He turned left on Meadow View and saw an unfamiliar blue Bronco in his driveway next to Tara’s Mercedes. Damn. He was in the mood for sex, not small talk with one of her charity ladies. He parked on the street because there wasn’t room in the driveway for all three vehicles.
Rudker hurried up the steps, entered the house, and stripped off his wet overcoat. He tossed the coat on the hall table and called out to his wife as he moved through the foyer into the living room. He was surprised to see it empty. Tara and her guest were not in the family room either. Rudker headed upstairs to their bedroom to change his shoes. Tara and her friend were probably in her office, planning some event.
As he reached the top of the stairs, his wife came out of their bedroom, followed by a man Rudker had never seen before. At first, the sight confused him. Who was he and why was he here? Had she called a repairman? Then the man’s young age and stunning looks hit him like chest blow. Dear God, this thirty-year-old Adonis was fucking his wife.
Rudker’s throat went dry and he couldn’t speak.
“Hi sweetie,” Tara gushed. “This is Doug. He’s a volunteer fundraiser for the food bank.”
Rudker swallowed, finding his voice. “Why were you in the bedroom?”
As his wife struggled to formulate a believable response, Rudker took it all in. Tara’s tousled hair and hard nipples pushing through her sweater, unrestrained by a bra. Doug’s flushed face and sockless ankles.
“We were looking for a list of donors that I’d made out earlier and-”
“Shut up!” Rudker’s heart valves pounded like a herd of thoroughbreds at the racetrack. His muscles tightened until he thought his chest would explode.
Doug stepped forward and started to speak. Rudker rushed him, knocking him to the ground. He landed with his knee in Doug’s crotch. The man cried out and Rudker silenced him with a fist to his mouth. The crunch of bone on bone was both painful and rewarding. Rudker pounded the pretty face again.
Behind him, Tara shrieked for him to stop. Rudker ignored her and hammered the guy again and again. He didn’t stop until his wife grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back. In a flurry of pain, he swung awkwardly at her, striking her softly in the thigh.
Behind him Doug jumped up and knocked Rudker on his ass. While he lay stunned for a moment, the coward bolted downstairs. Tara stood her ground, biting her lip. The front door slammed as Rudker got to his feet.
“Jesus, Karl. It’s not his fault. It’s mine. I’m sorry-”
He lashed out and slapped her mouth to stop the flow of words. Tara’s hands flew to her face, but she didn’t cry out. For a moment, they made eye contact and silently accused each other of a dozen wrongdoings, big and small. Tara conceded first and fled into the bedroom. Rudker slumped on the top step and put his head in his hands. He heard Tara opening and closing drawers, slamming them occasionally to express her anguish. She was packing to leave. He made no move to stop her.
After a few minutes, she dragged a suitcase by him as she pounded down the stairs, crying softly.
“Why?” he called out to her retreating back.
For a moment she kept going, then at the bottom of the steps she stopped and turned back.
“Because I’m lonely. Because you’re never here.” Her voice gained volume and her face twisted in anguish. “Because you’re not really here even when you’re home. Because I don’t want to move to Seattle.”
His wife spun around and stormed out the front door. For a second, he heard the rain beating on the front step, matching the fury of his heart. Rudker wished he hadn’t hit Tara; that one slap could cost him dearly. But damnit, she had betrayed him. Totally blindsided him. After several long minutes of waiting for his heart to stop pounding in his ears, he went downstairs and took two Ativan. He thought he might have missed his Zyprexa again that morning, so he took one of those too.
Blood seeped from his knuckles, so he stood at the kitchen sink and ran cold water on his swelling hand. Rudker vowed to get back on track, to stay in control of himself until his external problems were resolved. He knew he should fight for Tara. He could win her back with the right promises-and he would. But it would have to wait. He was juggling too many critical things right now, any of which could blow up on him. The land rezoning and expansion. The fraudulent accounting, which could surface and derail the merger. And that damn PR person’s obsession with the Nexapra trials.
Rudker shut off the water and retreated to his study. Sula was his greatest concern and containing her was his top priority. Her visit to the research clinic had unnerved him. He doubted if the girl had learned anything significant, but clearly she was not giving up. He wondered what it would take to intimidate her. The idea of assaulting her was certainly attractive. Punishing offenders could be quite satisfying, as he had just experienced. Yet an anonymous attack would be difficult to pull off, and Sula would probably send the police to him even if she didn’t actually see her assailant. He could not afford to be questioned. Not with his career on the line and with Warner so recently assaulted.
One the other hand, an accident might be just what Sula needed.
Chapter 22
The time Sula spent working on her sculpture was therapeutic. She’d managed to not think about her custody hearing, her unemployment, the theft charges against her, or the Nexapra trials for nearly two hours.
Of course, as soon as she put down the mig welder, she’d started brooding about all of it. Her custody lawyer still didn’t know she was unemployed, and Sula needed to make that dreaded call. She had decided not to tell Barbara about being arrested. The theft hearing was after the custody hearing, and no one involved in the custody dispute needed to know about it. The only thing she could do to improve her chances of winning custody was to find a job, one that paid more than unemployment. That might take a while. Unemployment in Oregon was over ten percent.
Recovering the DNA data seemed even more difficult. Paul hadn’t called yet to report how their Trojan horse was doing. On the positive side, she’d learned the last name of a third Nexapra suicide, but wasn’t sure what good it would do her.
She wanted to get out for a walk but it was too wet. She put on shorts and a Beyonce CD, then worked up a sweat dancing around the living room. Exercise was not a discipline with her. She did it only when she felt like it, and only as long as she enjoyed it.
Sula showered and changed into jeans. Unable to wait any longer, she called Paul. “Hey. How’s the hacking coming?”
“Hi. And I’m fine, thanks.”
“Good to hear. If you’re going to keep me in suspense about it, maybe I should drive over and pick up pizzas on the way.”
“Excellent idea. I have nothing here but a moldy tomato, a can of peaches, and some cat food.” Paul didn’t have a cat.
Sula didn’t take the bait. “See you in thirty.”
She called in two small pizzas from Papas-a Mt. Bachelor classic for her, with pesto, sausage, artichoke hearts, and wax banana peppers, and a Canadian bacon and pineapple for Paul. They had shared this meal a few times. The pizzas were ready when she arrived, and Sula put them on her UO/Visa card. Intuition told her she needed to keep what little cash she had on hand.
It stopped raining on the drive over. She heard her mother’s voice-a sweet, faint memory-calling it an omen for good things to happen during her visit with Paul. As much as she liked to keep her mother’s memory close, Sula rejected her spirituality. Gods and chants and superstitious hadn’t made her mother happy or kept her safe.