Then the front door opened.
My heart stopped.
Footsteps stumbled in. Wet sounds. A woman's breathless laugh. A man's groan. The unmistakable, sloppy choreography of two bodies trying to kiss and walk at the same time.
They hit our closet door. The whole wall thudded. They moved on. The coffee table scraped. A vase shattered.
"Mm, wait, baby." A high, unfamiliar voice. Not Catherine's. I had only met Catherine once but I knew her voice. "Are you sure this is safe? Didn't your wife say she might be home early?"
Some buried, pathetic part of me wanted to feel relief. It wasn't Catherine. The Voss brothers had been wrong about that piece.
I wanted to cry instead.
Ronald laughed. Low. Familiar. Cruel.
"Don't worry about her," he said. "The boring little i***t. She's so wrapped up in me,
