I do it in the shower like all dirty old perves do.
When the water turns cold, I relinquish my fruitless search for answers. I quickly dry off and then get dressed. As Ileave the bedroom, footsteps outside the apartment freeze me, and my attention snaps to the door.
Are Lucia and Camille back?
Ignoring my thumping temples, I race to the door and throw it open so fast the hinges protest.
The person requesting entry isn’t Lucia or Camille.
It isn’t even Marco.
It’s a court-appointed pathologist that the judge approved to drug test Anna throughout our custody hearing and subsequent ruling.
“Mr. Caruso,” he says, holding a clipboard and a sealed kit. “I’m here to administer a mandatory drug test ordered by Judge Sullivan this morning.”
My blood runs cold.
Of all the days for this to happen, this is the worst possible time.
