Page 81 of Dirty Love

“It’s okay.” I move close, rubbing the wet head of his cock against my belly. “Come for me. Show me that face. Let me see you.”

“You see me.” He grunts as I tighten my fingers.

“I do.”

“God, Tabitha!” He spurts against fingers, my skin, the shower wall. He shakes, but he holds himself up, and his face twists in passion. Yes. I love that.

And I love him.

Once we’re dry, he talks me through fixing his steri strips, then we crawl into bed.

He pulls me close. “We're going to be okay.I’ll keep you safe.”

How do I make him understand? “Nobody can do that.”

“Exactly. I’m nobody. I’m a ghost. I know how to disappear.”

“I’m not disappearing.” I sound more confident than I feel, but I know this is the right call.

“But…”

“No.” I kiss him on the mouth. “I love you, you insane man, and you can give me all the security you want. But I’m not running. I’m going to wake up in the morning and figure out what to do next, but it’s not going to be hiding, that’s for sure.”

“You love me?”

“Of course I do.”

“I’m not sure I deserve that, but I’ll take it.” He tangles his fingers in my hair. “I’ll grab it with both hands and hang on tight, because I love you, too. I love you so much I’m afraid I’m not going to be any good at keeping you safe, because I can’t think straight.”

“I’ve got you in a tizzy?”

“You do.” He laughs. “You so fucking do.”

“Well, at least the feeling is mutual.”

—thirty-eight—

Wilson

The next morning brings an unexpected calm.

Jason and Cole worked magic overnight, spinning a story of politics and business that was both believable and banal. It made the west coast news, but didn’t headline nationally, and Tabitha was kept out of it with the help of an emergency injunction protecting her name in the court proceedings.

We get a visit from the FBI, and later in the day, from the regional Secret Service director. She wanted to know more about Tabitha’s new relationship with Ginnifer Best. Had Grant or Spencer said anything to her about the candidate’s wife? No and no, and then that was it.

It was all a bit too tidy.

Too neat.

It bothered at me, and when she fell asleep Sunday night, I stayed up and I did some digging.

I haven’t looked at her digital footprint in months. It had started to feel weird, and that’s saying something for me, because I don’t normally have that kind of filter.

But something that had come up in the past is flickering in my memory. A little flag that whispers,look over here. Now I just need to find it again.

I start at her Social Security Number. Newly created when she was fifteen years old.

What would be the justification for that?

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