Saving Sarah

by Nan Reinhardt

  “Too easy.” When Julie waved away that suggestion, Sophie stuck out her tongue and swiped another piece of the bran muffin.

  “Gargamel? From the Smurfs?” Carrie offered, one brow quirked.

  “Cripes, you’ve been hanging out with your kindergartner too much, Caro.” Julie guffawed. The others burst into gales of laughter as Carrie raised her hands in supplication. Everyone loved Isabella, Carrie and Liam’s precocious and adorable adopted daughter.

  Settling into the leather sofa, Sarah drank her coffee and basked in the warm glow of her friends’ silliness. They threw several more names out before she suddenly snapped her fingers. “How about Iago? From Othello? He destroyed a lot of people’s lives—seems appropriate.”

  “Perfect!” Julie clapped. “And it has the added panache of being very literary. Villainy with a touch of class. I love it! Iago it is. So that’s our code name for the bastard, ladies.” She shook one finger around the group. “Don’t forget it.”

  “Okay, now that we have that out of the way, let’s talk weddings.” Carrie pulled out her ubiquitous notebook and pen. “First, do you have a date? Then we need to talk venues.”

  “Tony says ASAP.” Sarah’s cheeks burned as she remembered all the other things he’d said the previous night, as well as all the sexy things they’d done. “And I agree—the sooner the better.”

  Julie slapped a hand on the arm of the sofa. “Beach wedding. Yours was gorgeous, Carrie.”

  “It’s October.” Sophie brushed off Julie’s suggestion with a backward wave. “Even if we started planning right this second, we don’t have time to put together a whole wedding before the weather gets too chilly for the beach.”

  “What about doing it at the winery? I love hosting weddings.” Libby grinned, revealing a tiny space between her front teeth that reminded Sarah of some model or actress, but she couldn’t remember who. It was adorable.

  “Oh, yes!” Carrie began writing. “A December wedding in the evening with a fire in the fireplace and mulled wine. How romantic!”

  Julie warmed up to the idea immediately. “With a Christmas tree and Sarah in a cream-colored velvet gown? We can do the decorations in Christmas colors, red and green and gold.”

  Sophie was also onboard. “I love Christmas weddings!”

  “So do I!” Kelly, the barista, eavesdropped unashamedly from the counter behind them. “Oh, Sarah, you and Tony? Perry’s been predicting this for weeks! Congratulations!”

  “Kel, it’s bad luck to congratulate the bride,” Julie scolded with a smile.

  “Really?” Kelly stopped wiping down one of Perry’s huge espresso machines and cocked her head.

  Julie nodded vigorously. “Yup, you congratulate the groom. You say best wishes to the bride.”

  “Oh, well then best wishes, Sarah.” Kelly waved her dishrag in Sarah’s direction. “I’m thrilled for you. Tony’s hot.” She glanced at Julie. “It’s okay to say the groom is hot, right?”

  Sarah chuckled. “It’s definitely okay, Kelly, thank you. And yeah, Tony is hot.”

  “So Christmas wedding then?” Carrie wrote something in her perfect script, and Julie nodded before Sarah could even respond.

  “Um, guys? Remember me? The bride? I like Christmas and I’m crazy about romantic.” She set her cup on the table beside her. “Libby, you’re a doll to offer the winery, but it might be a good idea for me to talk to Tony before we start making plans. He may want some input. It is his wedding, too.”

  Julie scrunched her nose. “Oh, please. Tony is so nuts about you he’d get married on the moon if you asked him. Let’s make plans and just tell him and the other guys when and where to show up.”

  “We can talk about this all you like, Jules, but Tony gets a say.” Sarah kept her tone firm, even though in her heart she knew Julie was right. Tony would agree to anything if it meant getting married as soon as humanly possible. “He and I are a democracy.”

  “Of course he gets a say,” Carrie soothed. “But we have to have something to present to him.”

  Ideas for dresses, flowers, food, and decorations flew as the group chattered and brainstormed eagerly. There in the sunny warmth of the Daily Grind surrounded by her friends, Sarah almost believed she could finally be safe and happy for the first time since she left her parents’ home at the tender age of eighteen.

  * * * *

  Afternoon sun shone through the newly washed windows of Macy’s Garden Gate as Sarah stood back to admire her handiwork. Liam, Will, and Henry had spent the day installing plantation blinds, following behind Sarah and Julie as they washed each window in the house. The men had left, taking the empty blinds boxes and their tools with them, Julie was in the kitchen cleaning up from lunch and taking trash to the dumpster, and Sarah had just put up the shirred panels at the sidelight windows on either side of the heavy front door, which stood partially open. The soundtrack to Dirty Dancing played in the background, thanks to Julie’s phone attached to the donated stereo in the dining room. The whole downstairs was filled with music. Swinging her hips, Sarah sang along with The Ronettes’ version of “Be My Baby.”

  A cool October breeze came in through the ornate screen door lifting the curls off her neck as she smoothed and evened the gossamer fabric at the top and bottom rods. They’d debated whether or not to cover the sidelights, but Sarah decided it would be best if people couldn’t easily see in from the porch, and Julie agreed, particularly since double-rod curtains were true to the period of the house.

  A creaking sound outside stopped her short and sent a frisson of fear through her. Someone was coming through the arbor gate. She peered through the sheer material, but could only see the gate banging in the early autumn breeze. Nobody was there. The guys must not have gotten it closed tight.

  But then heavy footsteps clumped on the porch and she smiled as she glanced around the huge foyer. That weighty gait could only be Henry. Good grief, what has he forgotten this time? Their absent-minded novelist was notorious for leaving at least one tool behind.

  “What’re you missing?” she called as she headed to unlock the screen door. A waft of October wind brought a horrifyingly familiar scent through the mesh. Then she gasped.

  “My wife.” Her ex-husband yanked the door open, breaking latch, then shoved her aside, and let it bang shut behind him. Pieces of the door latch clattered on the wooden porch floor.

  A shiver ran down Sarah’s spine, but somehow, she kept the neutral expression in place as she backed away from him. She’d learned long ago never to show him fear. It only encouraged the violence. “Hello, Paul.” The words were shaky, but she got them out without choking. She’d already managed to put the length of the foyer between them. How had he gotten this far without her seeing him on the porch?

  Sarah was amazed that, although she wasn’t in the least surprised he’d finally showed up, she also wasn’t as terrified as she’d expected to be.

  “Isn’t this quite the endeavor, my dear?” Paul’s eyes swept the foyer and the broad curving staircase, a sneer on his handsome face. “Bringing your cause to small-town America now?”

  “Apparently, small-town America needs advocates for abused women. Aren’t I proof of that?” Proud that her voice sounded clear and strong, she slid sideways toward the dining room, visualizing the Ruger in her back pocket and praying she wouldn’t have to use it. She’d gotten her carry permit a couple of weeks earlier, but she hadn’t been to the shooting range for a while. Her phone was in her purse in the butler’s pantry, doing her absolutely no good. If she had to, she could yell for Julie, but she’d rather not expose her dearest friend to the son of a bitch. She was fairly certain Paul believed she was alone—and she preferred to keep it that way. “Why are you here, Paul?”

  Keep him talking; that was the key. He loved the sound of his own voice.

  “I think you know.” Paul still lounged, too casually, by the front door, hands in his pockets. He hadn’t changed much in eight years. A little gray at the temples and
a few more lines around his eyes only gave his handsome face a more distinguished look. He was trim and fit, more muscular—probably from lifting weights in the penitentiary yard. That would be the kind of thing Paul would do in prison. Rehabilitation to him would mean getting buff. And planning payback.

  A trendy golf shirt, obviously new khakis, and a pair of unscuffed Topsiders had replaced the dated Armani suit she’d last seen him in when he’d found her in April. Obviously, he was trying to blend in, because when she glanced out the door behind him, the car in the driveway was a generic rental sedan, not the sleek black limo he’d had in Chicago. He ambled farther into the house, filling the space, causing her to back more toward the dining room. He wasn’t a particularly big man—average height and weight—but he’d always managed to intimidate her with that look of derision. The scornful gaze that told her how insignificant she was in his eyes. An insect he could crush under his heel if he so chose.

  Well, screw that.

  Sarah straightened her shoulders, contempt surging through her. “You need to leave. Now.”

  His lids lowered lazily as he gazed at her, but he didn’t come after her. Instead, he merely shook his head. “Come on, Susannah, we’re going home.”

  “I am home.” Sarah unclenched her fists, unaware of exactly when her fingers had curled inward. “We’re divorced. You signed the papers.” She swallowed hard trying to keep her voice steady. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Get out of my house.”

  “I signed under duress. That divorce isn’t legal. You’re still my wife.”

  “It’s perfectly legal.” Sarah had reached the opening to the dining room. She leaned against the arched doorjamb, trying to appear relaxed. “Don’t make me call the police.”

  Tony was the only thing that kept that threat from being empty as Satan’s heart since Paul hadn’t actually done anything illegal yet, nor had it occurred to her to swear out a restraining order against him when she’d arrived here in Benzie County. Damnit, Tony had talked to her about it just last week and she simply hadn’t made the time to do it. Well, it’s a little late now.

  “You’re not going to call the police.” The more pleasant his tone, the sweeter his smile, the more brutal the attack would be when it came. There was no doubt where this was headed, because she had no intention of going anywhere with Paul Prescott.

  “Paul, I’m only asking one more time. Leave. Now.” Her eyes didn’t waver from his as she watched for signs that he was losing his grip. First, his eyes grew darker and then, his lips thinned. The space between his brows furrowed as his stance firmed.

  “I’m not leaving without you, Susannah. You know that.” His voice was quiet and sounded reasonable, but when she dropped her eyes to his hands, she saw his fingers stretch, clench, and then stretch again. He was winding up. Nothing had changed.

  Faster than she thought possible, he grabbed a pottery figurine of a sitting woman from the three-legged table in the foyer and hurled it in her direction. “Get your shit, bitch, you’re coming with me.”

  Sarah ducked, cringing as the piece shattered against the tiles of the fireplace behind her. Ah, just as she suspected—he thought he could cow her with words. She took a deep breath and stood her ground.

  “No.” She shook her head and slid one arm behind her back. “Give it up, Paul. We’re done. I tolerated your violence and your abuse for too many years. But no more. Never again.” She softened her voice as she wrapped her fingers around the grip of the Ruger. “I want to believe you suffered over Macy’s death. I can’t imagine how it must feel to know that your uncontrolled anger caused your own daughter’s death. Get some help. Go back to Georgia and make some kind of life for yourself. Just leave me be, okay?”

  “Macy’s death was an accident, pure and simple, and you damn well know it.” His voice hardened as he slammed a fist on the table, making the spindly legs shudder. “You’ve had your fun—while I spent eight years in hell, living with the scum of the Earth. Not a word in my defense, bitch. Then you disappeared as if you’d never taken marriage vows. Not a single visit or letter or even a fucking phone call in eight years.”

  She raised one brow and somehow managed to keep her voice even in spite of her weak knees. “Seriously? You didn’t actually believe I’d hang around for freaking conjugal visits?”

  Heart pounding, she watched him warily. Time was growing short. He’d stooped to using profanity, which meant that he was getting close to exploding.

  “You’re my wife.” Dull red color crept up from his collar and stained his cheeks. Another bad sign.

  “I am not your wife.” She glanced over her shoulder as she heard the back door open and then close. Oh, good God, Julie had come back in from the dumpster. Sliding the gun from her back pocket, she brought it up in front of her, holding it at arms’ length, both hands around the grip.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Paul crossed to within three feet of her. “A gun, Sarah? Seriously?”

  She had to warn Julie.

  “Not another inch, you bastard.” She turned her head so her voice would carry through the butler’s pantry and into the kitchen. “Iago!” The she backed up another foot toward the butler’s pantry as Paul eyed her, a small smile playing on his lips.

  “You wouldn’t dare shoot me, you stupid fucking bitch.” He said the words in a tone so conversational that Sarah wasn’t even sure she heard correctly, but fear showed clearly in his eyes. Something she’d never seen before today. Her sense of empowerment increased tenfold.

  “I wouldn’t test her on that if I were you, asshole.” Julie sauntered in from the butler’s pantry, shoving a chair in with her hip as she passed the table, a grim smile on her face. When she stood next to Sarah, she held up the cell phone, shook her head in obvious disgust, and hit the Emergency button. “We’ve got an intruder out here at 923 Eastern Avenue.”

  Paul’s expression changed in a heartbeat and suddenly he was once again the charmer who’d fooled Sarah all those years ago. “Come on, baby, don’t do this. Your friend doesn’t need to call the cops. Let’s you and I go somewhere and talk.”

  “I have nothing more to say to you.” Sarah basked in her newfound confidence, relishing how easily she held the gun, unwavering, pointing right at his chest. “Except maybe goodbye. Get out, Paul.”

  “You owe me.” The ugly expression returned, Paul’s eyes turned stormy and, once more, Sarah was still astounded at how quickly his mood could change. She wasn’t sure what was more disturbing—his mood swings or his anger. Either way, she wanted him gone.

  He blinked at her. “You’ll never pull that trigger. We both know that.” His face was flushed and his eyes belied the bluster in his tone.

  “You really wanna try me?” Sarah held the weapon firmly with both hands, leaning forward slightly just as Tony had showed her. “I don’t owe you shit. One more word and I’ll put a bullet right through your black heart. I’ve got a witness here who’ll swear it was self-defense.”

  “Earl’s on his way.” Julie tucked the phone into Sarah’s hip pocket. “Yup, it surely would be self-defense. No question.”

  “Get out, Paul.” She gestured with the gun toward the banging screen door. “Just go. If you move your ass, you just might beat the sheriff.”

  “Goddamn you to hell, Susannah! We’re not done!” Red-faced and panting, Paul turned and fled, his heavy tread thumping on the steps.

  Storming to the door, Sarah and Julie watched as he revved his engine and took off down the drive in a cloud of dust. Julie put one bracing arm around Sarah and tugged her close.

  Laying her head on Julie’s shoulder, Sarah heaved a huge sigh. “Oh no, Iago, you couldn’t be more wrong! We are done.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Tony had spent most of the morning cleaning up paperwork—citation follow-ups, case files, a couple of warrants he needed to serve—then trying to figure out what happened to the pound of weed that Earl had locked up in the evidence closet earlier in the week. The dam
n stuff had gone missing, and although he considered making a list of possible suspects, he was fairly sure the cleaning crew had figured out how to jimmy the lock. Which meant investigating and arresting one of those dumb kids, and probably finding a new cleaning crew. Crap. Some days he really wasn’t all that crazy about being deputy sheriff.

  “Tony?” The dispatcher stuck her head around the doorjamb. “We just got a call about a possible intruder out at the new shelter. Earl’s on his way, but I thought you might want to know.”

  His heart dropped to his socks, then immediately rose to his throat at Marlene’s words. “An intruder?” Leaping to his feet, he reached into his bottom desk drawer for his weapon, buckling the heavy leather holster around his hips and then grasping his hat. “Who called? Was it Sarah? What’d she say?”

  “Nope, it was Julie Miles. She just said they had an intruder.” She backed away when he charged toward the door. “Easy, Deputy. When I asked her if anyone was hurt, she said no, but to send someone out.”

  Tony scowled, his heart racing, blood pounding at his temples. “Dammit, Marlene, you should’ve kept her on the line.”

  Marlene grabbed his shirt sleeve. “Hey, dude. Chill. It’s Deputy Reynard answering this call, not Tony, the fiancé.” He’d announced the engagement over coffee in Earl’s office that morning, and the three of them had celebrated his new status with Perry’s breakfast blend and chocolate croissants.

  Jesus, he hadn’t meant to bark. “They’re both the same guy, Marlene; I dunno how to separate them.” He patted her hand on his sleeve. “Sorry for jumping on you.”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “No sweat. But you’d better learn to separate them if you’re going to keep this job. This may be our first, but it won’t be our last call out to that shelter.”

  “I know. I know.” Heart pounding, he straightened his shoulders, giving her a quick nod before heading out the door.