Divorced, Desperate, and Delicious

Chapter 6

Without waiting for an answer, Chase shuffled down the hall. Every muscle in his body cried for mercy, but thankfully the few hours of sleep had taken the edge off his exhaustion.

“If I were coffee, where would I be?” He scanned the kitchen until he spotted a red canister sitting beside the coffeemaker. Moving slowly, he started the pot and then went to the fridge.

“Eat the tuna and pick up a gallon of milk.”

Chase stared at the appliance. “Okay, we’ll eat the tuna. Does that make you happy?”

The fridge didn’t answer. Not that he really expected it to, but then again, who’d have guessed he’d be listening to an appliance to begin with? He opened a few Tupperware bowls until he found the suggested menu. Just to be safe, he gave it the sniff test and the important once-over for any unnatural green substance. Deeming it safe, he found mayonnaise and pickle relish. Grabbing a utensil from the dishwasher, he added a spoonful of both.

Waiting for the coffee to brew, he raked a hand though his hair, flinching when he came to the knot on his head where his captive had bashed him with the singing fish. “It could have been worse,” he mumbled, and an image of Zeke holding a gun to his temple flashed through his mind. He looked at the phone on the counter, wondering who he should call, or if he could trust anyone. He remembered that Lacy’s friend had said they were at the lake looking for his body. She had also mentioned Detective Dodd. Detective Jason Dodd.

Chase couldn’t help but wonder what his ex-partner was thinking. Would he believe Chase was guilty? Chase tried to think of what he’d feel if the tables were turned—if Jason were suspected of stealing coke, of taking the life of a fellow officer, of being dead at the bottom of some river. The scenario brought a gutful of regrets into Chase’s stomach.

He’d met Jason upon entering the force eleven years ago. Jason had stood as best man at Chase’s wedding and had spent almost every Sunday at Chase’s house eating barbeque and drinking beer. Sarah had welcomed Jason as part of the family. Then Sarah got sick and everything in Chase’s life changed. Everything.

A different ache attacked his heart

Chase scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed to concentrate on his problems with Zeke, not sit around taking trips down memory lane. Looking around the kitchen, he knew he shouldn’t wear out his welcome here either. Lacy Maguire had been more than hospitable, considering she was handcuffed to the bed. Well, she wouldn’t go hungry with him around. And according to her fridge, she liked tuna.

Chase remembered waking up to the feel of her hand low on his belly. A smile pulled at his lips as he recalled the conversation he’d overheard between her and her friend. Running a hand over his mouth, his mind flashed to the look on her face when he’d stepped out of the bathroom without a shirt. Lacy’s eyes had held more than fear; some genuine female interest had flickered in those vivid baby blues.

“Don’t go there,” he said to himself. When this mess ended, he’d visit Jessie and work off his sexual frustrations. Maybe he’d even bring the handcuffs.

With Jessie, his neighbor, he found gratifying, no-strings-attached sex. It was a bodily function that brought release and pleasure, like taking a hot shower, or getting a massage after a workout. It had taken him over a year after burying Sarah to realize the difference between sex and what he’d shared with his wife. Basic sex was a function, a release. What he’d shared with Sarah had been intimacy and love.

Closing his eyes to the past, he squared his shoulders and locked the emotion back in the black box he stored away deep inside himself. A second later he found dishes in the cabinet, chips in the pantry. Then, with two plates balanced on one arm and two cups of coffee held in the other hand, he started down the hall.