It was counterproductive to make him angry. He was a prime manipulator, but being with him all those years, I had learned a thing or two. “Do you want to make love?” I turned over and faced him. The blinds over the window let in slits of moonlight. I could see him staring at me. “Yes or no?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “I’ve been pestering you nonstop for over a week. Now, all of a sudden, you’re horny?”

I tucked an errant hair behind his ear and stroked his cheek. “You’re a very attractive man, Donatti.”

He smiled. “Think so?”

“I do.” I kissed his lips. “You are my silver fox.”

“More like your white fox.”

“Even rarer.”

He kissed me with passion. “I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work.”

“What am I doing?”

“You are not going to weaken my resolve, little girl.”

“Resolve about what?”

“Terry, we fuck and then we go to sleep. No talking.”

“Okay.” I pushed his head between my legs. I closed my eyes and let him begin to work his magic.

A moment later, he picked his head up and said, “You know, I might be more loquacious if you let me do your ass.”

“No ass. And stop talking.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When it was time, I pulled his chest to mine and let him finish both of us. Afterward, he scooped me in his arms, and within a minute, he was sleeping. His words played in my head.

You are not going to weaken my resolve.

Which meant he was doing something. And for now, that was all I cared about. I had to think that Sanjay was okay. To think anything else was way too frightening. Chris was smart. He could do this.

I turned on my other side and he pulled me deeper into his embrace, my back against his chest. His body was still lean, his arms muscular and strong. He was delicious in his toxic masculinity: tough and brutal and mean.

The men who beat me up and took away my son were also tough and brutal and mean.

Fight fire with fire.

CHAPTER 11

IT HAD BEEN great to see Margie, to be taken back to an earlier time when Decker was at the top of his game. Not that Greenbury didn’t have its crime, but mostly, it was a sleepy little college town. Pauline Corbett’s murder was the exception. It brought out the real detective in him, injecting a bit of youth and making him more determined than ever to find out what really happened. For the last hour, Decker had been on the computer, trying to dig up a current address for Blake Baer, Pauline’s second husband.

McAdams was sitting at his desk, across from Decker’s. He said, “Well, we don’t have to worry about Jerome Neisman.”

“Who?”