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His phone buzzed in his back pocket, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt the vibration on his ass. He snatched out the phone, spotting a familiar image of him and Jolene on the screen. His wife was calling. He couldn’t talk to her right now. Not after what he’d done. He’d done it for them, though, and as badly as he wanted to regret it, he couldn’t. The only thing he regretted was that the situation had turned so ugly so quickly. All Brynn had to do was sign and walk away. That was it.
Dominic let the call go on silently, slipping the phone back into his pocket and carrying himself to the den. Crickets chirped and cicadas croaked, and at exactly nine p.m., a knock was at the door.
He checked the peephole first and a thin man stood on the other side, holding an oversized kitbag. He was dressed regularly, but also had protective booties on his feet. Dominic cracked the door open, and the man faced him, wearing an industrial mask. His skin was pale beneath the mask, his gray hair sticking up at all kinds of angles, as if he’d been near static.
“Came here for a cleaning job,” the man said.
“Uh, yes. This way.”
The man stepped inside, looking all around. Dominic showed him to the master bedroom, and the man made a tsk tsk noise as he dropped his large bag on the floor. “What a mess,” the man mumbled.
Dominic stood by the door, watching as the man bent down to open his bag. The bag unraveled, revealing three sections with tools, bottles, baggies, and other items he’d never seen before. The man pulled out a black handheld device, unfolded it, and a blue light appeared on one end. He moved the wand around, revealing little white dots and splatters. The light went past the pool of blood and Dominic felt like he was going to be sick as the blood lit up like snow on the legs of the bed and even the dresser. The man was looking for stains in any and all places, and there was much more in the room than Dominic had anticipated. How had this become his life? He felt weak in the knees as the man closed the wand.
“Going downstairs,” Dominic announced, but he was already away from the room, gripping the banister and trudging his way down. He sunk to the sofa, shaking while staring at an abstract painting on the wall, until the cleaner popped up an hour later and said, “All done.”
“That’s it?” Dominic rose to his feet. He noticed the man’s kitbag in one hand and an orange hazard bag in the other.
“That’s it. Nothing will be found. Did a double cleaning, in fact.” The man looked Dominic all over, as if assessing him, and he wanted to shrink. Would this man tell someone about him being here? And where the hell was Boaz? What exactly was he doing with Brynn’s body?
“Do you do a lot of these jobs?” Dominic inquired.
The cleaner shrugged. “At least three or four a year.”
Dominic swallowed. “And you don’t tell anyone about them?”
The man smiled behind his mask. “I’d be out of a job if I went around telling people what I do for a living.”
Dominic nodded, wanting to find comfort in those words, but they only made him wary. The man left, and he cursed himself for not finding out his name.
Dominic’s stomach was grumbling as midnight approached. Boaz specifically told him not to leave, yet he hadn’t called or returned to the house. He began to panic, dialing Boaz’s number repeatedly and not getting an answer. In between that, Jolene was shooting him text messages. He hadn’t answered her call and she was clearly upset about it, and if he wanted things to seem normal, he had to play it cool, so he texted her back. He lied, saying he was golfing with John, then at a bar for drinks. She asked him why he hadn’t responded to her last night, and he told her he fell asleep. Another lie.
He was tempted to leave—get as far away from this house as possible—but then his phone rang close to two in the morning. Boaz was calling.
“Get all your stuff, get in your car, and leave,” Boaz murmured. He gave him instructions on where to meet him and Dominic hastily collected his keys, duffel bag, and bolted out of the house.
THIRTY-SIX
JOLENE
I’m sitting on the sofa, a glass of wine in hand and my laptop on the couch beside me, How to Get Away with Murder playing in the background, when I hear the front door slam. I gasp and nearly spill my wine when I hear footsteps thundering through the house.
“Dominic?” I call.
No answer.
I stand, walking around the corner to check the foyer. It’s empty. I look in the kitchen and he’s not there either. I hear footsteps above and set my wine glass down on the kitchen counter before making my way up. My red satin robe from Lovely Silk sashays around my ankles as I hurry up and find him in our bedroom. The closet door is open, and he’s coming out of it with a set of clothes. On the bed, he has a duffel bag, and he stuffs the clothes into it.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Where are you going?”
“I have something to do,” he says before disappearing into the closet again. He comes back out with a pair of tennis shoes and dress shoes and stuffs them into the bag too.
“Dominic, what’s going on? Why are you in such a rush?” I demand.
“I’m just—I have to go. I need time to prepare for the rally Saturday.”
“And you can’t do that here?” Not that I want him here, but still . . . it is his home.
“No. I have meetings, things in between. Better that I get a head start in Charlotte.”
