Skully, Perdition Games Read online

  “Hey, good girl. That’s what I mean about making my life easier.” He tossed her the keys.

  Water filled her shoes while she trudged through the downpour. “Breathe,” she whispered to the rain, “it’s just your life.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Gabriella

  “WHAT’S FOR DINNER?” her husband asked.

  She always felt disappointed when Derek came home. It was hard to breathe when he was in the house. She had to watch every word she said and struggle to hide her simmering resentment.

  Ignoring him, Gabriella spoke to the dog. “Want a treat?” She held out a slice of carrot.

  “I hope it’s not salad, I had that for lunch.” Derek peered over her shoulder at the vegetables on the kitchen island.

  “Hamburgers.” She braced herself for the inevitable interrogation. Her husband was… particular.

  “Homemade?”

  “No, frozen Waygu burgers.”

  He sighed. “Come on, Gabby.” He snatched the box to examine the ingredients.

  Derek was a food Nazi, scrutinizing everything’s nutritional value. Fighting to keep her tone neutral, Gabriella asked, “What do you want to eat?”

  He slapped his hand against the countertop. “Stop making me out to be an asshole. It’s reasonable for a man to expect his wife to make a homemade dinner. Are you going gourmet with hot dogs for Reece Hash tomorrow night?”

  Ignoring the sarcasm in his tone, she replied with the name of the first dish that came to mind, “Beef Bourguignon.”

  She didn’t recall her husband mentioning a dinner party. If she challenged him, he’d accuse her of selective memory again. It was a constant battle with them. Derek would make some claim and she’d argue it never happened.

  “Let’s hope they aren’t preachy vegans. Reece was a carnivore in university, but you never know these days.”

  Gabriella hated dinner parties. Small talk was torture and being around people made her uncomfortable. One day without someone judging her and finding her wanting would be heaven.

  Maybe it was some sort of business affair and she could hide in the kitchen, playing servant. “What does Reece do?”

  “He was an OPP Inspector in some hick detachment in southern Ontario. His girlfriend, Sam McNamara, is a PI. Even you must have heard about her. You read newspapers, don’t you?”

  A woman was coming. Derek would expect her to entertain the girlfriend. “I know about her involvement with those deaths in Uthisca over the winter.”

  McNamara… why did that name sound familiar?

  She recalled living near a family with that last name when she was a teenager. Her sister was friends with one of the girls, but they’d moved. Was Sam the name of the younger sister? The last thing Gabriella wanted was someone popping up from her past. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down. It wasn’t an unusual name. She was overreacting, again.

  But it was an intimate gathering with just one other couple. All dinner parties were torture, but hosting large events provided her with a legitimate reason to disappear into the kitchen without raising suspicion. This one promised to be a disaster. What was she going to talk to a PI about? She was on the verge of a panic attack, and the woman wasn’t even in her house yet.

  Derek took a carrot from the chopping board and nibbled on it. “Reece left the OPP and joined her PI practice after that cult mess. He was a real player in university, always had a herd of hot girls hanging around him. Smart guy, too.” He shook his head. “I’ll be interest to see why he threw it all away for this woman.”

  It sounded like Reece and Derek would have lots of catching up to do. If she was lucky, the girlfriend was one of those clinging women who were mesmerized by their partner’s past. Gabriella again visualized herself hiding in the kitchen. “Were you good friends at university?”

  “No, I’m fifteen years older. Ivey students stay together anyway. You know that.”

  It was too bad he hadn’t respected that rule when she was seventeen and attending her second semester at Western over the summer. Her drunkard father had abandoned the family that April, and there was Derek. He was so good-looking, confident, and successful. Everything her father wasn’t.

  Derek had strolled over to her table at the quad, holding two coffees. “We’re going to share an extraordinary experience,” he’d said, handing her a coffee. “We’re going to fall in love.”

  Within a year, she was pregnant and he asked her to marry him and follow him to Toronto. It was a chance for a fresh start, and she’d believed he was a man who would keep her safe. She’d been wrong.

  She looked over at her husband, lounging against the kitchen counter. The grey in his hair made him distinguished, and the lines in his face gave him character instead of aging him. He was fit and handsome and a lying cheater.

  “If you weren’t friends, why invite him?” she asked.

  Derek crossed his arms against his chest. “For Christ sake, I told you last night. His girlfriend’s stepfather is one of Canada’s richest men. We need support if I’m going to make it to Ottawa. Do you listen to anything I say?”

  He hadn’t told her anything about this last night. She understood he was preoccupied with the campaign, but this was gaslighting, a sick psychological game of twisting the truth so she’d doubt her sanity.

  Instead of arguing, she continued to chop vegetables for the side salad, watching from the corner of her eye when he went to the dining room bar and poured a drink. He knew how she felt about alcohol, especially drinking through the week. It didn’t matter to Derek. He never considered her feelings.

  Twenty years of marriage and it was still all about Derek. She tried, but nothing was good enough for him. In some ways, their union made sense. If she’d married less of a narcissist, the man would have realized how odd she was and left years ago. It was a terrible feeling to know you have to settle because you aren’t worth loving. Her father had taught her that awful truth. He hadn’t left her mother. Gabriella knew in her heart that he’d left her.

  She was a heartbeat away from a total meltdown. Weird dreams were interrupting her sleep, and exhaustion escalated her bitter anger over how miserable her life was.

  After her father deserted them, Gabriella had tried to talk to her mother about the strange dreams. Mama claimed she’d inherited An Da Shealladh, warning her that the dreams were the ‘two sights’. It was frustrating trying to explain the nightmares. She was in the dreams, acting in a way she wouldn’t and doing things she’d never do. Mama was wrong because the dreams weren’t prophecies. None came true. They were terrifying movie reels of her performing in someone else’s life.

  Thanks to her loser father abandoning them, her broken-hearted mother was insane when she died. The breast cancer she’d refused to treat was part of the issue, but Gabriella worried that mental illness had been Mama’s real problem. She’d read it could be hereditary.

  Again, thanks to her selfish, alcoholic dad, she’d looked after her mother alone while cancer rotted her body. The end had been awful. She couldn’t remember her mother’s final hours. Apparently, she’d called 911, but she didn’t remember being home at the time.

  The doctors were judgmental and suspicious. They had even accused her of overdosing her mother on morphine. She was eighteen and was the best caregiver she could be. It was so unfair. Was it any wonder she’d lost large chunks of her memory? All she could remember now was the anger and a deep-rooted fear of doctors, particularly mental health professionals.

  Derek snapped his fingers in front of her face. “You’re zoning out again. You have that absent stare.” He flicked her jacket. “Why didn’t you change out of your suit?”

  “I just got home. Jack…” She paused while slicing the hamburger buns. “Ah… Jack wanted me to sort his divorce papers.”

  Was that the reason she was late? The Prima Donna had taken her for lunch. She’d walked through the rain to get his car in the restaurant parking lot, which was how she’d ruined her
shoes. The rest of the afternoon was gone.

  “I had lunch with Jack today,” she told him. “I want to quit.”

  He studied her. “I know he’s an asshole but I plan to ask him to donate to my campaign. You need to stick it out. Besides, your salary is pretty good, and we need the money right now.”

  “Jack told me he likes Mad Men, because the ‘gals’ get it.”

  Derek laughed. “No way.”

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  “Well, that gives you a point of reference, I guess. An insulting one, I give you that.”

  “I hate the job and loathe Jack.”

  “Don’t be so intense,” Derek said. “It’s just a paycheque. Jack’s a joke and his divorce is the talk of the courthouse. He’s screwing the hell out of his wife financially.”

  He gulped his scotch, smacked his lips, and leaned across the large island. “I heard the hydro was turned off in the house because his wife couldn’t pay the bill.” He shrugged. “I get it since she never worked a day in her life.”

  “She did raise their two kids.”

  He shrugged again. “They don’t live at home.”

  “So it’s okay to leave your wife of thirty-five years destitute?”

  “I didn’t say that. You’re twisting everything around. I’m the one who said he’s an asshole.” He marched to the bar and poured another drink. “You better be careful around those divorce papers,” he cautioned with a sly look. “Opposing counsel has the right to subpoena you.”

  “I signed a non-disclosure and confidentiality agreement.”

  He laughed. “So? That’s with the company, not with Jack personally. Come on, I’m curious. It’s not easy to hide money, tell me how he’s doing it.”

  Every night it was the same thing. All Derek wanted to talk about was Jack Belinski and his reputed net worth. Her husband didn’t care how miserable she was. He didn’t even bother to pretend any more. If she hadn’t quit school, she wouldn’t be in this mess. Gabriella turned to the sink, fighting back rage.

  “I hear he’s as rich as Bill Gates is,” Derek said.

  “Jack isn’t even close to being in the same league as Bill Gates.”

  “You know,” he said, “if you told me where the money was, I could extend a professional courtesy to his wife’s lawyer by suggesting a few places to look.” He put his arm around her shoulder and whispered in her ear. “Or I could speak to Jack about being fair. You know, scare him into doing the right thing.”

  Well, now she understood why Derek was pestering her about her boss’s private life. Her husband wasn’t above a bit of blackmail to secure funding for his political dreams. Jack was rich, stupid, and arrogant. An ideal target for Derek.

  She squirmed under his touch. “That’s unethical.”

  “I guess I shouldn’t expect a secretary to understand anything about business.”

  Pure hate flowed over her, causing her to throw down the tea towel she was using to dry the knife. “I’m an executive assistant.”

  “Executive assistant, secretary, whatever.”

  She clenched her fingers around the handle of the butcher knife. “Fine, if you think my job is so unimportant, you won’t care if I quit.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why do you always have to be so dramatic?” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “I can’t have a conversation with you. You’re impossible.”

  He stomped out of the kitchen. A moment later, a door slammed. She waited a couple of minutes before creeping down the hallway to listen at the closed office door.

  “I’m sick to death of trying to deal with her. She’s going to ruin my chances of advancing in the party.”

  There was a long pause. When Derek spoke again, his voice was husky and slow. “Well, that does sound interesting, Counsellor. Are we talking about a small landing patch or are you smooth as a dolphin?”

  Another pause, shorter this time, followed by her husband’s voice. “Baby, I have no problem landing my plane in your hanger.” His sickening giggle made Gabriella’s skin crawl. “Yeah, give me an hour. I’ll grab a shower and be right over.”

  A longer pause, followed by Derek’s throaty laugh. “Yeah, I’ll make it nice and clean for you. Get that red lipstick I like and meet me at the door in your stilettos, painted lips and nothing else.”

  Another whore. Gabriella wasn’t surprised, but finding out for sure was infuriating. She’d moved him into the spare bedroom after the last affair. At least she possessed the self-respect to do that, but Derek took it as permission to pick up women whenever the notion moved him. Choking back angry tears, she returned to the kitchen.

  How had her life become this sham? All she ever felt was fury. All she did was wait helplessly for something to change and hope things would improve. She closed her eyes, and a feeling of impending doom rose until she was suffocating. She stood still, whispering to herself.

  A few moments passed before her eyes snapped open. “Cheating fucker.” She tugged at the scarf around her neck and went to her room to change her clothes.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Derek

  DEREK PATTED A generous amount of Hugo Boss cologne on his shaved cheeks and neck, rubbing the remainder on the shaft of his penis. He carefully finished manscaping and stood at the mirror to admire how much bigger the trunk looked without the bush. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he thrust his hips and his penis waved at the mirror.

  Naked, he left the bathroom and headed down the hall to his bedroom. Gabriella was talking in the kitchen. He paused. She must be using their new polycom because he could hear the person on the other end.

  “I hate my job,” Gabriella said.

  “Then quit,” came the reply.

  “You know I can’t do that.”

  A clear sigh. The audio quality was amazing. The state-of-the-art technology was living up to its reputation, so paying the extra had been the right decision.

  “Life isn’t all about money,” the voice said. “You’re a golden handcuff slave. Didn’t you learn anything from me? You’re not happy so stop being such a wimp and do something about it. At times like these, you have to be selfish. Enough is enough and I’m going to deal with it for you. If you don’t get what you need, take it by force.”

  Lovely advice to give a wife and mother, Derek thought. Gabriella must have called her sister to whine about him again. Right, he was a jerk for expecting his wife to hold down a job. He made a good living but Gabriella loved to spend money. Who did her sister think was going to pay for the expensive house, cars, and redecorating? Derek went into his bedroom and slammed the door shut.

  While slipping into jeans and a black Armani T-shirt, his stomach growled. The aroma of grilling meat seeped under the bedroom door. It was a dick move to complain about the burgers. His wife was a talented chef and a master on the grill. They might be frozen patties but she’d turn them gourmet. Was that bacon, too? His stomach rumbled again. He’d eaten a light lunch, which put him below his caloric intake for the day. Bacon was a treat. Maybe he’d apologize and grab a burger with her. Depending on how it went, he might cancel his date with Sonia.

  With a final admiring glance in the mirror, he went downstairs.

  In the kitchen, Gabriella was eating over the sink like an animal. Wearing a shabby blue Adidas sweat suit, with her hair in a messy ponytail, she was stuffing food in her mouth and barely chewing before jamming in more.

  “Classy.” He grabbed a burger from the plate beside her. “About earlier,” he began.

  He paused while reaching for the ketchup and scrutinized her. Blood was rolling down her hand and dribbling off her chin. He lifted the bun off his own burger and poked the patty. The meat was raw in the centre.

  Again with the zoning out and not paying attention to a simple task. Why couldn’t she focus? This was a perfect example of why he felt like a reluctant babysitter around his wife. “You didn’t cook these. Stop eating it.”

  She continued shoving burger in h
er mouth.

  “Did you hear me?” He struggled to keep his voice calm. “You didn’t cook the meat. Stop eating it.”

  Still no reply or acknowledgement.

  He tossed his burger in the trash. He couldn’t deal with her. Let her get sick. She was a big girl and it was her decision. “I have to go back to work.” He flinched at the lie.

  No comment. Tomorrow, she’d claim he never told her. He scrubbed his fingers with a napkin, his stomach rolling at the sight of blood on the white linen. Knowing it was immature but not caring, he added, “Don’t wait up.” The idea of his frigid wife waiting up to have sex was comical.

  Finally, she looked up from her meal and met his eyes. “The bolt on the shed isn’t working. The door keeps blowing open in the wind. Gabriella wants you to fix it before you leave.”

  Placing his hands flat on the counter and taking a steadying breath, he forced himself to remain calm. “I’ve asked you hundreds of times not to talk about yourself using the third person.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What about the shed?”

  “It’s dark. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

  “Well, it’s up to you.” She reached for a second burger. “You’ve got expensive stuff in there.”

  She never ate seconds, and why the fuck would she eat raw meat? Something was definitely off. Maybe she was PMS-ing.

  He peered out the window to the back of the yard. It was dusk, but there was enough light to see the outline of the red shed. One door was open. She was right; he kept expensive tools inside. “I’ll check the shed on my way to the car.”

  She smiled through a mouthful of bacon cheeseburger.

  Derek paused in the process of putting on his leather jacket. She was always peculiar but this was extra weird, even for her. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing. What’s the matter with you?” There was a carnivorous gleam in her eyes.

  Did she know where he was going? Maybe not but she probably suspected. He grabbed his keys and left before she confronted him.