Rachel Alexander 02 - The Dog who knew too much

the dark for what I knew was there. When I heard him coming up the stairs, I quietly closed the drawer.
    He put the tea on the nightstand.
    I was waiting for him to kiss me again, but instead he just touched my cheek, turned, and headed down the wooden steps.
    I ached to call him back.
    I slid quickly off the bed and went to the top of the stairs, just in time to see Paul lean over the little blue table, pick up an envelope from the pile of Lisa’s mail, and slip it into his jacket pocket. Then he put on his shoes, tied the laces, and reached for the door.
    I heard the knob squeak. It needed oiling.
    I watched the door open, then close.
    Damn. Why hadn’t I opened Lisa’s mail? I had to see what he had taken.
    At any cost.
    I tore down the stairs, praying he’d still be in the hall. Not knowing what I’d do or say, only knowing I had to get that envelope, I pulled the door open. There he was, just standing there, facing me, his hands at his sides.
    “I couldn’t go,” he muttered.
    “I know,” I said, my hands around his neck, pulling him back inside.
    As I backed into the living room, he was kissing me, my eyes, my mouth, my neck. He took one of my hands from behind his head and pressed the palm to his lips. I could feel his heat on me, and my own, setting me on fire.
    “We can’t,” I moaned into his neck.
    There had to be another way to get that letter back, I thought. Hell, I could just ask for it.
    “Of course we can,” he said, “I’m a coach. I’ll see us through.”
    And then we were on that soft black couch.
    Was it my grandmother Sonya, right before Hannukah , who had said, To receive everything, one must open one’s hand and give? Or was it Taisen Deshimaru ?
    Either way, I opened one hand and held it up for Paul to see what was in it while I slipped the other hand into his pocket. He took the foil-wrapped condom I had taken from Lisa’s nightstand and put it carefully on the flow next to the couch, where he could easily find it when he needed it. Then he took off his glasses, folded them, and placed them there, too. While he did that, I stuffed the envelope that had been in his pocket between two of the couch cushions. Then, the lamppost light shining in on us like moonlight, he began to take off my clothes.
    Later we moved upstairs. Dashiell grunted as I slipped into bed next to him. Paul said he had to go, but apparently he didn’t mean immediately. Once again I opened my arms to him, even though it was patently clear that this time there were no pockets to frisk in his outfit.
    No one could ever accuse me of not giving my all to the job.
    It was past eleven when he finally got up to leave. I strained to hear his bare feet on the stairs. As he got dressed, Lisa’s place began to seem so lonely I could hardly stand it.
    I slipped out of bed and went to the head of the stairs, figuring I’d snag one more good-night kiss. But the door was already closing.
    I thought of tearing after him again, leaving myself not a shred of dignity in the bargain, but something else happened, something that made me freeze in place.
    I heard a key slipping into the lock. Holding tight to the railing, I was barely breathing when the tumbler turned over.
    I suddenly felt chilled. I went downstairs and pulled the velvet shawl from my backpack, slipping it around me as I walked into the dark living room.
    I walked over to the couch and slid the envelope out from between the cushions.
    Lisa and Paul had been lovers, I told myself, trying to stop my heart from pounding.
    Of course he’d have her apartment keys.
    That didn’t mean he had her work keys.
    Did it?

19

She Rolled Her Eyes When She Read It

    SITTING ON LISA’S couch, I tore open the envelope I had retrieved from Paul’s pocket and by the light of the lamppost coming in through the windows discovered what it was that Paul Wilcox had not wanted me to see. As soon as I had, I went through the rest of the mail, finding yet another real surprise.
    I pushed the play button on Lisa’s answering machine, listening to the lonely sound of the dial tone as I got dressed. Then I woke Dashiell, locked up, and took the stairs down to the lobby.
    “Ms. Alexander?” the concierge said as soon as he saw me. “Wait up. I have something for you.”
    “For me?”
    “Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t catch you on your way in. I must have been on my break. I see he’s back,” he said, handing me a bouquet of roses. “These came this afternoon. I guess he