Page 69 of Finding Amanda

"Hey, the girls are watching cartoons, so I thought I'd help."

"Go back inside."

She blinked. Wearing her rattiest jeans and an old sweatshirt, she was obviously sincere. She'd even pulled her hair into a ponytail on the top of her head. "What's wrong?"

"Was it Morris?"

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"The man you were with last night—was it Alan Morris?"

She shifted the leaf blower and squared her shoulders. "Yes."

"The girls weren't here?"

"They were at a birthday party."

"How late did he stay?"

"It's none of your?—"

He stepped toward her. "Did he spend the night?"

She backed up. "No! You have a lot of nerve."

"Did you sleep with him?"

"Of course not! You know me better than that."

"Did he kiss you?"

"Um . . ."

Red. Everything turned red. That snake had . ..

"On the cheek," she said, words rushed. "Just . . . like a friend."

"Yeah, like a friend." He pictured thisfriend, knew what the man was up to, winning her confidence, her loyalty. Stealing her. "You will not . . ." He took a deep breath. "As long as we're still married, this is still my house?—"

"It's our house."

"And you will not entertain men in my house. Do you understand me?"

She stomped her foot. "You have no right to tell me what to do."

"Where does he live?"

She blinked, stepped back. "What? Why?"

"Tell me where he lives. Now."

She swallowed.

He was scaring her. He didn't care. "Tell me now!"

Her voice shook when she answered. "New York."

"What was he doing here?"

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