As I closed the drawer, my gaze caught a slip of white underneath the pens as they moved. I pushed them aside and uncovered a small business-card-sized piece of thick cardstock. It reminded me of a business card because of the size, but didn't have any printing on either side.

The back had a handwritten note in a blue pen.

Shiela Godfrey

And then a phone number scrolled out in fancy writing. Something only a woman could do. Probably Shiela herself.

My first thought ran right into an affair, but that made little sense. If Mick and Shiela were sleeping together, he wouldn't have her name and number on a business card. Mick found evidence on cheaters. He wouldn't leave evidence of his own misdeeds out for anyone to find.

Plus, Mick was married. Finding two women willing to sleep with him would be astronomical.

Since I was already going down for stealing the nameplate and the pen, I stuck the card in my other back pocket.

The main office door clicked open, and I froze. A woman giggled.

Oh shit.

My heart kicked into overdrive, and my hand shook. Someone was in the office with me. They weren't supposed to be here, but that didn't matter because I wasn't supposed to be either.

"Are you sure no one is here?" the woman asked, and a door shut.

I slid down Mick's chair and crawled under his desk. Sloppy kissing sounds came from the main room. Someone was using too much lip.

A man's voice answered. "Yeah. They closed it down after my stepdad died."

Eric.

I'd never closed the door to Mick's office when I came in, and I tilted my head toward it to see what direction the two came. I leaned my head against the wooden desk and said a brief prayer. If they didn't bring it into his space, I'd give an extra donation at this year's Memorial Day festival. I crossed my fingers and chanted silently. The kissing sounds grew louder. Guess they were getting the standard donation. I glared at the underside of the desk.

Something thumped on top of it.

A body.

But not a dead one. A very alive one from the way she kicked out her feet and scooted across the desk. Eric kicked his step father's chair behind him and stepped up to the opening, stepping between her legs.

Ewww.

Ewww.

Ewww.

I moved as far away from them as possible while still being covered in my hiding spot. What were they going to do up there? And how the hell would I get out while they did it?

The woman moaned, but honestly, it sounded a little fake. They'd barely gotten started, and no one purred like that unless you were in a porn video.

My breath stuttered. What if they were filming a porn video?

No, I shook my head. I'd watched their feet and shadows from my spot on the floor. No one else had come into the room with them. It didn't help me find a way out of my situation, though. I'd be stuck under the desk until someone found me or they finished their business.

And I really didn't want to figure out what their business plans were for the afternoon.

"It's so hard with you living at home again. We get no private time," the woman complained in a baby voice.

So not attractive.

"I know, baby." Eric jostled his stance, getting even closer between her legs. He had a bulge that he pressed into the desk's edge.

I stuck my finger in my mouth and gagged.

The desk wiggled and a lacy pink thong fell to the floor less than six inches from my foot. I brought both feet in further until they were tucked right under me. Maybe I needed to let Katy talk me into that Yoga class to work on my flexibility.

The woman giggled again and kicked her feet, pushing one into Eric's groin. "No more until you match me, big papa."

I almost cried. Please, please, please let him keep his pants on, I pleaded.

"Let me have a taste first," he said.

I cringed harder. Did Pelican Bay have a therapist? I would need one if I survived this experience.

Eric stepped back and lifted the woman's legs on top of the desk. Then he bent over.

I did my best to shut off my hearing and closed my eyes. Think happy thoughts.

Wait.

My eyelids popped open. The desk wiggled. The woman giggled and moaned.

Both of them stayed distracted. That was good for me.

I turned on my hands and knees and slowly climbed out from under the desk. When my head just passed the edge, I turned and gave a quick look behind me to make sure the coast was clear.

Then my chest heaved.

The woman had her long, flowing brown hair fanned out over Mick's desk. She had both hands on her breasts and squeezed them. First the left. Then the right. I couldn't tell if she had her eyes open, but her head was flat on the desk. She'd have to go all exorcists to see me.

Eric had his hands on her upper thighs and his head buried between her legs. From the moaning, he wasn't coming out of there for a while.

I sucked in a deep breath and then crawled out of Mick's desk, not taking a single moment to look behind me again. My future therapist already had her work cut out for her. I didn't need to make it worse for both of us.

When I hit the main room, I stood and dove for the door, opening and closing it as quietly as possible.

A shrill cry came from the office as I walked outside. Damn. I guess Eric had some skills. I hoped I never heard or saw them again. Visions of what they were up to got stuck in my mind, and nothing I did made them go away. I shook my head and breathed deeply as I returned to my car.

Freaking A.

This shit only happened in Clearwater. There really was something wrong with these people.

Mick would roll over in his grave if he'd been in one during that entire event. What a way to desecrate a memory.

I grimaced again and raised my shoulders almost to my ears as I started the car. As much as I wanted to look up that therapist right then and there, I had other pressing matters, like following up on the case. I needed to review my clues, see what Anderson had on the glove I'd found for him earlier, and discover why Mick had a woman's number in his desk drawer. I'd have to hunt for therapy later.

A four-way stop split the street, and I waited for a man to finish crossing. Something about his back seemed familiar. He walked like my mother.

"Uncle Richard?" I said more to myself than him since the window was up. He prattled across the road with a black backpack thrown over one shoulder.

I rolled down the car window and hung my head out of it. "Uncle Richard?"

The man turned to me, and his eyes widened for a fraction of a second. "Vonnie?"

"What are you doing in Clearwater?" I asked and put the car in park. Now that I'd caught the man doing something fishy, I wanted answers. And to see what he had in that backpack.

Richard lowered the backpack to his side, stuck his hand inside, and then walked toward my car.

I froze.