to see a client. Call if you need me.”
“You know I will,” Liz said, an uncertain look crossing her face.
“What?” Maci prodded, sensing there was something else on Liz’s mind. “Hey, don’t ever hesitate to ask me anything, especially if it pertains to Jonah.”
“I’m not sure I should take him out today, like to the park, for instance.”
A frown marred Maci’s unblemished features. “You shouldn’t. That pack of media wolves outside will probably attack you as well. No way will I put Jonah or you through that abuse.”
“Is…is Dr. Ramsey going to be all right?”
Again Maci heard the reluctance in her voice, and while she didn’t want to talk about the dreadful situation, she had no choice. Liz had become part of the family shortly before Jonah’s birth, following a slow and in-depth search for the right person to help care for her son. The young woman, who had yet to marry and have a family of her own, had turned out to be a jewel. Maci knew she owed her an explanation.
“Let us pray that he is,” Maci said at last. “As of two days ago, he was released on his own recognizance, and that’s a positive thing.” She couldn’t bring herself to say that he was out of jail.
“He’s such a nice man. I can’t believe this is happening to him.”
“Thanks for your concern, Liz. Just keep us in your thoughts, and take care of Jonah. That will help us as much as anything.”
“You can count on that. Those people with the microphones and cameras don’t scare me.” Her tone was defiant.
They do me, Maci almost said but didn’t. “That’s the attitude. I’ll see you both later.”
On her way downstairs Maci smelled the strong aroma of fresh coffee. She peered at her watch. She had time for another quick cup. Food, however, was out of the question. She hadn’t eaten anything since Seymour’s arrest anyway.
Once she reached the sunny breakfast room, Annie brought her a cup of coffee. Drinking leisurely, Maci stared out the window, taking in the beautifully manicured rolling lawn. Flowers splashed the lush greenery with vivid color.
She loved this place, loved the grounds and the old colonial pillared house that Seymour had purchased long before he married her. She had refurbished it to suit her tastes with Seymour’s encouragement. He had told her the renovations were long overdue. Maci had been relieved as she and the first Mrs. Ramsey had nothing in common when it came to interior design.
“Mrs. Ramsey, you have a call. It’s Mrs. Trent.”
“Thanks, Annie.” Maci reached for the phone, grateful her favorite client and friend chose that moment to call. “Hey, Bobbi, I was just on my way to see you.”
Thank God, she had her work to keep her mind occupied.
“Keefe, may I get you another drink?”
“No thanks, Maci. I’m fine.”
“I’d like another one,” Seymour said with a smile. When Maci hesitated, he raised his glass to her, his eyes mocking. “Never mind. I’ll get it myself.”
Maci ignored him and smiled at Keefe. “I hope dinner was to your satisfaction.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Keefe said in a slightly flustered tone. “Your housekeeper outdid herself.”
“Actually, it was Maci who made the shrimp dish,” Seymour said. “My favorite, by the way.”
Keefe returned the favor with a smile. “Well, as I said, it was delicious.”
“When I have the time, I love to cook.”
A silence fell over the study for a long moment, then Keefe set his drink down and cleared his throat. “Seymour, has it dawned on you yet that Holt is not coming?”
The doctor placed his drink on the mantel before leveling his gaze at his attorney. “Did you hear from him?”
“No.”
“Enough said.”
“No, it’s not,” Keefe rebuked in a blustering tone, only to quickly modify it when color surged into Seymour’s face.
Maci knew Seymour was agitated that Keefe had crossed him. But she was glad the attorney had done so since she hadn’t made a dent in Seymour’s armor at breakfast. Maybe together she and Keefe could talk some sense into him.
“I’m telling you, we need to call another attorney,” Keefe stressed. “Jack Little—”
“Not interested.” Seymour leaned his head back, drained his glass, then plunked the glass down on the bar and promptly refilled it.
Maci winced. She feared her husband was replacing drugs with alcohol as he’d overindulged every night since his brief incarceration.
“All right, Seymour, you’re the boss,” Keefe said with obvious displeasure.
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