The Quickie - James Patterson [8]
Scott was opening the door, when he suddenly stopped and turned, staring back at me.
“What?” I said. “Changed your mind about cooking?”
“I . . . ,” he said, “I guess I’m just glad we did this tonight, Lauren. I wasn’t sure if you would go through with it. I’m glad you did. I’m really glad we did.”
Wow, I thought, smiling as he closed the door. I looked out at the storm-racked Hudson. Scott probably had the right idea, didn’t he? Live for the moment. Forever young. Carefree. Maybe I could get used to this.
I glanced at my watch. Just after one. Where was I supposed to be now? In bed in some cramped Virginia Marriott.
Sorry, Paul, I thought. But remember, you started this.
I decided to call him and get it over with. It was as good a time as any to go through the motions. Paul liked charades, didn’t he?
I could play at that game, too, I thought as I rolled off the bed, looking for my bag and my cell phone.
Chapter 11
THERE’S MY BOY, Paul thought as Scott Thayer threw open the side door of the garage. Hey there, Scotty.
Dressed all in black and crouched in the shadows along the ivy-covered wall beside Scott’s parked motorcycle, Paul knew he wouldn’t be seen. Besides, it was raining like hell.
Paul hefted the golf club as Scott came across the driveway and entered the dark street. Time to show this son of a bitch the error of his ways.
Scott was ten feet away. Five.
Then suddenly, inexplicably, horribly, there was music blaring from somewhere. From him! From Paul’s jacket pocket! His cell phone was going off!
No! Paul thought, reaching down to silence the stupid “Tainted Love” ring tone. Why the hell hadn’t he left his cell in the car?
He was fumbling to turn it off with his free hand when Scott Thayer crashed into him at a run. Paul’s breath left him as he was knocked backward onto the muddy ground.
He looked up, meeting Scott’s wide eyes.
“You!” Scott said in shock. The golf club disappeared out of Paul’s hand as Scott kick-smashed his motorcycle boot into Paul’s fingers. Then Scott lifted Paul off his feet and threw him into the air. Paul cried out as his back struck something painfully hard. It was the Ducati. He and the bike went over in a pitiful heap.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were planning on doing me some harm tonight, Mr. Stillwell,” Scott said, not even breathing heavily. He lifted the fallen club as he slowly approached.
“Something like this could really hurt somebody,” Scott said, waving the 3 iron at him like a chiding finger. “Here, let me show you.”
Chapter 12
I STOOD THERE, FROZEN, my nose millimeters from the rain-streaked glass as I looked out at the private street in front of the garage.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. This isn’t happening, I thought. It can’t be happening.
Paul was here?
And he and Scott were fighting in the street! Really going at each other.
I’d gone to the window when I heard the crash of the motorcycle. Then I found myself immobile, unable to do anything but stand and stare at the unbelievable scene.
Of course Paul was here, I thought, reeling. What an idiot I’d been! Scott and I hadn’t been discreet. We’d sent e-mails back and forth. I’d actually put Scott’s number in my cell phone. Paul had simply started keeping tabs.
Guilt rattled through me. And fear.
What had I been thinking?
For weeks I’d tortured myself, imagining Paul with his blonde lover. Night after night, I’d envisioned them making love in their St. Regis suite. I was wallowing in the pain that only a spouse who realizes they’re being cheated on feels. Pathetic.
But imagining was one thing.
Doing the same thing as revenge was another.
I’d just had a quickie for Christ’s sake!
I watched, helpless, as Paul and Scott crashed into each other. Then the fight moved out of my line of sight, blocked by the vine-covered wall across the street. The two of them became just shadows. Violent ones that grappled and walloped and kicked at each other. What was happening now?
I couldn’t think of what to do. Call out? Try to stop them?
And I was only looking at the preamble.