Confidential(52)

Not that we used the word love. We didn’t talk about anything other than what we were doing and feeling in that moment: what we wanted, what we were willing to give. We didn’t need to label it or promise a future. Whether that was because it was so obvious to him that we’d have one or because it was obvious we wouldn’t, I didn’t actually know. For the moment, I didn’t need to know, and that in itself was revelatory. I was simply experiencing, and enjoying, and growing. Each time, I grew. I became more myself.

I’d only been with Adam before, and this was so different. But then, Adam and I had barely consummated. Almost every night for the past ten days, Michael and I had been consummating, and consecrating, everywhere in his office.

Sometimes it was tender, sometimes wild, but it was always, always amazing. Otherworldly. I hadn’t known what I was missing, which made sense. Since Adam, I’d steered clear of all entanglements.

I was entangled now, all right.

Rules defined the boundaries, and Michael was a big believer in boundaries. I got what he meant, since Adam had violated mine, even though I hadn’t recognized it at the time.

Yet somehow, when Michael and I were together, I felt unbound. Really, I’d never been so free. Michael wanted me to express myself, which was another way it deviated from my time with Adam. Back then, I’d been so pliable, so eager to please, and sure, I wanted to please Michael, but he told me that his enjoyment was derived from mine. “Say what you want and do what you want,” he told me. “I’ll follow your lead. You’re in control.”

I’d never felt in control with Adam. He kept me off-kilter. I could see that now, the ways he’d dominated me through his age and experience. It wasn’t in a sadomasochistic way—at least, not overtly. But he’d kept me waiting and wanting and uncertain. It wasn’t like the second my mother left, he would be in my room. No, I had to lay in my bed, agonizing, and sometimes, he wouldn’t come at all. When he did, I was so grateful. He snapped his fingers, and I jumped. I gave that guy blow jobs until my mouth went numb. A hundred of them, maybe. He went down on me four times, and three of them, he stopped before I came. He was always pretending he heard my mother’s car in the drive. Seriously, Adam? When his cock was in my mouth, I never heard phantom tires. I committed.

Michael had gone down on me twice already, and we’d barely begun. But oh, what a finish. And his office was conveniently soundproofed. I never imagined I could feel so unselfconscious. So myself.

Really, it was an extension of treatment. Treatment with benefits.





PRESENT DAY





CHAPTER 41

DETECTIVE GREGORY PLATH

“I didn’t expect to see you back here,” I tell her. “Not without another invitation.”

“I felt like it was my duty,” Flora says, almost primly. She is definitely a piece of work. “Like I owe it to Michael to help you catch his killer.”

“And you didn’t owe it to him that first time we talked?” I can’t help it; I give her a smirk. She might think it’s flirting, since that’s how she’s wired. Maybe it is flirting. Her tits are half hanging out; it’s an involuntary response.

“I was trying to protect the other women. I didn’t think that any of us would have harmed Michael; we were just blowing off steam—”

“I thought you were having some girl talk.”

“Girls talk about boys. We talk about men, especially when we’ve been sharing the same one.”

I sit back in my chair and give her an appraising look that’s got nothing to do with her tits. “Go on.”

“Have you gotten the records yet? If you have, then you’ll know everything I’m about to tell you is true.”

“Sadly, no. The judge decided to uphold therapist-client privilege beyond the grave. That’s part of why I appreciate you coming here today to fill in some holes.”

She might be relieved; I can’t quite tell. She’s not unhappy about my answer; I know that much. “Well,” she says, “it’s a good thing I’m here, then.”

“I want to believe you, but I’ve got a boss. He’ll want corroboration.”

“Get Lucinda’s records.”

Oh, so she’s here to talk about Lucinda and not Greer. I had the impression that Flora liked Lucinda and hated Greer. Was it possible that’s just what she’d wanted me to think? Or that she had a change of heart for some reason?

“I was thinking about your records,” I say. “Then I can prove you’re the reliable witness I know you are. You ready to turn those over?”

“I don’t want to contradict the court.”

I almost laugh. “The judge denied the subpoena, but you’re in charge of your own records. You can hand them out on College Avenue if you want.”

“Let me think about it.” Okay, she’s thought. I can see the answer is no. “Lucinda had a really messed-up childhood, and Michael took advantage of it. Did she tell you they were lovers?”

“No, she must have forgotten that part.”

“I’ll tell you everything I know.”

What she’s about to say might very well be true, but she’s not here because she suddenly caught a conscience. Something’s spooked her. She must think I’m onto her, though actually, I’d started to put my money on Greer. Now, though, I’m thinking Flora. Though I might be open to persuasion.