Stay Close by Harlan Coben Read Free Book Online Page A

tie, and drove to his sixth-floor corner office in Jersey City. He worked as an attorney, traveling more than he should. He seemed to like it well enough, but he lived for those momentshe could run home and be with his family. Dave liked coaching his kids and attending the games and he cared way too much how well the kids performed. He liked chatting up the parents on the sidelines and having a beer with the guys at the American Legion and playing in his old-man soccer league and doing an early morning golf round at the club.
     
    Are you happy?
     
    She had never asked him that. He had never asked her. What would she say anyway? She felt an itch right now. Did he? She was keeping it from him. Maybe he was doing the same. She had slept with this man and this man only for the past sixteen years—and she had lied to him from day one. Would that matter to him now? Would the truth make any difference? He knew nothing about her past—and yet he knew her better than anyone else.
     
    Megan moved closer to the bed, gently took the remote control from his hand, turned off the television. Dave stirred and turned onto his side. He mostly slept in the fetal position. She moved into the bed next to him and slid into a spoon. His body was warm. She put her nose up against his back. She loved the way he smelled.
     
    When Megan looked at her future, when she saw herself old and living in Florida or some retirement village or wherever she ended up, Megan knew that it would be with this man. She could not imagine anything else. She loved Dave. She had made a life with him and loved him—should she feel bad that she wanted something more or just different every once in a while?
     
    It was wrong. The question was, she guessed, why was it wrong?
     
    She rested her hand on his hip. She knew that she could sneak her fingers under the elastic waistband, how exactly he would react, the little groan in his sleep. She smiled at the thought, but for somereason, she decided against it. Her mind drifted back to her visit to La Crème. It had been so wonderful to just be there, to just
feel
that much.
     
    Why had she opened that closet door?
     
    And the less abstract and philosophical question: Could Stewart Green really be back?
     
    No. At least, she couldn’t imagine it. Or maybe, when she stopped and thought about it, his being back explained everything. Suddenly the excitement turned to fear. There had been good times back then, vibrant times, fun times. But there had also been very, very scary times.
     
    When you thought about it, didn’t those go hand in hand? Wasn’t that part of the draw?
     
    Stewart Green. She thought that was one ghost that had long been buried. But you can’t bury a ghost, can you?
     
    She shivered, put her hand around Dave’s waist, and nestled in closer. To her surprise, he took her hand and said, “You okay, hon?”
     
    “I’m fine.”
     
    Silence. Then he said, “Love you.”
     
    “Love you too.”
     
    Megan figured that sleep would never come, but it did. She dropped into it as though off a cliff. At three A.M. , when her mobile phone buzzed, she was still right up against her husband, her arm still around his waist. Her hand shot out for the phone without hesitation. She checked the caller ID, though there was no need.
     
    Still half asleep, Dave cursed and said, “Don’t answer it.”
     
    But Megan simply could not do that. She was already rolling out of bed, her feet searching for the slippers. She put the phone to her ear. “Agnes?”
     
    “He’s in my room,” the old woman whispered.
     
    “It’s going to be okay, Agnes. I’m on my way.”
     
    “Please hurry.” The terror in her whisper couldn’t have been more obvious if it came with a blinking neon sign. “I think he’s going to kill me.”
     
    B ROOME DIDN ’ T BOTHER FLASHING HIS badge when he walked into La Crème, a “gentlemen’s lounge”—a euphemism in so many ways—located two short blocks geographically (but