Read Online Under the Covers by Rita Herron - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rita Herron
Tags: Fiction, General, Family & Relationships, Romance, Historical, Contemporary, Psychology, Adult, Love Stories, Authors, Marriage, Psychotherapy, counseling, Sex Therapists, Marriage Counselors, Marriage Counseling
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and get that Little League story, too, while you're at it."
Hunter nodded and headed to the door. He'd knock that little piece out in no time, then check to see what he could dig up on Abby's husband.
But first he'd head toward the arts center and find Abby's sister, Chelsea.
He had a feeling she would lead him to the story of a lifetime.
* * *
Victoria's questions about Lenny had needled Abby all the way home.
She literally tore apart her new house looking for evidence that her husband—no, her faux husband—might have been involved in a conspiracy with Tony Milano. Adding an arrest for impeding an investigation to her growing repertoire of mistakes would only add more madness to the mayhem. She did not want to be caught unaware if the police approached her with accusations or questions. If she found anything, she'd call Victoria.
Two hours later, she stared at the disheveled boxes and her belongings, which lay scattered helter-skelter all over the room. Clothes, books, magazines, shoes, kitchen gadgets, and small household odds and ends littered the floor. Some of the sketches that had accompanied the chapters in her book sat propped against her desk. She blushed slightly at the nude poses, tempted to put the pictures away. But she needed to remember that she was a sexual being, an appealing woman. It wasn't her fault Lenny had stopped wanting to sleep with her.
He was simply gay.
Trying to make herself believe his lack of interest in her wasn't her fault was another story, though. She had to wonder if she'd been deficient in some way....
Haunted by his lies, she riffled through her office files, studying the ones relating to their finances and investments, but found nothing out of the ordinary.
Nada. Not one thing in her house pointed to Lenny as a criminal.
Unless she counted the fraudulent marriage.
Grateful for small favors, she pocketed her keys, headed to her trusty Toyota, and drove toward the old apartment she and Lenny had shared. The rent had been paid through the remainder of the month, and she still had a key. Had Lenny returned to retrieve his things or were they still there? And if they were, would she find evidence of his betrayal?
* * *
A sliver of guilt had attacked Hunter on the way to the arts center, so he decided to try one last time to get an upfront interview with the good doctor. He climbed the steps to her porch, a summer shower threatening, the heat beating down on him like a sledgehammer. The blue Williamsburg-style cottage looked like something out of the movies. A white picket fence. Bird feeders in the yard. A patch of impatiens in a flower bed along the front with marigolds in pots on the front porch. Nice and homey and old-fashioned. Traditional.
Not at all the type of outlandish, wild place he might have expected from the contemporary sex therapist.
Dismissing the unsettling feeling that she might not be the vixen he believed, he planned a little persuasive argument. He'd hint that he knew she was hiding something, and if she spoke with him, he'd cut her a break and write the story from her viewpoint. He'd even suck up and tell her how much he admired her work.
How could she resist a fair deal like that?
He tucked his white shirt into his khakis, adopted a non-threatening smile, and punched the doorbell. He only hoped his charm worked with Abby Jensen. Several seconds passed while he waited, the drilling sound of a woodpecker hammering at the roof invading the quiet. He punched the bell again, shifting from foot to foot as he waited. Nothing. Three more times he rang, adding a loud knock to the door just in case she didn't hear the bell.
Still nothing.
Was she home, simply ignoring him?
He glanced at the small garage but the windowless room offered no clue as to whether her car was parked inside, so he stepped to the right side of the porch and peered inside her front window.
His curiosity stirred further.
A group of charcoal drawings of nudes engaged in various
Hunter nodded and headed to the door. He'd knock that little piece out in no time, then check to see what he could dig up on Abby's husband.
But first he'd head toward the arts center and find Abby's sister, Chelsea.
He had a feeling she would lead him to the story of a lifetime.
* * *
Victoria's questions about Lenny had needled Abby all the way home.
She literally tore apart her new house looking for evidence that her husband—no, her faux husband—might have been involved in a conspiracy with Tony Milano. Adding an arrest for impeding an investigation to her growing repertoire of mistakes would only add more madness to the mayhem. She did not want to be caught unaware if the police approached her with accusations or questions. If she found anything, she'd call Victoria.
Two hours later, she stared at the disheveled boxes and her belongings, which lay scattered helter-skelter all over the room. Clothes, books, magazines, shoes, kitchen gadgets, and small household odds and ends littered the floor. Some of the sketches that had accompanied the chapters in her book sat propped against her desk. She blushed slightly at the nude poses, tempted to put the pictures away. But she needed to remember that she was a sexual being, an appealing woman. It wasn't her fault Lenny had stopped wanting to sleep with her.
He was simply gay.
Trying to make herself believe his lack of interest in her wasn't her fault was another story, though. She had to wonder if she'd been deficient in some way....
Haunted by his lies, she riffled through her office files, studying the ones relating to their finances and investments, but found nothing out of the ordinary.
Nada. Not one thing in her house pointed to Lenny as a criminal.
Unless she counted the fraudulent marriage.
Grateful for small favors, she pocketed her keys, headed to her trusty Toyota, and drove toward the old apartment she and Lenny had shared. The rent had been paid through the remainder of the month, and she still had a key. Had Lenny returned to retrieve his things or were they still there? And if they were, would she find evidence of his betrayal?
* * *
A sliver of guilt had attacked Hunter on the way to the arts center, so he decided to try one last time to get an upfront interview with the good doctor. He climbed the steps to her porch, a summer shower threatening, the heat beating down on him like a sledgehammer. The blue Williamsburg-style cottage looked like something out of the movies. A white picket fence. Bird feeders in the yard. A patch of impatiens in a flower bed along the front with marigolds in pots on the front porch. Nice and homey and old-fashioned. Traditional.
Not at all the type of outlandish, wild place he might have expected from the contemporary sex therapist.
Dismissing the unsettling feeling that she might not be the vixen he believed, he planned a little persuasive argument. He'd hint that he knew she was hiding something, and if she spoke with him, he'd cut her a break and write the story from her viewpoint. He'd even suck up and tell her how much he admired her work.
How could she resist a fair deal like that?
He tucked his white shirt into his khakis, adopted a non-threatening smile, and punched the doorbell. He only hoped his charm worked with Abby Jensen. Several seconds passed while he waited, the drilling sound of a woodpecker hammering at the roof invading the quiet. He punched the bell again, shifting from foot to foot as he waited. Nothing. Three more times he rang, adding a loud knock to the door just in case she didn't hear the bell.
Still nothing.
Was she home, simply ignoring him?
He glanced at the small garage but the windowless room offered no clue as to whether her car was parked inside, so he stepped to the right side of the porch and peered inside her front window.
His curiosity stirred further.
A group of charcoal drawings of nudes engaged in various
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