Jane Doe(71)

“Did you tell him?”

He laughs. He’s relaxing into the story now. He’s proud of himself for taking advantage of this bitch. “No. She said she’d do anything to keep it quiet. Absolutely anything. So I told her to try her best. She got on her knees right there in my dad’s bedroom and sucked me off.”

“Steven! Oh my God! You . . . How could you do that? With your dad’s wife?”

“I’m a man, Jane. I can’t say no to that.”

Holy cow, he is so warped.

“For the rest of the summer, she basically did anything I wanted. He’d been smart enough to make her sign a prenup. She would’ve walked away with nothing.”

“So you betrayed your father with her over and over again?”

The smirk falls from his face. “I love my dad. Don’t try to twist this around. She was already betraying him. She was already a terrible, lying, screwed-up wife. Just like my mom. All women are the same. You’re all whores. My dad knows that too.”

“I’m not a whore.”

“Are you kidding? When I close my eyes, I can’t tell the difference between you and Rhonda.”

I should gasp and act offended and maybe cry a little. I don’t bother. He’s too drunk to notice the difference. “Did you love her?” I ask.

“Jesus, of course I didn’t love her. I can’t stand her. I just used what she was offering.”

Yeah, he’d used her. But what he doesn’t realize is she used him too. She’d conned her way into a prosperous marriage and Steven had found out, but Rhonda had come up with the perfect way to silence him. He couldn’t expose her without breaking his father’s heart. She’d tied him up in her secret and he could never escape it.

Maybe she’s like me.

Or maybe not. Maybe she’s just like everyone else in this world. She’d used Robert Hepsworth for money, and he’d used her for her young body and pretty face. She’d used Steven to ensure her continued prosperity, and he’d used her for sex and humiliation. So far they’d each come out pretty even. Now the tide was about to change, and they would all be swept out with it.

His eyes are bleary, the lids heavy, but he reaches for me. “Come ’ere.”

Oh, great, he wants to pretend I’m Rhonda again.

“I’m not in the mood,” I say.

“Come on. You wanted to know the truth and I told you. Don’t act pissed now.”

Strangely I’m not as excited about him calling me a whore as he is.

“Come on, babe,” he whines.

“No, this is serious, Steven. Your dad is a wonderful man.”

“I know he is,” Steven says softly. “He’s the best. He’s the best.” He makes a strange noise, and I realize he’s starting to cry. Good Lord. “I love my dad,” he says before breaking into sobs. “I love my dad!”

I’ve got no patience for this. “I know you do, sweetheart. Come on. Let’s go to bed.” I switch off the TV and tug him to his feet.

“It wasn’t my fault,” he slurs. A tear drips down his face and a trickle of snot leaks from his nose.

“I know. Get to bed. I’ll be right there. I just need to tidy up the kitchen first.”

He nods and stumbles toward the hallway.

I take the dishes to the kitchen, wipe down the coffee table, and call for a car. Then I do the dishes. I’m in the middle of writing Steven a note when his first snores echo down the hallway.

Dear Steven, I drank way too much and I’m afraid I’ll be sick in the morning, so I took a car home. See you at work, sweetie. Love you bunches.

When I deliver it to his room, he’s lying facedown on the mattress, his jeans around his ankles. I drop the note on top of his bare ass and blow him a kiss.

I can’t waste any more time here tonight. I’ve got a recording to edit.





CHAPTER 46

I have a sense of déjà vu as I call in sick to work and walk to the car rental agency, but this time I ask for a full-size SUV. As I’m turning over my fraudulent driver’s license to the clerk, Steven texts me.

What the hell did we drink last night? I don’t even remember going to bed.

Tequila and lots of it.

Are you sick?

Yeah. So sick. In fact, I gotta go.

He responds with a frowny face. Yuck.

My Steven is a regular Florence Nightingale.

I drive my rental all the way out to Apple Valley this time. The church is quiet, though I can hear people in their offices working down the hall. Pastor Hepsworth’s secretary isn’t at her desk, so I knock on his closed office door.

“Yes?” he calls.

I open it a few inches and stick my head in.

“Jane?” he sits up straighter. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to apologize,” I say.

He cocks his head, puzzled. “Apologize for what, my dear?”

“For lying to you yesterday.”

“About what?”

“I don’t want you to be angry . . .” I drop my head in shame.

“I promise I won’t be angry. I’m here to help you in any way I can.”

I swallow hard and raise my gaze to meet his. “You were right, sir. I . . . I did text you this weekend.”