Bitter Brew (A Savannah Reid Mystery) by McKevett G. A

Author:McKevett, G. A. [McKevett, G. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2019-04-30T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Even though Savannah knew that Dirk would never hear her footsteps above the sound of the shower running, she found herself tiptoeing past the bathroom door on her way to the bedroom.

One could never be too careful about these things.

If worse came to worst, and she found something heartbreakingly conclusive on his phone, she didn’t want to compromise her own role as the offended party by getting caught doing something less than angelic.

Like that would matter one hoot, she told herself as she snuck through the bedroom door and quietly closed it behind her.

If I find something on that phone that would stand up in court and convict a guy of adultery in the first degree—a capital crime with special circumstances—he’s gonna wish he had a state-administered execution compared to what I’m going to give him.

“After I pick up the broken pieces of my heart off the floor,” she whispered.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she walked over to the bed where, as predicted, his jeans had been tossed across the foot of it.

For a moment she looked at the worn denim, the threadbare knees, and ragged hems. She thought of all the work he had done in those jeans, bringing them to that tattered state.

Protecting. Serving.

His city.

Her.

Over the years, through all of their ups and downs, there had never been a moment when she had considered her best friend and then husband-to-be anything less than a truly honorable man.

Detective Sergeant Dirk Coulter was one of the good guys.

Knowing that fact had been important to her. She had relied upon it. Taken pride in it.

For years, she had felt safe—physically, mentally, and emotionally—because Dirk Coulter was a good man.

Good men don’t lie to their wives, said one of the voices inside her head. She wasn’t sure which one it was this time . . . the nasty, accusing gal, or her quiet voice of reason.

A good man doesn’t have a mistress who puts him in a position he doesn’t appreciate, the voice continued. A good man doesn’t stand in the kitchen, talking to his “other woman” on the phone, ensuring her that he’ll tell his wife about her sometime soon.

And a smart, strong woman with investigative skills doesn’t wait around, wringing her hands and wondering what’s going on, when she’s got good reason to believe her man’s stepping out on her, she told herself.

If he’s innocent, then let’s find out now and put this whole thing to rest. If he’s guilty, it’s better that you know about it now than that you find out farther down the road, after you’ve developed an ulcer or he’s passed away from a brain hemorrhage, brought on by exposure to a fourteen-inch, cast-iron skillet.

It’s now or never, Savannah girl. Do it!

She couldn’t help noticing that her hand was shaking when she slid it carefully into the jeans pocket and pulled out his cell phone.

In fact, it was shaking so badly that she held the phone over the bed as she turned it on, just in case she dropped it.

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