When he unbuttoned her shirt and smoothed the lapels back against the fabric, she didn’t stop him.
And when, a little later, he straddled her, holding her down on the living room floor with his knees planted at her elbows in a promise of pain if she fought, and his hands pressing her breasts together while his hips pistoned his humid, naked penis between them, she couldn’t stop him.
* * *
Marsh’s silver Honda sedan started immediately when he turned the key. He adjusted the seat backward an inch. Abigail hadn’t slid it back where it belonged last time she’d driven the car. Her list of sins was long, and getting longer as the day dragged into evening. Marsh backed out of the driveway, now that the last of the clients and their families were gone.
They wouldn’t be back in the morning, either. He’d bought himself a day with the story of Abigail’s contagious virus—a stomach virus, he’d explained to the families, lots of vomiting, the doctor would want her to rest and hydrate, give her body a chance to recover, certainly they were too professional to expose the clients to such a virulent ailment.
She’d need every moment of that recovery time when he was finished with her, Marsh thought furiously, spinning the Honda’s steering wheel and guiding the sedan swiftly around the corner. It was only a few blocks to the convenience store. He could have walked there in the time it would take to drive and park again, but he had a sinking feeling he’d be chasing Abigail all over town half the night.
At the convenience store, he parked by the front door and waited, engine idling quietly, watching a few customers come and go. He didn’t see Abigail inside, and the clerk at the register was a woman, not the idiot he’d spoken to earlier. Even better; he preferred to talk to women, anyway. When the last customer drove away, Marsh went inside.
He scanned the aisles quickly on his way to the refrigerator wall at the back, where he selected a soda and took it up to the register. Abigail wasn’t crouching behind a display or sitting in one of the booths in the café area near the coffee stand and fountain drinks.
“Hey,” said the clerk, smiling.
“Hey, yourself,” Marsh replied with a big grin. She was a cute little number, a bit long in the tooth, but she took care of herself. No dark roots in the blond hair, though it was teased too high for his personal preference. Not too much makeup, except where her mascara clumped. Her top fit her body nicely without looking trashy. “Hope it’s been a good one for you. You must be about to head home to your hubby and a good dinner.”
She laughed and turned his soda around to show the barcode to the reader. “Not me, no. Hubby’s long gone to hell or Arizona, I don’t care which, not that I could tell the difference. Got a while left on shift, too.”
Marsh fished slowly in his wallet, buying time while he thought about how to get the information he wanted from her. “A shame, great-looking gal like you.”
“Well, hey, thanks.” Her cheeks went pink, just a little, and Marsh smiled even wider.
“But speaking of great-looking gals, I was wondering if my own gal’s been here. She’s late getting home. I figured I’d swing by her work and give her a ride home, but they said she left a while ago. Sometimes she stops off here on her way home. Seen her? I hate to sound like a worrywart, but you know how it is.”
The clerk shot her hip to the right and gave him another smile. “Least someone cares about her, right? What’s she look like?”
“She’s got long brown hair. She likes to wear it in a ponytail. Probably in jeans and a blue shirt, if she just got off work. Big gray eyes. Bet she looks tired, too.”
The woman thought for a moment, took the five he held out and pursed her lips. “I don’t think I’ve seen her.”
“Maybe it was before your shift, then. Is the other guy still here? Maybe I could talk to him, too.” Get a real good look at the jerk who’d had his hands all over Abigail. Unbuttoning her shirt. Letting down her hair. Touching things that didn’t belong to him.
He hadn’t said it just right, or maybe he didn’t have his face blank enough. Either way, Marsh knew the moment he’d lost the connection. She straightened up and gave him a long, cool stare before counting out his change. She put it on the counter between them instead of putting it into his hand. She closed the cash drawer, and then took a step back. “He’s not here,” she said slowly. “Tell you what, why don’t you leave your phone number, and I’ll mention you stopped in. He can call you, maybe.”
Marsh pasted a smile on his face again. “That’s okay. She’s probably just taking the scenic route. She likes the park. I’ll try her there. Thanks for your help.” Thanks for nothing.
“Sure you don’t want to leave your number?” She pushed a pad of paper and a pen toward him.
So you can give it to the cops? Think I’m stupid? Marsh shook his head and took his change and his soda. “Thanks, anyway. I’m sure she’s just stopped at a friend’s or something like that. I’m sure I’m worrying for nothing.” He tried another smile, but it felt false on his face. He lifted the soda bottle in a cheery toast and kept his stride even, pace calm. Not a worried man, no. No reason to be worried.
The Honda started right up, as always. But Marsh looked at the glass front of the convenience store, where the clerk stood looking out at him, a pen and a pad of paper in hand.
“You’d better not be writing down my license plate number, bitch,” he muttered under his breath, fighting the urge to screech the Honda out of the parking lot and into the street with the accelerator pressed to the floor. His heart gave a thud at the idea of the cops showing up at his house, asking about a woman who hadn’t come home from work. A check on Abigail’s welfare. For the first time the chance of Abigail reporting him to the cops seemed possible. Always before now he’d had her within arm’s reach, where he could talk her around, explain to her how things worked, how crazy she made him. Crazy with love and desperate to keep her. He’d given up his life in Jacksonville to move to this pissant town, all because Abigail was here.
God, he loved her. Now she was his, the way she should have been from the start, before Gary somehow got between them. Marsh had seen her first, but it was Gary who’d managed to hook her, and Marsh had never figured out how that had happened. Somewhere between one bottle of beer at a neighborhood barbecue and the next, Abigail was laughing at Gary’s stupid jokes and sitting next to him on the edge of her cousin’s swimming pool. Marsh could still see her long tanned legs dangling in the water, the skirt of her sundress above her knees to keep it from getting wet. Then she and Gary started dating, going for long walks and dinners, having heart-to-heart talks that didn’t include Marsh.
Marsh would find her; he had to. He hadn’t worked this hard only to have her run away.
Thinking about the barbecue reminded him of the most logical place to look: Judy and Drew’s house. They were easily a mile away, but Abigail had had all afternoon to walk there. If she was anywhere, she would be at her best friend’s house.
Marsh slowed to a stop at the next corner, got his bearings and headed north, thinking all the while about the first time Abigail had taken him to Judy and Drew’s for a barbecue, not all that long after they’d put Gary in the ground. He replayed the evening in his mind.
“Turn left?” Marsh had asked.
“Yes. Judy and Drew live in that blue house—right here.”
“Where is it you know Judy from, again?” Marsh guided the Honda to the curb. It was quiet and sweet in the cabin of the car, with Abigail in the passenger seat. Sweet, so sweet. He liked when their elbows brushed, liked the way her light perfume fragranced each breath he took.
“She used to help me and Gary out sometimes, when we first opened the day care.”
“Oh,