Three Weddings and a Murder (34 page)

“That’s so nice.” He half spoke, half groaned. “When you first raised your hand, I thought you might slap me. But this, this is such a nice surprise.”

Covering her hand with his, he pressed it harder over him, and then he whipped his other arm behind her back. She caught the lingering scent of whiskey on his breath as he drew her close. When he bent his head and brushed rough, wet lips over the nape of her neck, thick pleasure poured through her like honey through a comb, filling her hollow places, replacing what was empty with what was sweet.

Instinctively, her eyes closed, and her body arched up to meet him, her control dissolving, their desire infusing the air with an unmistakable musk. Massaging his fingers into her hair, he tugged until her neck tilted back, giving him more access to her body, which was already straining to meet him. He flicked his tongue in and out of the tight space between her breasts. “I’ve missed you, Anna,” he whispered, warming her skin with his moist breath.

A tightness in her chest warned her it was time to call a halt to this hedonistic game they were playing, lest she be drawn in to those old, powerful feelings again—but there was something she still wanted from him. Something she still
needed
from him.

As he nipped his way back up her neck, her skin buzzed with delight. Speaking soft and low in her ear, he repeated those wonderful words, “I want you,” and then pressed his cheek against hers. Their noses bumped, but neither one laughed. And that’s when it happened.

At last
.

Tenderly brushing her lips with his, he licked her mouth. Ravenous for his kiss, she opened for him, and he drove his tongue inside her mouth, stroking over hers rhythmically, with mounting urgency—showing her exactly what he wanted to do to her. His breath became her breath. His need became her need. His heartbeat became her heartbeat—as if their bodies had already joined, and yet, they were only kissing.

Only kissing
.

She'd waited for this kiss for twelve long years.

Twelve long years of radio silence.

Radio silence
. The phrase circled her brain like a relentless lyric she couldn’t get out of her head. Mustering all her will and all her reason, she slipped out of his grasp and rose from the couch. By the time she took a stumble-step backward, he was on his feet, coming after her.

“Don’t go, Anna,” he nearly growled.

“I’ll see you around, Charlie. Welcome home.”

He blinked rapidly and dragged a hand through his tousled hair. “How can you leave like this—after what just happened between us?”

Reaching for her purse she said, “I’m sorry. I’ll admit I got caught up in the moment, but nothing happened between us except a kiss.”

On top of her words, her phone rang, aiding her, jarring her back to planet earth. Charlie watched her with a
we’re-not-done-here
look on his face while she dug her phone out and put it to her ear.

“Are you with Drex?” She heard Nate’s voice on the other end of the phone.

“Yes, but—”

“He left his phone over here.”

Concentrating on Nate’s words, she cleared her throat and tried to sound composed. “I’ll tell him.”

“Put Drex on.” Nate’s voice didn’t sound composed at all. “There’s something wrong with the baby.”

Monday Morning

“W
HAT ABOUT THESE BRUISES
here on his bottom, when did you first notice them?” Charlie swept his hand above Bobby’s buttocks indicating several yellow-green marks, and a tense silence stretched the air taut, making the small exam room seem even more confining.

Simone shifted her weight from one foot to the other, flicked her gaze along the row of friendly dinosaurs bordering the ceiling, brushed a hank of red hair off her forehead, and then looked back at the dinosaurs. “Just now, when you pointed them out.”

Her answer surprised him…and the bruises concerned him. When Nate had telephoned Saturday night, Charlie had reassured him that the bruises he described—small ones on Bobby’s shins—sounded normal. He’d explained that it’s common for children, especially ones who crawl and toddle, to develop contusions over bony prominences.

The bruises he was looking at now, however, weren’t so normal. Unlike the knees and shins, a baby’s buttocks have plenty of padding, so bruising there raised a red flag. “What about you, Nate?” he asked.

His lifelong friend cupped his hand in his chin, and his brow drew down. “I haven’t seen them before now either. I don’t do much diaper changing.” Nate turned to Simone and opened his hands wide. “That’s an area where I need to help you out more, but I promise to do better in the future.”

Charlie frowned at Simone. “You’re at home with Bobby, right? No one else takes care of him. You don’t have a nanny? He doesn’t go to daycare?”

“I wouldn’t trust a nanny.” Her voice faltered, and her eyes misted up. Moving Charlie out of her way with a gentle shove, she set about fastening Bobby’s diaper.

Simone Carlisle was the last person Charlie would ever suspect of intentionally hurting her baby, and there were plenty of other etiologies on his differential. He hated the idea of even entertaining the idea of abuse. Still, as a pediatrician, he’d seen too many things he hadn’t wished to believe possible. So right now, he really needed a straight answer from Simone. “And yet you never noticed these bruises when you were changing Bobby’s diaper?”

“If they’d been there, of course I would have noticed them. But you’re not listening, Drex. They’re
new
. I’m the only one changing the diapers, and if those spots were there, I would have seen them. That’s
not
why we’re here. We brought Bobby in today because Nate noticed these black spots on Bobby’s little legs Saturday night, and we got scared.”

“But you made this appointment on Friday. If there were no bruises until Saturday, why did you call
Friday
to set up today’s appointment?”

Simone finished snapping Bobby’s onesie and lifted him into her arms. Drawing him close to her chest, she dropped her gaze and kept silent.

Nate crossed to his wife and child. “Babe, why didn’t you tell me that you already had an appointment set up for this morning? I wouldn’t have called Drex at home late like that.”

“I—I don’t know. I thought you wanted to tell Drex about leaving his phone at the house anyway, so I didn’t think to mention it.”

Charlie put his hand on Simone’s shoulder. A tremor ran through her. Keeping his voice steady, he said, “Here’s the problem I’m having right now. The bruises on Bobby’s bottom are yellow and that means they’re several days old. The bruises on his shins are newer—I know because they’re still dark brown and black.”

Simone jerked away from Charlie’s touch. “You think I hurt my baby? Is that what this interrogation is about?”

“Take it easy.” Nate put a protective arm around his wife’s waist. “Drex is our friend. He’s not accusing us of anything. He’s trying to help Bobby.” Nate’s Adam’s apple bobbed visibly. “But…are you sure those bruises started this morning, babe?”

Simone started to shake outright, and Nate tightened his arm around her, and then turned back to Charlie. “Does it really matter when Simone made the appointment or when the bruises on his bottom happened? I just want to make sure our baby is okay. I mean, I Googled
bruising
while Simone was dressing Bobby, and I found an article that said that could be a sign of leukemia.” Nate’s voice dropped an octave. “This is my kid, Drex. So, I just need to know what the hell is going on.”

“I’d like to put Bobby in the hospital overnight to run some tests and—”

Simone tightened her hold on Bobby. “You can’t put my baby in the hospital unless I say you can.”

“I certainly don’t
want
to put him the hospital without your consent, but the truth is I can get child protective services involved if I have to.”

Nate’s face reddened, and his voice rose in alarm. “For Chrissake, are you both crazy? Butting heads isn’t going to help anything.” He pried his son loose from Simone’s arms and gently cradled him in his own. “Bobby comes first. Period. So if Drex says Bobby needs to go in the hospital for tests, that’s where he’s going.”

Tuesday Evening

C
HARLIE OPENED THE
Carlisle front door, registered the scene in front of him, and then, with a burst of adrenaline churning blood through his veins and turbocharging his muscles, he bounded across the room. This was no
fight or flight
response—this was a 100 percent, grade-A, punch-your-goddamn-lights-out response.

Nathan Henry Carlisle Senior, also known to his family as
Sir,
had Anna’s wrists manacled in his grip. “All you gotta do is tell me where they are, sweetheart, and I’ll let you go.” His voice was urgent, yet low and cajoling—like he was coaxing a gun from the hands of a toddler.

Anna stood her ground, not flinching or acknowledging the implied threat as to what might happen if she didn’t tell him where Simone and Bobby were hiding.

Charlie hit his mark. Towering above Mr. Carlisle, he said, “Get your fucking hands off her
now
.” He could feel his voice vibrating through his clamped teeth.

In a flash, Carlisle released Anna’s wrists and put his hands up in a take-it-easy gesture.

Considering the fact that Charlie had a good three inches and at least forty pounds on the guy, it was smart of him not to argue the point. Unlike Charlie’s father, Nate’s dad wasn’t the type to resort to violence. He was, however, the type to try to make you believe that he might.

Nathan Henry Carlisle Senior was all about intimidation.

He ruled his family not with an iron fist, but with an iron heart.

Before Nate’s glory days in football, his dad had referred to him as a super-sized momma’s boy. It was only after Nate made a name for himself that his father labeled him a
chip off the old block
.

The cool thing about Nate, though, was that no matter how hard he tried to be one, he really wasn’t a
chip off the old block
at all. Nate cared far less about appearances than was befitting a Carlisle, and that had rubbed a sore spot in his relationship with his father.

Charlie glanced around his old friend’s living room, where family photographs, rather than football trophies, set the tone—despite the fact that Nate had plenty of those trophies languishing in his closet. His gaze landed on Nate, who slumped on the couch, his chin boring a hole in his chest, his lips thinned into a worried line, his eyes downcast but red and puffy enough for Charlie to see from clear across the room that he’d been crying.

His throat tightened, and his attention swung back to Anna, who was still waging a standoff with Nate’s father. Carlisle’s body canted toward her. Hands fisted at her sides, her body retaliated, canting toward Carlisle.

The meek girl he knew in high school would’ve avoided confrontation and stepped back. This side of Anna was new to Charlie, and he wondered what else had changed about her in the past decade. Frowning, he smoothed a hand across his hair. It simply wasn’t possible she could be covering up for Simone.

“Where are they, Anna?” he asked, with that same angry vibration in his voice. Deliberately, he relaxed his jaw, which was beginning to ache.

Anna pulled her shoulders high, turned her back on Carlisle and looked straight past Charlie. Addressing Nate she said, “If I knew where Simone and Bobby were, I’d tell you. But I didn’t even know they’d gone missing from the hospital until you called me. I came here to help.”

Turning back to Charlie, she met his eyes and then Carlisle’s. “If we can move past this ridiculous accusation that Simone told me where she was taking Bobby, maybe we can get this show on the road and figure out how to get them back home where they belong.”

“I don’t believe you,” Carlisle grunted. “Simone tells you everything.”

“In this case she didn’t.” Anna crossed to the couch and folded down beside Nate, rested a hand on his shoulder. “So can someone please fill me in?”

“This afternoon, Simone took Bobby out of the hospital AMA—against medical advice.” Charlie sat down on the other side of Nate. “She apparently came home, packed some of Bobby’s things, and—”