Chapter Thirty-Two
Trent looked at the two small squares of paper on the floor amid the dust covered, shattered fragments of Helen’s coffee cup. He knew what he had to do.
He reached out and picked up the square he felt drawn to and opened it: Rita Bryant.
Trent closed his eyes. He could picture her, all prim and proper in a white coat with a stethoscope dangling from her neck. She’d been pretty the last time he’d seen her, the day she’d signed Helen’s death certificate and done her professional best to console him.
He spent several moments imagining what she’d look like without her clothes and then rebuked himself, when he felt his erection pushing against his jeans. He didn’t want Helen thinking that was his objective. He’d promised her it wouldn’t happen again.
He picked up his lap
