CHAPTER SEVEN
Marcus stared at the network of notes on the wall and tried to make it make sense.
When that didn’t work, he tried to make himself understand what it all meant.
When that didn’t work, he just took it at face value and accepted that if there was some grand scheme behind it all, he wouldn’t figure it out without more information.
Whether for a purpose other than their own nosiness or not, the Carltons were heavily invested in the failed marriages, affairs, hookups, and other indiscretions their guests exhibited.
They had detailed files on every single time one of them strayed from their partners.
One individual had cheated on his wife with his wife’s sister.
Another had cheated with his wife’s brother.
A third hadn’t cheated but would attend the parties under an assumed name and flirt with different men, presumably to experience the thrill of being wanted by people who couldn’t have her.
A fourth apparently had an arrangement with her husband where oral sex with anyone was allowed. She just couldn’t have penetrative sex.
But most of the cheaters weren’t following some convoluted ruleset or accepting some blind date coordinated by the Carltons. Most of them were just your old, garden-variety hookups. Met at a party, got drunk, and had sex.
The Carltons, oddly enough, seemed to enjoy these the best. They had detailed notes of follow-up encounters and effects on the respective marriages. They took particular delight when the spouses stumbled accidentally on the indiscretions and then publicly confronted the cheating couple.
The problem was that none of this screamed devious real-estate scheme to Marcus. Or scheme of any kind. In fact, it wasn’t clear that anyone even knew the Carltons were keeping these records. Sterling’s crackpot theory about using this information to sell real estate didn’t hold water.
Marcus was pretty sure the Carltons were just freaks.
His phone buzzed. A text from Cheryl. Marcus, I need you to call me. Some stuff’s come up, and I need to know what’s going on?
Marcus frowned. Stuff? What stuff? For the love of God, she had left him.
You moved on pretty fast after your wife dumped you, huh?
A pang went through his chest. It wasn’t like that.
He loved Cheryl. Had loved her. He had tried so hard to make things work with her.
He’d put every ounce of himself into that marriage.
It had ended because Cheryl couldn’t handle a marriage to someone working a job that required him to be on-call twenty-four-seven and available at any moment to his boss or his partner.
There was nothing wrong with that. He understood.
She wanted someone who could give her more. Or different. Or…
He sighed. The point was that he hadn’t been carrying a torch for Kate and just waiting for the chance to take advantage of that. The end of his marriage with Cheryl had nothing to do with his feelings for Kate and everything to do with the two of them not being right for each other.
He tried to convince himself that was true, but he kept thinking about the way the light would catch Kate’s hair sometimes when they were driving, or the adorable groggy look in her eyes when she just woke up, or the depth of kindness he felt from her when he was feeling down.
All of that had existed before Cheryl left him, and there were times with Cheryl when they’d be fighting, and he’d look at her and wish that she was Kate because it would be easier if he was with Kate.
The door opened, and Marcus quickly put his phone in his pocket and said, “I think these guys were just nutso, Rivera. Not in a crazy way either. I think they probably just got off watching sexual drama in other people’s marriages.”
“And that is the sign that you need to stop and eat dinner,” Kate said.
Marcus turned to see his partner was, in fact, standing in the room, not Rivera. He frowned. “Dinner? It’s…”
He checked his phone and blinked. “How the hell is it so late?”
"That's what happens when time moves at the same speed it always does," Kate replied.
"Come on. Let's go get some grub. I got a little bit more information from the cipher.
I think it fits with the hypothesis that the Carltons were actively attempting to break up marriages.
Though I agree it probably has nothing to do with business, and they were probably just freaks who liked watching people have affairs. "
Marcus’s head was starting to hurt. “Kate, I… Let’s skip dinner, okay? Or you can get dinner, but I want to keep working.”
Kate’s brow furrowed. “You can take five minutes to heat up some ramen in the break room. It can be a working dinner, but you need to eat. You especially need to eat since you’re six-four, two-thirty, and full of dense muscle.”
“I’m six-two.”
Kate rolled her eyes. Then she looked away and bit her lip. Oh, God, Kate. Please not now.
“Is this because of what I—”
“No,” Marcus interrupted, chopping his hand in front of his chest to emphasize the point. “No, it’s not. Cheryl and I broke up because we weren’t right for each other, and she left me. So, she doesn’t get to tell me how to live my life. If I want to be with someone else, I can.”
He stopped when he saw Kate’s eyes fixed on her shoes. Apparently interrupting her and shouting that Cheryl couldn’t tell them not to be together wasn’t the right way to approach this.
But he knew what the right way was.
Better rip the Band-aid off now. It only gets worse the longer you put it off.
He sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Honestly, I haven’t been thinking clearly for a little while now. I think we should get dinner and talk.”
The color drained from her face. She looked at him almost pleadingly. “Talk about the case, right?”
“Yes,” he replied. “After.”
More color drained from her face. Then she flushed. Then she accepted what was coming just as he had. She met his eyes and said quietly but firmly, “All right.”
He followed her to the breakroom. Since it was six o’clock in the evening, the room was full of field agents, analysts, and ancillary employees taking advantage of the kitchen space to make meals that would have made the best firehouse cooks green with envy.
Firehouse cooks. God, his mind was all over the place. A defensive mechanism to steel himself for the uncomfortable conversation to come.
Other agents were using the stove, but the microwave was free. It looked like dinner was going to be ramen after all. He warmed up two cups. A cup of ramen was barely a drop in the bucket for him, but he wasn’t hungry, and he doubted what he had to say to Kate was going to make him any hungrier.
Kate filled the silence with small talk while they waited.
Sapir and Whorf—Kate’s mother’s two Irish setters—were on a diet now and couldn’t eat anything but the specially prepared fortified food the vet had prescribed.
Catherine was going to chair a special seminar at her university.
Kate was thinking about trading her old SUV in for a newer—still used but newer—sedan and wanted to know what brands Marcus recommended.
He was grateful for the white noise, but when they reached the table, that white noise stopped.
Kate looked expectantly at him, and he jumped right in.
“Kate, I like you. I do. I like dating you. I know we haven’t taken it very far, but I want to.
” She raised an eyebrow, and he flushed.
“I mean… Well, I do mean that. But… like I said, I haven’t been thinking clearly.
I’m trying to focus on the case, but I’m conflating the whole seventh commandment thing with what we’re doing.
I know we’re not, but…” Christ, why is this so hard?
“Cheryl’s been texting me, and I… Well…”
Kate’s face hardened. “You’re breaking up with me.”
“No!” he said quickly. “No, that’s not it at all. I just… I think… I’ve been slacking on my responsibilities.”
She raised an eyebrow. “To Cheryl?”
“Yes. And to me. We’re still married, and I should…” he took a deep breath. “I think you and I should take a step back so I can focus on becoming unmarried. I really need to put a period at the end of that sentence.”
Kate nodded. He could see her struggling to say okay, fighting not to make things worse by arguing. He could see her losing that fight.
“You can say it,” he said softly. “It’s all right.”
“Thank you so much for giving me permission,” Kate replied curtly.
His shoulders slumped. “No, Kate… I didn’t mean—”
“It’s been three months, Marcus. We’ve been on like twenty dates, and we’ve gone as far as a single make out session in your car. I know I didn’t wear a sign that said, ‘Screw me please, I beg you,’ but I assume you’re smart enough to know that if you wanted anything, I would have given it to you.”
Actually, Marcus remembered starting to go farther and Kate pulling back and putting a stop to the encounter. He kept that thought to himself. Besides, whether they would have had sex that night or not, Kate wasn’t the reason they hadn’t progressed in their relationship.
She made that clear with her next words.
“You could have ended your marriage to Cheryl months ago. You could end it now. Well, not right now since we’re on a case, but you know what I mean.
You and Cheryl are still married because you’re still letting her dictate things.
You’re waiting for her to end this. Why? ”
Marcus opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked away. Looked back at her. Finally answered. “I don’t know.”
She nodded. “Well, that’s the part you need to figure out. And yes, until you do, you and I are going to pause. Maybe even for good.”
Marcus nodded. He knew he should say something, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.
All he could do was stare at his cooling cup of microwaved ramen and wonder if the rest of his life was going to be spent disappointing every woman who loved him.
He wondered what the Carltons would have to say about that.
He knew what their killer would say. He would condemn Marcus for breaking the seventh commandment and claim that all of the hardship he suffered as a result was just.
And hey, maybe he was right. Maybe Marcus deserved to be alone. Maybe Kate and Cheryl were better off without him.