An excerpt from "The Tables Have Turned" Book 2 in the "Under Suspicion" series ...
There was something unsaid, but certainly seen between that dweeb Phil and Lorna. Mitch fisted his hands and fought the urge to punch a hold in the wall to relieve some of his frustration. Freak flag? What was that all about?
Mitch paced the floors, making himself busy with non essential tasks of everyday life. He waited until Kris had gone to bed and they were alone in the bedroom. Changing out of the funeral wear, his heels thumped across the wood floor, reverberating off the silence. She stood with her back to him, the silk of the slip hugging her curves. She hung the dress in the closet and turned.
He couldn’t contain himself any longer. His words echoed his reoccurring thoughts. “What was all that about? Freak flag? Who is that guy to you and where does he get off pawing at you and taunting me? He obviously knows we’re together,” Mitch fumed. As he spoke, his voice rattled, the words thick and chunky, hard to utter. His strive for calm rushed away with the trickle of sweat down his back. “Jesus Christ, who does that at a funeral?”
“Fuck,” he huffed his frustration and jammed his hands into his pocket. “Why do you have to elongate everyone’s name like a teacher. How could you let a guy like that touch you?” Disgust and jealousy mixed like a toxic appetizer in his gut. “Phil Jones is an asshole not worthy of—”
“Jones?” Lorna did a double take and let the question hang a breath too long and his heart plummeted. “How do you know…” Her face crinkled with questions and those amber eyes narrowed.
Too late. If only he could reel back the words. Jones was not the last name Miriam and Lorna knew him by. To them he was Jonas, the orphaned son of Dorothy’s sister who died of colon cancer at just 32. He yanked his hands out from his pockets and grabbed the sides of his head, stomping to the window. He cursed under his breath and stared into the lighted window’s of the neighbourhood, taking no notice of any activity outside the chess game he played with Lorna. Anger flared and he wondered, had he just lost a pawn, or were one of his knights in danger if he revealed too much.
He didn’t have to turn around to know she stood with her hand on her hip, alert and waiting for an answer.
He blinked several times, willing a solution, tension made even this small motion a feat.
“How do you know Philli—Phil?”
He grabbed the curtains and yanked them closed. “I don’t.”
“That’s the second time today you called him Jones,” she persisted. “How do you know him, Mitch? What aren’t you telling me?”
He whirled around to face her, heat flamed his face. “And what aren’t you telling me? Why don’t we start with that!”